I hate laundry,” I grumbled.
“Then you ought to have made that last shot,” Henry said in a matter-of-fact way that made me want to kick him.
“I fucking hate it,” I repeated, adding a significant word to express my distaste.
“A bet’s a bet.” He was enjoying himself. I could tell.

I pouted at Henry and then stomped toward the laundry room, a black cloud hanging over my head. I hate laundry, in case you haven’t figured that out. There’s no sense behind the level of disgust I have for the chore. I do not like sorting. I simply despise handling wet clothes. I flat out refuse to iron. And putting folded clothing away is the bane of my existence. The person who finally invents disposable outfits for adults will win my undying gratitude.

“You shouldn’t bet if you’re unable to lose with grace. Didn’t your mama teach you that?” For some reason, Henry was tagging right along with me down to the basement.
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There are many different, perfectly appropriate places to give and receive spankings. I should know. I’m in a relationship in which I am erotically bent over (chairs, the sofa, our bed, his lap) many times a week, if not every day. But there are also places in which finding yourself with your skirt up and your panties down might be awkward. Perhaps I got bold last night because I thought Jay would never spank me in a location where we might get caught. Maybe this is why I was extra sassy at the grocery store.

Sometimes I like to see if I can get a rise out of Jay. He’s such a calm man. He is not someone I would consider easily riled. But that doesn’t stop me from being a tease. From the moment we stepped into the store, I started messing with him. First, I stopped at the magazine rack and pointed out the different cover models who I thought could use a spanking. “Look at her,” I said. “She’s hardly got any clothes on at all. You’d never let me out of the house looking like that.”

Jay raised his eyebrows. I wasn’t actually wearing much more than the model. I had on a short flirty skirt and a tiny t shirt without a bra. Even though it was after 11 p.m., I wasn’t cold. We’d had a late season heat wave, which was why we were at the store in the first place. I’d wanted to make hard lemonade, and we’d been out of all the ingredients.

Rather than simply grabbing what we needed, I toyed with different vegetables in the produce section, widening my eyes at Jay and ignoring the signs he was trying to give me. Nobody else was in the section with us in fact, we seemed to have the whole store to ourselves minus a bored looking checker at the front. But Jay didn’t seem to be in the playful mood that I was. He gave me a fierce look, motioning for me to chill out and behave. He had his stern face on, but I was all amped up and horny. He hadn’t spanked me for four days, and my bratty cream had risen to the surface.

When I gripped a big, long cucumber and started miming fellatio on the vegetable, Jay hissed, “Drop that,” grabbed my wrist, and led me down an empty aisle.

We were all by ourselves in the cereal section, and I found myself pressed up against colorful boxes as Jay gave me his most serious look of the evening. “What do you think you’re doing, Rosie?”

“Playing.”

“You’re not playing. You’re being a brat. What you need is a spanking,” Jay said, and I felt my pussy tighten. He was right.

“You’re no fun.” I kicked my shoe and bit my lip, still in wiseass mode as I continued to push his buttons to get what I craved.

“I’m not playing around, Rosie. Don’t test me.”

“Why?” I asked sullenly, staring directly at him. “What happens if I test you? Do you flunk or do you pass?”

The heat in his eyes should have made me shut my mouth, but I was too horny for words. Moments later, he flipped me around so I was facing the cereal and said, “Lift your skirt.”

“You’re kidding.”

Even as I pretended to resist him, my pussy was flooding with arousal.

When I didn’t comply immediately, his hand smacked my ass hard through the floral mini I was wearing. I sucked in my breath and felt my face go hot. He was spanking me at a grocery store? I looked down the aisle, but we were still all by ourselves.

“Lift your fucking skirt, Rosie.”

I lifted my skirt. Jay smacked my ass again, this time through my flimsy little panties. My pussy positively pulsed.

“You know what’s going to happen next, don’t you?” he asked. He was talking in a low voice, but I could hear every word perfectly.

“What?” I asked.

He smacked me again.

“I’m going to take you outside and tan your hide for you. And then I’m going to drive you home and use the paddle on your naughty ass.”

I started to turn around and face him, but he pushed me back into place. He spanked me two more times, and then grabbed my hand and led me from the store.

“What about our groceries?” I pouted.

“We’ll have to come back tomorrow,” he said, “when you can remember how to behave.”

I wondered if he was going to actually follow through with the promise he’d made inside the store. I shouldn’t have wondered at all. Jay never lies to me. He doesn’t believe in empty threats. Ours was the only car in the parking lot nobody else had seemed to want to go shopping at eleven at night. Without a word, Jay took me and bent me over the hood of the car. He spanked me hard through my skirt, and I sighed. I will admit to being a spankoholic. I love every part of Jay’s standard punishment ritual. He never simply launches into a bare bottom spanking. He always warms me up with his hand through my clothes, letting me get the feeling of being put in my place.

This time was no different. He landed several more blows that seriously stung even through the fabric of my skirt. My ass was growing hotter, and so was my pussy.

For some reason, being outside like that was working to turn me on even more than when Jay spanks me at home. I suppose part of the arousal came from the fact that we might get caught, although it didn’t seem like much of a threat taking into account how late it was. Still, I did get off at the idea of someone spying Jay spanking me. I wanted to let Jay know that my cunt was getting juicy and wet, but I thought I’d wait until we got home and he could find out for himself. I imagined the look on his face when he took down my panties and felt how damp they were in the center. He’d shake his head at me and say, “I didn’t spank you to turn you on. I spanked you because you were being naughty.”

As I lost myself in a fantasy, I realized that Jay had paused in his punishment. He didn’t tell me to lift my skirt this time. He did it for me. Then he said, “Pull down your panties.”

Is he for real? I wondered, but when I turned my head to look at Jay, I saw his serious expression under the yellow light from the parking lot fixtures. I lowered my bikinis without a word of protest.

“Now bend back over the hood,” Jay instructed.

I did as he said. My ass was exposed to Jay completely with my skirt tucked up and my panties around my ankles. Jay spanked me a few more times with the palm of his hand, and each smack on my ass won a moan from my lips. He was not holding back. I knew he was turning my ass as red as the flowers on my miniskirt. Then he slid his fingers between my legs. I almost came when he grazed my clit.

“You’re so wet, Rosie,” he said as he removed his hand from my slit and brought his fingertips to my lips. I licked his fingers clean, tasting my tangy flavor, and he pressed his body against mine so I could feel how hard his cock was. Just as I’d imagined, his shaft was like steel. “Getting a spanking has made you all drippy,” he continued, and I sighed and pressed my stinging ass against him. The fabric of his jeans felt even rougher against my recently punished backside.

“You took your spanking so well,” Jay said, his mouth against my ear, “I’m going to give you a choice.”

I felt myself holding my breath, waiting to hear what he’d say.

“I can take you home and fuck you, or I can fuck you right here and now.”

I started to respond, but Jay stopped me. “There’s more to the choice than that,” he said. I should have known. Jay never makes anything easy on me.

“If you can wait until we get home, then the spanking I just meted out will be all you’ll get tonight. I’ll fuck you at home, and then we’ll go to bed.”

“Or . . . ” I managed to squeak out, wanting desperately to know what my other choice was going to be.

“Or I can fuck you right here against the car, but when we get home, I’ll have to give you another spanking for being such a horny little slut.”

If he’d seen my face, he would have known my answer immediately. “Fuck me now,” I said.

I heard him chuckle, a low, menacing sound under his breath. Then I heard the metallic whisper of his zipper opening and felt him part my thighs a little bit, holding me open. The warm wetness of my pussy seemed to reach him before his cock even touched my skin. He groaned and then plunged. I felt my body welcoming him, my pussy tightly gripping his rod from his first thrust.

Jay grabbed my long blonde ponytail in one hand and pulled me, so that I was arched like a bow. Then he started to fuck me at a sweet, steady pace, the whole time talking to me about what he was going to do to me and my ass when we got back home.

“You couldn’t be patient even for five minutes, could you, Rosie?”

I could hardly speak. The way he was fucking me was so sublime. His cock drove in hard with every thrust, and then he pulled out to leave only the tip between my nether lips. Then back he’d drive, until I was filled up once more. But I knew that Jay expected an answer from me. When he asks a question, he always expects a response, even in those times when words escape me.

“No, Jay,” I murmured. “I couldn’t wait.”

“Couldn’t wait for what?”

“Couldn’t wait for you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

He was pounding into me so hard that I could feel the climax building at a rapid pace inside me. Little bursts of pleasure seemed to radiate through my whole being. But I still managed to say, “Because I’m a horny little slut.”

“Whose horny little slut?” Jay asked, and he let go of my ponytail and reached in front of me to pinch my nipples through my t shirt. I groaned. I love when he manhandles my tits like that.

“Yours,” I moaned. “I’m yours, Jay.”

He let his hand meander down my body until his fingertips rested on my clit, wedged between my body and the hood of his car. While he strummed my clit in the way I like best, he continued to fuck me, until my orgasm came to fruition, and I lay gasping and panting against the hood. I had one fleeting thought: He was going to give me another spanking when we got home. That extended the pleasure for me, sparking a second climax on the tail of the first, so that I still felt like I was coming when Jay got off a beat later, sealing his hips to mine as he filled me. Then he helped me step out of my wispy panties, which had been tangled around my ankles, and tucked them into his pocket.

“You won’t be needing them,” he said as he held the car door open for me. “Your ass is going to be nice and naked for the next spanking. Think about that on the ride home, baby.”

I sat meekly at his side and thought about what he might do to me when we got home. My pussy grew juicier with each mile we drove, until we pulled into our carport. Jay was a gentleman, as always, coming around to my side of the car and opening my door for me. He held my hand as he walked me toward the house, and I wondered if he could guess that my knees were practically shaking. If he’d punished me with his hand on my bare ass in public, what might he do once we got into the privacy of our home?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Once inside, Jay lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. It was after twelve by now, but I wasn’t at all tired. The heat from the hand spanking he’d given me in the parking lot had faded completely. Jay spread me out on my stomach in the center of our bed, and then he pulled my panties from his pocket.

“Open your mouth,” he said sternly.

I obeyed him instantly. He slid my panties still redolent with my juices between my lips. Then he said, “Bite down.”

Embarrassed, I did what he said, holding my own pink panties in place between my lips.

“Good girl. You keep those panties in your mouth while I give you the rest of your punishment.”

At the word “punishment,” my pussy spasmed. I love when Jay gets all Dom on me. Right now, I found myself as high on anticipation of this spanking as if he hadn’t disciplined me in a week. How funny, since I’d only been over our car hood a half hour before.

I watched as Jay rummaged through our toy chest for the tool he was looking for. Would he reach for his favorite crop? Or maybe a slapper? No. When Jay turned around, I saw he was holding a paddle. I shouldn’t have even wondered. Jay had told me in the cereal aisle exactly what to expect, and he hadn’t lied. Once more, my pussy automatically clenched. I have a love/hate relationship with Jay’s paddle. Oh, yes, I love to feel him spanking me, but that paddle stings like hell. I started to squirm, and Jay reached down and held me in place with one hand at the small of my back.

“Arch your hips,” he instructed. “Show me how much you want me to spank you.”

I did what he said, lifting my hips off the mattress to give him the perfect target.

“Good girl. I’m going to give you the kind of spanking I couldn’t deliver in the parking lot, and then I’m going to fuck you again. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“I want to hear you,” he said.

I managed to mouth the words, “I understand,” around the panties in my mouth. Jay seemed to enjoy the muffled sound. “I won’t ask you to count tonight. I’ll do the counting for you.”

Then he landed the first blow. I shut my eyes tight, absorbing the impact of the smack. He counted “one” and struck a second time. I found that with each blow, my pussy pressed down against the mattress, giving my clit a little thrill. Immediately, I arched back into position, staying the way Jay had requested until he spanked me again. The two sensations worked deliciously together the pain of the spanking and the pleasure of the clit rub. I was moaning into my panties by the sixth strong spank, and I was nearly creaming by the time Jay arrived at ten. He had reached the limit of his patience, stripping out of his clothes and climbing onto the mattress with me. I arched my ass even higher this time, guessing that he was ready to fuck. Jay stroked my asscheeks and then held on to my hips and pulled me back against him, impaling me on his prick.

I would have cried out, or called his name, but I was doing my best to keep those panties in my mouth. Jay fucked me for a few good strokes, and then he started to slap my ass as he worked me. His hand covered the same heated territory that his paddle had recently traveled. He wasn’t spanking me hard now, but each time his palm met my skin, it awoke fresh tremors inside me. I lowered my head to one of our pillows and trembled as Jay brought me to the cusp of a fresh climax. Jay seemed to understand how close I was to coming, because he reached under my body to tweak my clit.

I wanted to tell Jay how much I loved him, but I still had the panties in my mouth. I groaned against the fabric, and that seemed to remind Jay that I had the makeshift gag in place, because he pulled the bikinis free and said, “Let me know when you’re coming, Rosie. I want to hear you. Really hear you.”

I knew exactly what he meant. Jay loves when I’m loud. He continued to spank me and fuck me until I felt the climax build once more. “Oh, God,” I whimpered. “I’m going to come, Jay.”

“Do it, baby. Come for me.”

The pleasure was so intense that I actually forgot to breathe for a minute, so that as I moaned my way through the climax, I felt almost lightheaded with pleasure. I sucked in great gasps of air as Jay pounded out his own climax deep into my still pulsing pussy. Then he pulled out and moved next to me on the bed, his muscled arms gripping me to him in a tight embrace.

You’re such a good girl, Rosie,” Jay said in between kisses, “even when you’re bad.”

“You bring out the brat in me,” I said as I snuggled against him.

The unexpected spanking that Jay had given me at the store came with its own set of delicious rewards. And I knew we had to go back again tomorrow. I wondered if I might stage a sequel. I’m sure Jay would expect nothing less.

“Coffee,” I told the waitress as she walked by the counter. “With cream,” I reminded her.

The young waitress hardly hesitated as she filled my cup. I’d seen her plenty of times before. She was a girl who worked the area behind the counter like a dancer, in complete mastery of the small space. She was busy this morning, but I wasn’t. I took the first sip black she hadn’t passed me the silver creamer yet and imagined what I’d like do to her if we were alone. She couldn’t have been more than twenty two, and I admired the way her pink uniform fit tight on her waist, then stretched over the curves of her breasts.

“I forgot the cream,” she said, sliding the creamer to me across the counter.

“I ought to give you a spanking for that,” I responded, not looking up as I poured the liquid into my coffee. If she were interested, she’d flush and stammer. If she weren’t, she’d say something flippant, or tell me I was out of line. Way out of line.

She stayed. I smiled and glanced up at her. “I go on break in ten,” she said softly. I saw the pink circles of heat on her cheeks, and I could imagine a similar hue on her bare bottom.

“Meet me out back,” I told her.

I finished my coffee slowly, thinking to myself that growing older has certain perks. Although I’ve always gotten a kick out of spanking my lovers, it wasn’t until I turned fifty that I began to easily find partners who appreciated this type of kink. My boyish good looks have finally matured. Now, I look like a distinguished, stern gentleman. One who has no problem taking a younger woman, putting her over my lap, and spanking her naughty bottom until she climaxes.

I left money on the counter, made eye contact with the pretty brunette waitress, and left the restaurant. The question was whether she’d have the nerve to go through with what I’d suggested. The rear door of the caf opened. She had nerve and nerves. When she walked over to meet me, she nearly tripped in her haste. I grabbed her arms to steady her, and she looked up at me. I saw gratefulness, trepidation and lust in her eyes.

“Did you mean what you said in there?” she asked.

“I never say things I don’t mean.”

“You’re really going to . . . spank me?” She hesitated before the word “spank.” I could tell she had a difficult time saying that word aloud.

“You want me to, don’t you?”

Her flush deepened, all the way to the base of her neck. “It’s what I fantasize about every night,” she confessed. “A man coming in and reading my mind, like you just did.”

“Let me do it again,” I told her, leading her to my car, which was parked in a corner of the lot, away from most of the other vehicles.

“I only have ten minutes,” she said as she practically tiptoed along next to me.

“Plenty of time to heat your sweet ass for you,” I said, “and get you off. We can meet up after work to finish the job properly.”

At my car, I pulled her into the backseat and spread her over my lap. She was wearing that starched pink uniform, which I pushed immediately to her hips. Beneath, she had on a pair of white cotton panties. Perfect. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I started by spanking her through her panties, my hand connecting with the lush curves of her asscheeks in a steady, powerful rhythm. The waitress moaned as I punished her, and I thought of all the mornings I’d visited the caf before. Every day, I’d imagined doing precisely this.

Who knew she’d been fantasizing about the same thing?

I spanked her bottom until I could see that the cheeks of her ass were turning rosy even through her panties. That’s when I pulled her knickers off, giving me free range to spank her on her right cheek, her left cheek, and between, on her sweet spot. She wriggled her hips against me as I slapped my hand on her bare flesh. When I breathed in, I could smell the scent of her arousal, and I took a moment to let my fingertips caress her pussy.

Damn, she was wet.

“Oh, God I want you inside me,” she moaned into the car seat. “You’re turning me on so much.”

“I’m not going to fuck you now,” I told her, spanking her even harder for her impudence. “I’m going to spank you until you come. When you get off work, you can drive to my house and then I’ll fuck you. If you’re lucky.”

I let my fingers lightly tap against her pussy, and then I went back to punishing her pretty ass. Her skin warmed to my touch instantly, so that I could actually see my handprints on what had been her pale behind. I landed ten smarting blows on her left cheek and ten matching ones on the right. She was practically bouncing on my lap. It was time to give her a little reward. I positioned her so that her pussy was pressing firmly against my knee. When I rocked her into place, her moans told me that I’d hit the perfect spot. I knew she’d get the pressure she required right on her clit. I spanked her bottom in a lighter, but rhythmic manner, and she immediately started crying and begging for release. I timed her climax easily, rocking her on my knee and spanking her in a forceful beat, until she shivered and came on my lap.

Her orgasm was so powerful that she made me want to come with her. But I have staying power. I wanted to make my own pleasure last by stretching it out as much as possible.

“Good girl,” I told her, pulling her into an upright position, so she was facing me on my lap. “You came so well and I can’t wait to come all over your well spanked ass.”

She kissed me softly, all subdued now that she’d been punished. I love when girls get like that. She looked so meek and young in her disheveled pink uniform. I kissed her once more and gave her directions to my house. My cock was rock hard against her, but I could wait until later. I would punish her once more, and shoot my come on her stinging asscheeks. Seeing that image would be worth the wait.

She reached for her discarded panties, but I confiscated them. “You’ll get these when you come tonight,” I told her. “But you’ll have to earn them first.”

“Earn them?”

“I’m going to spread you out on my bed and whip your ass with my belt.”

She let her fingertips run along my belt buckle as another shiver ran through her.

“Tonight,” I told her and watched as she climbed out of the car and headed back to work.

All day, I thought about her. I could imagine she was thinking the same sort of things, fantasizing about the way it would feel when we finally fucked, dreaming about how much more punishment she’d have to endure before I allowed her another release. I’d been kind by letting her come. I wouldn’t be as kind so quickly this evening.

I dressed with care, wearing jeans, a t shirt, and a well worn belt with a sterling buckle. Yes, I had a few decades on my date, but I keep myself fit. Thanks to hours at the gym working out with a one on one trainer, I’m stronger now than when I was in my twenties.

At the designated time, the doorbell rang. I realized I didn’t even know the girl’s name. She must have been thinking the same thing, because as soon as I opened the door, she said, “My name’s Scarlet,” and then she blushed a similar hue. I didn’t put out my hand for her to shake. Instead, I gripped her wrist and pulled her inside. “I’m Victor,” I told her. “Are you ready for me?”

Scarlet slipped off her coat and handed it to me. Underneath, she was wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform but a mature, x rated sort of one. She had on a little plaid skirt, paired with red fishnets, high heeled Mary Janes, and a midriff baring white blouse. Basically, she was schoolgirl meets stripper, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.

I left her coat in the hall and took her immediately to the bedroom. I had planned on pouring us each a glass of wine, sitting down in the living room, and asking her questions about her life, but I couldn’t wait. My dick had been hard nearly all fucking day, thanks to her, and now we were going to have a serious spanking session.

She hesitated when we reached the doorway. “I want you to know,” she said, “I’m not really this kind of a girl.”

“Which kind?” I asked, looking her up and down.

“I mean, I don’t usually let strangers spank me.”

“Who do you let spank you?”

Her cheeks had not lost their flush since she’d introduced herself at my door. “Nobody,” she said finally. “I’ve fantasized about being spanked for years and years. But I’ve never met anyone I could confess my secret to. You’re the only man who ever guessed what I wanted. I think that’s why I let you do that to me in your car.”

“That,” I repeated. “Do that to you. What was that?” I simply wanted to hear her say the words. I could feel how stiff my cock was becoming from this conversation. I was itching to bend her over the bed and lift up that nothing of a skirt, but I wanted her to tell me all her dirty fantasies first.

“You know,” she looked down at her shoes. Her long eyelashes practically skimmed the tops of her cheeks.

“Say it.”

“Spank me,” she murmured.

“Louder,” I demanded.

“Spank me!” she said louder.

I smiled to myself. “Now?” I asked.

“I mean,” she muttered, having such a hard time speaking, “I’d never let anyone spank me before. I never told anyone I wanted it. You just knew. How did you know?”

Finally, she was looking directly at me. It was my turn to come clean with her. “I get a feeling every once in a while,” I told her. “I get this sense inside myself that a girl might get off on being over my knee, of having her pretty bottom spanked, of having her pussy tapped and her asscheeks turned rosy red.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. I could tell I was turning her on with my words alone. But now that I knew she was practically a spanking virgin, I realized I had to go slower with her than I’d initially planned.

“Do you want everything I told you about in the car?” I asked. I stepped closer to her, slipping two fingers under her chin and forcing her to look up at me.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Everything?” I hit that word hard. “You want me to spank you with my belt before I fuck you?”

She clenched her legs together. I could see that she was having a difficult time even forcing herself to stay standing. She seemed to be on the verge of melting into a puddle of sex juice.

“Yes,” she said again, “please. I want you to bend me over, lift up my skirt, and spank me through my panties. Then I want you to take down my panties and use your belt on me.”

I started before she could finish. I bent her over the edge of my mattress and lifted that sweet honey of a skirt up to see her ripe, round asscheeks. She was wearing a garter belt and those sexy fishnet stockings. She’d really gone all out to impress me, and she hadn’t failed.

I began by spanking her with my bare hand, just as I’d done to her in the car. This time, she didn’t even try to hold back her moans. She let loose each time I spanked her, groaning and writhing, her hips moving on the edge of the bed. I wondered if she was grinding her clit against the mattress’s edge I had a feeling she couldn’t resist. After I’d heated her up quite a bit, I pulled her panties down. She stepped out of them. Now was the time to see if she could really take what I desperately hoped to dish out. I unfastened the buckle on my belt. She stared over her shoulder at me, wide eyed as I pulled the leather free from the loops of my jeans. I wondered if she’d beg me to go slow or soft or easy. She did none of those things. But she didn’t turn away, either. Her eyes locked on mine as I doubled the belt and snapped the leather. She jumped, and I smiled.

“Count for me,” I told her. “After each blow.”

I landed the first, not too hard because I didn’t want to scare her, but not too soft either. I’m good at this game. I’ve been spanking naughty girls for a long fucking time.

“One,” she whispered.

“Louder,” I told her. I heard her clear her throat.

“One,” she said louder, doing her best to obey me.

“Good girl.” I bent and kissed the stripe I’d left on her ass. She groaned with pleasure, and I felt my dick grow even harder.

I let the belt land a second time, a bit more firmly, crisscrossing over the first line. She said “two” in the right tone of voice, and I bent and kissed her again as a reward. I didn’t know how she was feeling, but I have to say, this was fun for me a stripe, a number, and a kiss. We worked our way to seven without any problem, and then I let loose with a stinging blow. She straightened up, caught herself, and counted out the number. I heard the choke of emotion in her throat. We were getting closer. I landed eight and nine two beauties that left raspberry stripes on her pale skin. We both knew that ten was going to be the bitch of the bunch. She clenched her asscheeks. I nudged her and told her to relax. I waited until she obeyed. Then I let the last blow land. Scarlet cried out and then reached back to cover her ass with both hands. I pried her hands away and left a slew of kisses along both cheeks.

From the position, I could breathe in the scent of her arousal. I knew I’d turned her on. I used my fingertips to tell for sure. Yes, she was dripping wet. I crested the tip of one finger over her clit, and she shuddered and whined. I’d held back for so long. Now was my time. I pulled open the fly of my jeans and then let her feel my cock for the first time.

“Please,” she begged. “Please fuck me, Victor. Oh, God put it in me.”

I was helpless at this point not to give her what she wanted. Besides, she’d done what I asked. She deserved a proper fucking, didn’t she? I parted her thighs and then thrust in my cock. The wetness enveloped me immediately. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who was as wet as Scarlet. She coated me with her juices from the first dip of my cock in her slit. I went slowly for about a second, and then I started to slam into her. I could feel the heat of her asscheeks, could feel how ready she was for me.

“I wanted to make myself come today,” she confessed as I fucked her. “But I knew not to. I knew you wouldn’t like that.”

I was impressed by her forethought. She was right to think that I’d want her to leave her climaxes to me.

“All day long, I walked around like a sex zombie,” she continued. “I was in such a daze. My boss yelled at me, and I didn’t even hear him.”

“Such a bad girl,” I crooned. “Getting in trouble at work. In the future, if you get yelled at by your boss, I’ll have to punish you. You know that.” Her pussy tightened around me as I spoke.

“What will you do to me?”

I slid a hand under her body to tweak her clit as I fucked her. “Oh, every bad thing you can imagine,” I promised her. I was getting closer to climax by the second, but I didn’t want to shoot too soon. I slowed us down to a rhythmic motion, punctuating my words with my thrusts.

“Tell me, Victor. Tell me all the things you’ll do to me. I want to know.”

“I’ll spank your naked behind with a Ping Pong paddle,” I told her. “And I’ll make you go to work with a red bottom every morning.”

Her pussy started to twitch. I had her on the verge.

“I might even make you wear a butt plug at work,” I said, and that took her over the edge. As soon as I uttered the words, she came like she had in the car, a series of violent shudders. I nearly came with her. I knew it would be a relief to release inside her warm, wet pussy, but I didn’t. As soon as I started to climax, I pulled out and creamed all over her red ass. I didn’t want to break the promise I’d made earlier that day.

She climbed off the bed and stripped off the rest of her clothes, and I led her to the shower. We cleaned up together, and she went all soft and sweet in my arms, as she had in the car. “It was even better than I thought it would be,” she told me.

“What was?”

“Being punished like that. I don’t ever want that to end.”

“What do you mean?” I liked that she’d found her voice.

“I want you to do everything you said. But not only if I’m lax at work. I want you to punish me every day. With your belt and your hand and a paddle. I want you to make me your spanking slut.”

I dried her off and kissed her, liking the way that sounded. She went back to my bedroom and rifled through my dresser until she found a t shirt she wanted to slip on. I got dressed in sweats and sat down on a chair across from her. I’ll tell you that I wasn’t that surprised when she draped herself over my lap once more.

“I’m glad I forgot,” she said as she stared down at the floor.

“Forgot?”

“The cream.”

I put one hand between her legs and dipped my fingers into her wetness.

“No, you didn’t,” I told her, and I licked my fingers clean.

“Please spank me. Please put me over your lap and spank me.” Urgent, dirty requests like this ticker taped through my brain. Unfortunately, asking for what I want has never been easy for me. But luckily, Greyson always seems to know what I need. That is, he always has in the past. Recently, however, things had changed.

In our house we have a rule: misbehave and you get a spanking. Then there’s the rule: behave and you get a spanking. And sometimes, this rule is modified to simply “be” and you get a spanking. All of which has worked for me for the years we’ve been together. But over the past four weeks, the rules had changed, and I did not know what to do.

When I walked in front of Greyson for the third time while he was trying to read the newspaper, he put down the Times and looked at me. “Do you need something, Billie?”

Yes, I needed something. I needed him to put me over his lap and flip up my pink and green plaid skirt. I needed him to rest his firm hand on my panty clad rump and make me twitch and squirm while I waited for him to spank my bottom. Then I needed him to take down my panties and paddle me on the bare. This should have come as no surprise to Grey. He is all dom, all the time. He loves bending me over his lap and punishing my peach perfect ass. But he’d been remiss lately. The desire to feel his hand on my naked skin had been building inside me until the yearning had become all consuming.

“Billie? Can I help you?”

Did I have to drape myself over his lap and wiggle? Did I have to crawl across the floor on my hands and knees and beg? I was wearing my shortest skirt. I had on my stack heeled Mary Janes. I practically had “spank me” written across my face. Why wasn’t he getting the hint?

The last time he’d disciplined me had been a month before. We’d gone to an anniversary party, and I’d been my regular flirty self. When we’d returned home, Grey had tied me down to the bed and punished me with his belt. I tried to remember what else had happened that night. He’d talked to me about first times. That’s what I recalled. In between the hot strokes of leather against my bare skin, he’d reminisced about the sexiness of firsts. First kisses. First fucks. It was why he believed people flirted. They were trying to recapture that seductive thrill of the unknown.

Was this his way of demonstrating that sentiment? I sure as hell felt like a spanking virgin all over again, desperate for Grey to take charge of me, to put me in my place, to call me his bad girl and make me suffer for my sins.

“Billie?” His tone was different now. I had been standing there, staring at him without speaking, the words on the tip of my tongue. But how do you ask someone to punish you? I’d never had to say the words before. He’d always known. Even at the beginning of our relationship, he’d understood. This is the memory I’d been reliving now for days.

Grey and I had met at a mutual friend’s party. We made eyes at each other all evening, but it wasn’t until the very end that we’d had a conversation if you can call a dozen words a conversation. Grey had come up to me with his business card in his hand. “You look like you need a spanking,” he’d said. “Call me if I’m right.”

Nobody had ever spoken like that to me before. I had taken the card to bed with me, tracing his name with the tip of my finger. I had made myself come to the vision of him doing just what he said, spanking me. I’d called right after dawn the next day, unable to wait a second longer. He hadn’t seemed upset by the early morning interruption. In fact, he’d acted like he’d been waiting for my call. I could almost hear the smile in his voice as he set a time for our “date.” The word was definitely in quotation marks. We both knew what was going to happen.

When he arrived at my house that night, there had been no question about what we’d do together. But I was still impressed with his finesse. We were on my territory, yet he took over, backing me into the apartment, carrying me in his arms to my bedroom. He sat me on the bed and looked down at me. “You do need a spanking, don’t you, Billie?”

I had played out the encounter in my head all day and really, in my fantasies for years. Thank God, I didn’t get my tongue in a twist. I’d said, “Yes,” and then hesitated because I didn’t know what he wanted me to call him.

“Greyson,” he said. “I don’t need you to call me Sir. Just my name. It’s going to be simple between the two of us. You need me to spank you, and I cannot wait to get you over my lap.” With those words, he was in action, sitting at my side, bringing me forward to drape me across his thighs. I sucked in my breath as he lifted my skirt. I’d tried on every outfit in my closet before landing on that short, pleated number, with white cotton panties. He spanked me once, hard, on my panty clad bottom, before pulling down my pristine bikinis.

I was so wet, I was sure he would comment. My panties were soaked.

“I’m going to give you twenty,” he’d said, “and then I’m going to fuck you.”

Oh, God. Oh, yes. Oh, please.

He hadn’t lied or teased. He’d done precisely what he promised. His hand was firm and strong. The sound as it connected with my naked skin turned me on as much or almost as much as the sensation of being spanked. I could call this memory up in a second. I had counted the strokes in my head he hadn’t made me count aloud for him that time. He had struck hard and firm, evenly on both cheeks, meting out a stinging round of twenty. When he was done, he’d positioned me over the edge of the bed and fucked me, and his cock was like a key unlocking all those secret fears and desires inside me. I cried when I came both from the spanking and from the fact that I had been found out. Someone had discovered exactly who I was and what I needed.

I kept the memory of that spanking treasured in my mind the way some girls press roses between pages of books. Since that first night, we’d never been apart. Grey had continued to give me what I craved. I had been his.

Now I looked down at the floor. I kicked the edge of the rug with the toe of my shoe. I didn’t want to beg. I wanted him to read the signals and grip me in his strong arms as he always did. I wanted him to be the one who could guess the fantasies in my head and make them all come true. What had happened between us? What had changed? Yes, he was still fucking me regularly and with the ferocity I was accustomed to, but the spankings had entirely disappeared.

He stood, and then he put one hand under my chin and tilted my head up so that I was looking into his handsome yet oh so serious face. “What do you need?”

No, he wasn’t going to do what I wanted. He was going to make me speak.

“You know, Grey.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m not a mind reader. Why don’t you tell me what you need?”

Fucking hell. Really? I had to spell this out for him? I’d always thought we were on the same page in our pretty little book of kink. That he liked what I liked. That he needed to discipline me the same way that I craved his punishment. So why was he suddenly withholding?

Then I saw a glimmer in his eyes, and I suddenly understood. He was playing a game. He’d been playing a game for a solid month. I should have known better!

Years ago, I had a roommate who had a bit of an OCD problem. She was a cleaner while the rest of us were sort of comfortable slobs. One day, she traced her finger in the dust at the top of our refrigerator, writing the date in the silvery film. She waited every day for one of us to notice, so that she could crow that she’d seen the dust first. Why? Why hadn’t she simply wiped it up? None of us ever understood.

Grey had known. He had known I was desperate to be punished, and he’d let me wait and discover this for myself. He’d written the challenge in invisible dust and here I was, practically unhinged on account of the fact that he’d hung up his belt, put away the paddles, retired the wooden spoons.

“Tell me what you need and maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

That’s what I wanted. For him to take pity. And by “taking pity,” what I meant was stripping my clothes off and spanking me until I was breathless, then fucking me until I came.

I put my hand out and stroked the metal buckle of his belt. He gripped my wrist and lowered my hand to my side.

“I want to hear you say the words, Billie,” he said.

I looked down. He made me look back up at him. I closed my eyes. He chuckled, and then said, “You’re cute, you know? You’re this willful little sprite, always looking for a loophole.” Then his voice grew more serious. “Open your eyes, Billie. Look at me.”

I obeyed. In my head, I heard that word: Obey. That’s what I wanted to do, I felt like screaming. I want to obey. But why are you making me talk about it?

“Tell me what you need.”

I can’t be the first bad girl who hasn’t liked to voice her desires. If I could have, I would have clawed myself a hole right there in the living room and disappeared. But that wouldn’t win me a spanking, would it? It simply would cost me our security deposit.

“I want . . . ” Damn you Greyson, why are you making me do this? “I want you to spank me.”

“Spank you,” he repeated, and I heard the faux shock in his voice and wanted to kick him for putting me through this. At least I finally understood the game. He was having a jolly good time watching my discomfort. Doms are all alike at some core point, aren’t they? This was entertaining to him. My nervousness, my jittery behavior, my cat on a hot tin roof act was all one big joke to him. “Have you been naughty? Is that why you need a spanking? Only really bad girls need to have their bottoms spanked, don’t you think?”

I took a deep breath. It took every ounce of strength I possessed not to look away. But I kept my eyes locked on his and said, “Yes. I’ve been very naughty.”

“Tell me more,” he said, sitting down again but not telling me to sit. So now I was standing in front of the sofa, and there was Grey, staring at me, politely waiting for my confession.

Part of me wanted to say, “Well, fuck you. If you don’t want to spank me, then I’ll just go use my vibrator and fantasize about you spanking me.” Except that’s what I’d been doing for the past month, and the yearning hadn’t dissipated at all. In fact, the more I fantasized about Greyson punishing me, the more the craving grew.

“Billie, don’t make me ask you again.”

Oh, there was that tone I loved. He was beginning to come back to me. Melting. I could feel it. Somehow, that gave me strength.

“I’ve been very naughty,” I said, and I could feel that my pussy was getting wet. “Every day you haven’t spanked me, I’ve used my Rabbit to get off.”

“Really? Without permission?”

I nodded.

“That is naughty. What do you think about while you’re touching yourself with your vibrator?”

“You,” I said. “You spanking me in the alley behind the bar that time. Or spanking me out in the forest when we went camping last summer. Or at the pool when nobody was around when my ass was all wet from the water.”

“Like a greatest hits of spanking clips?”

I nodded.

“Such a bad girl. How long does it take you to come when you think about getting spanked?”

“Not long at all.”

“But it’s not enough for you, is it?”

I shook my head. That’s why we were here, at this place. I’d forced the issue. I needed his big strong hand against my backside. I needed to be over his lap, staring down at the floor. That was my favorite place on earth to be.

Unfortunately, Grey wasn’t done.

“What else do you fantasize about?”

I took a deep breath. “You pulling my panties down,” I said, “pushing my skirt up to my waist making me wait for a moment before the first blow.”

“I thought you hated to wait.”

I do and I don’t. See, that’s the spanking dilemma. I want to be spanked, but I know it’s going to hurt. Yet the whole thing combines in my heart, soul and body into this magical place of pure pleasure and pain. One begets the next. Grey understands this perfectly. Yet for his own twisted, sadistic reasons, he was forcing me to explain.

But maybe I hesitated too long, or just long enough, because he had grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, and in seconds I found myself draped over his lap. His hand was resting on my ass. He repeated his last statement: “I thought you hated to wait,” he said again, more menacingly, and I realized he wanted me to continue speaking and fast.

“Yes, Grey . . . ”

“Keep talking.”

“I hate to wait,” I said, as his hand made that first brilliant spank against my ass. I sucked in my breath. My pussy throbbed. “Because the waiting is harder than simply giving in.”

“You like to give in?” Another spank, which was as blistering hot as the first.

“Yes, Grey.”

“What does that mean to you?”

Honestly, I didn’t really know. Giving in was the goal. Relinquishing all power to Greyson, putting myself in his hands, or beneath his hand, in order to get what I wanted. He started to spank me in rhythm, and I felt my whole body begin to relax. How strange that was. Usually, I tense up in anticipation of the pain. But I’d been tense for a solid month now. I’d felt like a walking pillar of concrete. The steady rain of blows on my ass was a relief. He was giving me what I wanted. He was taking me where I needed to go.

“Stand up.”

At least, I’d thought he was.

“Take off your skirt.”

My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking. I undid the zipper and lowered my skirt. Before I could re drape myself across his lap, he pulled me into the position he desired. Now I was over his knees with only my panties covering my blushing bottom. Grey began to spank me hard and fast, and I closed my eyes and basked in the moment. I’d been jerking off to this image for four solid weeks. Reality made the fantasies pale. Being spanked is such a visceral sensation. With each brilliant slap of his palm on my ass, the pain flooded through me, followed immediately by that sense of relief. But then Grey reached for the waistband of my panties. I sucked in my breath. I wanted this, I told myself. I asked for this, I reminded myself.

He pulled my undies down to my knees and then really let go. His hand smacked my right cheek and then my left. I tried to stay still and accept the punishment. After begging for it, I ought to have been able to receive the spanking like a good girl. But I couldn’t. The pain built, and I began to kick. Grey chuckled. “She thinks she wants a spanking, but look at how she tries to get away. For that, I think you’d better go and get your special paddle.”

Coldness seeped through me. Oh, yes. I’d wanted a spanking. But I hadn’t really considered what Grey might want, or what he might ultimately give me. “You’d better move faster than that,” he added. “I’ll be timing you.”

Fuck. I tripped in my haste to stand up, and Grey grinned at me. “You’ll have an easier time walking if you take the panties off.”

Jesus. I pulled my panties all the way off, then hurried to the bedroom. The special paddle. That was the mean fraternity style implement that he kept on the top of his closet. I couldn’t reach the top shelf of the closet without standing on a chair. That’s how Grey found me. On my tiptoes, running my fingers along the shelf, coming up empty. When I looked at him, he had the paddle in his hand.

“It was on the bed,” he told me, “waiting.”

Ah. So Grey had missed spanking me as much as I’d missed being spanked. We were well suited for each other, weren’t we? I climbed off the chair with his help and then waited for my next instruction. He didn’t verbalize one. He nodded toward the bed, so I bent myself over and waited.

For once, Grey didn’t make me wait long. He pressed the paddle against my bare skin and let me feel the thrill of the cold surface. Then he pulled back and landed blow number one. After the hand spanking he’d given me in the front room, I was already heated. But that didn’t stop Grey from setting me on fire. He lit me up with ten firm strokes of his favorite paddle against what I know for a fact is his favorite ass. Then he set down the wooden weapon and pressed his palm against my skin.

“Better?” he asked. He sounded smug.

I was. But I needed one more thing. This time, Greyson didn’t make me wait. I heard the sound as he unzipped his slacks, and then felt him rest his cock against my pussy. Relief filled me followed quickly by his cock. He gripped my hips and slid the head inside me. I whimpered and shook. The sensation of being taken after having been so thoroughly spanked was delicious. The pain was still fresh in my head, but the pleasure seemed to wipe it all away. Or if it didn’t exactly erase the pain, being fucked definitely made every stroke on my skin worth suffering for.

“It was hard on me, too,” Grey said softly as he drove inside me.

“Hard?” I panted.

“Not spanking that ass of yours. But I wanted you to feel this again.”

“This?” I queried. It’s always difficult for me to hold a proper conversation when I’m being fucked.

“The feeling fresh and new.”

He was fucking me so that my body moved against the edge of the mattress. My clit was being stroked with each thrust. I closed my eyes as the climax started to build within me. But I had to respond I had to let Greyson know how I felt. Still, I waited until he was on the cusp, waited until I could practically count the seconds down to the climax, and then I said, “With you, it’s always a first time.”

Grey buried his head against my hair as he came. His orgasm brought me to my own, practically brought me to my knees, but Grey held me in place. There were tears in my eyes as there had been that very first night but not from the pain . . . from the pleasure.

“What do you need?”

“A pinch of cayenne, I think.” I was in the middle of cooking dinner. Dean knows that when my head is in the kitchen I become consumed by whatever brand new recipe I’m trying.

“That’s all you need?”

“Maybe a dash more salt.”

I was stirring, tasting, stirring, tasting.

“I think your apron strings have come undone,” Dean said, sounding concerned as he pulled the tie at the back of my waist. My little fifties inspired apron fluttered to the floor. Although I cook for both of us, I definitely dress for Dean. He gets a hard on whenever he spies me in my saucy attire. He lifted up my miniskirt next. I stifled a giggle but continued to stir the soup.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he said sternly.

“What was the question?”

“What do you need?” His voice was gruff, and now he had my navy blue and white silk polka dot panties down, just past the curves of my hips. He was stroking my naked ass, which made thinking and cooking far more difficult. Whoever wrote the recipes in this book had never tried to make a meal with Dean in the kitchen.

“A pinch and a dash,” I stammered, trying to remember if I’d already added the pepper. The jar was out on the counter. The lid was off. Did that mean I had sprinkled the spice into the soup, or that I was only getting ready to do so?

Dean reached around me and grabbed one of the sturdy wooden spoons out of the metal canister by the stove. I added a few extra shakes of the cayenne for good measure.

“I’ll ask you again in a moment,” he said, and then he moved back and waited for me to step out of my already lowered panties. I obeyed the silent command. Then he unzipped my skirt, and we both watched the pretty floral fabric flutter to the ground. Now all I had on was a gauzy cream colored blouse and my red patent leather high heels. I felt like a pinup. But clearly Dean wanted me pinned down. With subtle force, he bent me over our tiled countertop. I sucked in my breath, guessing exactly what he was going to do.

But then he didn’t do anything.

Nothing except run the rounded part of the spoon over the rounded part of my ass. Anticipation made me immediately wet. I stayed as still as I could, waiting, worrying. I knew Dean was going to spank me. I knew I was going to like it. Those two facts didn’t stop me from fretting about how hard he might hit or how much the punishment might hurt. I stared at my distorted reflection in the chrome of the toaster. It was like looking into a fun house mirror. My blue eyes looked extra large. My lips, slicked in raspberry colored gloss, were stretched and distorted. I turned my head the other way, but this meant I was looking toward Dean, who seemed to be waiting for just the right moment to spring his plan.

“Let’s play a game,” he said. I didn’t respond. Then I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let the air out in a rush.

I knew better than to say anything flippant or smart ass in a position like this, and yet, my mouth didn’t take the cues from my brain. “How can I say yes,” I asked, “if I don’t know what the rules are?”

He struck me once with the spoon then, and I saw that he was smiling. I’d given him the perfect reason to begin. “You’re right,” he said, as if he hadn’t just left a stinging red mark on my ass. “You want to have all the information before you make your decision.” We both knew that this was the actual game. Whatever he chose to do or say, whatever “game” he chose to play, the end result would be me getting spanked. No matter if I won or lost, whether I was a wiseass or behaved as meekly as possible, whether I spouted off or held my tongue, made mistakes or counted properly I would have a hot bottom by the end of the interaction, he would have a hard on, and we would fuck like nobody’s business.

But because Dean is Dean a jokester, a prankster he had to keep things interesting. There’s never a dull moment when he’s around.

“A game,” he said again. “A new one. After every stroke, you say ‘Thank you, Sir, may I have another?’”

“A little Dickens with your sex?” I taunted stupidly, and then realized immediately that my tone of voice wouldn’t win me any points. I was right. No points for sass, but the tone did win me a series of stinging blows on my ass. Dean landed at least five. I lost count, focused instead on the flickers of pleasure and pain radiating through my rear quarters.

“You didn’t say thank you,” Dean sneered.

“I hadn’t realized we’d started,” I told him honestly, panting a bit as I tried to muster some decorum. Why did I even bother? In a position like this one, bent over and being spanked, there is no real use for decorum. I always know how I’ll end up. My cheeks (both sets) will invariably be pink and hot, and my long dark hair will be mussed as if I’ve just gotten one of those “bed head” looks at the salon. None of that stops me from trying to stay still, trying to accept each spank with grace. In every other aspect of my life, I am contained. This is the sole activity in which I come undone.

“Now,” Dean said, and I could hear the smile in his voice once more, “now we’ll start.” My ass had already started. My cheeks were hot and throbbing from the blows of the spoon. But I did know better than to correct him. What would I have said anyway? “Look, Sir. My ass is so red already. Couldn’t we be in the middle?” That’d win me a few extras for insolence.

“What are you going to say after each stroke?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Dean cleared his throat. I blushed. I didn’t want to say the whole sentence. It sounded ridiculous in my head.

“Maybe you didn’t understand,” Dean said, and again he heated my ass for me. This time I did count five one, two, three, four, five smarting strokes back and forth on both my cheeks. “You don’t get to choose the rules. Doesn’t matter how silly you think the game is. I’ve told you what I expect. In order to escape additional punishment, I suggest you obey. Do you understand, Olivia?”

I nodded. Bad girl. He grabbed my ponytail and pulled my head back. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dean.”

He tugged.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Much better. Let’s take it from the top. Or rather, from the bottom.” Oh, my poor ass. Dean might have been starting from scratch, but I’d already received more then ten strokes. The thing is that Dean and I have been playing spanking games together for nearly three years. So even though my ass was hot, he and I both knew how much more I could take.

Dean stepped back. He made the first official stroke count. I gulped at the sensation. He knows exactly how to choose the locations. He had hit me on my sweet spot that rounded place at the bottom of my asscheeks. But I didn’t forget my role. “Thank you, Sir,” I managed to squeak. “May I have another?”

He struck again.

I thanked him again, and I asked again, even though asking for more seemed to go against everything my body was telling me to do. That’s not entirely true. My brain wanted the spanking to stop. My cunt was more than ready for another rich helping of pain tinged pleasure.

He began to spank me faster. I tried to thank him faster. But we reached a point, more quickly than I would have thought, when I simply set my head down against the counter and accepted my fate. He was going to spank me. I couldn’t thank him fast enough, and I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried. My voice was taken up by half cries and half moans. The spanking, you see, was doing far more than heating my ass. It was heating my pussy.

Dean understood. He dropped the spoon and pressed one hand up between my legs. “God, you’re wet,” he said softly. “Only a true slut would get this wet from a spanking, don’t you think, Olivia?”

I stayed entirely still. Was he going to spank me more or was he going to fuck me? And which one did I prefer? I love when he takes me right up to my boundary. I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t at the point of no return. But apparently Dean needed a little break.

“Your soup’s bubbling,” he said. At first, I thought that was some sort of euphemism, but then I realized my soup was bubbling. I stood on shaky legs and moved the pot to the rear burner, lowering the heat to simmer. I felt as if I were the walking definition of that word. I was simmering as I added a few more shakes of cayenne before slipping on the lid.

“Where were we?” Dean asked. I looked at him, begging with my eyes. Do something, I wanted to say. Punish me or pleasure me. I’m at a loss. He roughly pushed me back into place. I could feel how fast my heart was beating. I shut my eyes. Then I heard his zipper. He’d gone with door number two he was going to fuck me. But right when I thought I’d feel his cock, right as I spread my thighs to welcome him, he surprised me.

Very gently, he used the rounded end of the spoon to pat my aroused pussy. I couldn’t stay silent for that. I made keening little noises that I hardly recognized as my own voice as he played pat a cake with that spoon against my swollen clit. Oh, holy fuck. That certainly was naughty, wasn’t it?

That’s what Dean said, anyway.

“I know what my girl likes, don’t I?” he gave me a few more taps, then set the spoon back down and grabbed my hips. He impaled me on his cock with one full thrust, and I shuddered. That felt good. He’d gotten me all slippery wet with the spanking. Now I was getting my reward. Dean let go of my waist with one hand and held on to my ponytail. He pulled hard, so I was looking up at him, my head twisted.

“Doesn’t my little chef need to be paddled in the kitchen?”

“Yes, Sir,” I managed.

“She needs a pair of hot crossed buns in order to feel comfortable.”

That wasn’t entirely true. The comfortable part. Because being spanked is never comfortable. But the feelings that work through me after Dean was right about that. A sense of peace steals through me. I am grounded. I am

He slapped my ass hard. He’d realized I had lost my focus and was attempting to correct the situation. I learned that lesson and resolved to pay attention.

“Do you want to come before I give you the rest of your spanking,” he asked, “or after?”

I hesitated, which is a dangerous thing to do when Dean asks a question. But I took a risk. “Both,” I said softly, and to my delight, Dean laughed.

“Greedy little thing,” he said. “I like that.”

He ground his hips into me then, fucking me forcefully against the counter. I was aware of how hot my cheeks were, how wet my pussy was. Each time he thrust inside me, we could both hear the sounds of my juices squishing around his cock. I willed him to take me to the finish line, and I sighed with pleasure when he let one hand rest under my pussy so that his fingertips played over my clit as he fucked me. The combination of two sweet sensations brought me to orgasm. I sucked in my breath, and then whispered his name as I came. Dean always likes that. Having me say his name at that most intimate moment gives him a little extra thrill.

“Oh, Dean,” I moaned.

“Good girl,” he said as he climaxed inside me. “Good little cock slut.”

We stayed together me bent over the counter, Dean in me to the hilt until the tremors subsided. Then he pulled out and helped me stand up and face him.

“Turn off the soup,” he said, and that stern tone was back in his voice. “And hand me that wooden spoon. I’m not done with you. We haven’t fulfilled the second half of the promise.”

I was wondering if he’d remember. That’s a lie. I’d known he would.

In the bedroom, Dean had me strip. Since he’d already removed my underwear and skirt, this didn’t take long. “What was that you said before?” he asked as I stepped out of my high heels.

I stared at him blankly. I’d said a lot of things before. Which particular thing was he referring to? If I gave the wrong answer now, what would happen to me? He was still holding that mean looking wooden spoon.

Thankfully, Dean spoke up and answered his own question: “That you needed a pinch and a dash?”

Unfortunately, the words didn’t help me out at all. I continued to stare at him. We were far away from the spice rack now. What could he be referring to? I watched, dumbstruck, as he pulled a clamp from the top drawer of his dresser. “Lie down,” he said. “I can help you out with the ‘pinch’ part.”

Fuck. I didn’t like the sound of that. At least, my head didn’t. Other parts of my anatomy responded in different ways. Dean knows how to get my motor revving, my juices running. The threat of having that clamp put on me anywhere had my body electrified. I did what he said. I lay down on the bed. He walked around me, as if trying to decide where to fasten the clamp. What a tease. I think we both knew right from the start where he was going to place the deviant device.

“Do you need an extra pinch here?” Dean taunted, applying the clamp to one of my erect nipples. I bucked and squirmed, but didn’t say a word. Sometimes it’s better to keep my mouth closed.

He removed the clamp.

“Or here?” he continued, trying the toy out on my right nipple.

I held as still as I possibly could. Of course, in this position, my recently punished ass was pressed firmly into the mattress. I could feel how thoroughly I’d just been spanked. Dean seemed to sense my discomfort. He smiled at me. Sadist.

“Actually,” he said, climbing up on the bed and using one hand to part the lips of my pussy, “I was thinking about right here.”

I held my breath. Dean attached the clip easily to my engorged clit. I made a low, whimpering sound under my breath, but I didn’t tell him no, didn’t ask him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop. All of my attention was focused directly on my clit. That is, until he said, “Now, roll over, baby.”

Wait roll over? Was he crazy? Was he certifiable? Was he . . .

“I’m not finished yet.”

Very carefully, completely and fully aware of that clamp on my clit, I rolled over. Dean climbed off the mattress and stood at the side of the bed. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t decide what was worse the fact that he was going to spank my hot ass some more, or the fact that he was going to do that while the nasty little clip was in place. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to worry too long. Dean started spanking me once more, and all ability to formulate thoughts evaporated. I was immediately lost in the whirlwind of emotions that always comes over me when I’m being punished.

But what the hell was he using?

Each time he struck, it felt almost as if he’d used a cane on my ass. Then I realized: He’d flipped the spoon. He was using the round part as the handle, and he’d used the handle as the weapon. That was intense. But I have to admit something else being spanked while that clamp was in place brought me to a different level. There was the sting from the spanking but the pleasure from having my clit held so firmly. Together, the two feelings warred for the dominant role. I was nearly overwhelmed by the blows, yet I was nearly coming each time my clit twitched.

Dean seemed to guess exactly what I was going through.

“Five more,” he said, “and then I’ll fuck you.”

As I knew he would, he made those last five strokes count. But this time, he didn’t make me count. He ticked off the strokes himself. “One,” across both cheeks, “two,” landing on the right side, “three,” on the left, “four,” across the bottom of my ass, and “five” once more on both. “Five” was so hard I yelped.

Now I was well sauced, completely done, punished to perfection. Dean dropped the spoon and climbed back on the bed. Sweetly, he reached between my legs and removed the clamp. I moaned and buried my face in the pillow. Dean didn’t even hesitate. I heard the sound as he opened his jeans, and then I felt his cock against me. He started slowly, working the head between my swollen lips. Then he was driving hard, pounding me into the mattress. He knew exactly how hot my ass was, and he didn’t take any pity on me. He ground his hips against me, used the palms of his hands to taunt my punished behind.

“Your ass looks so good like this,” he whispered to me, “all hot and red and pretty.”

I sighed as he palmed both of my cheeks.

“And you move so adorably when you have that clamp in place. You shift and beg with your body. I love the way you look.”

His words were working their magic on me. I was getting closer.

“Next time, I’m going to get clamps for your nipples as well,” he promised me. “You’ll be all decorated. You won’t know what to do, how to move.”

That was it. I was coming.

Dean seemed to know exactly when the orgasm flared through me. He gave me a few final spanks as I climaxed, using only the palm of his hand, but reminding me of the blows I’d taken for him. He came right after, pulling out and shooting on the hot skin of my ass, making me all sticky.

After, we showered and put on our robes. Both of us were ravenous by then, and we headed to the kitchen in search of dinner.

Dean tasted the soup first. He immediately sprinted to the sink and stuck his mouth under the faucet, gulping cold tap water. “Did you mean it to be this hot?” he asked, wincing.

I shook my head, and then I remembered the confusion that had occurred while I was spicing the soup. I guess I had already added cayenne.

“Maybe we should go out,” I said.

“Maybe you need another spanking,” he countered. I couldn’t argue with that!

As a woman who loves the feel of a belt, paddle, hairbrush or hard hand striking her bare bottom, I always enjoy reading your letters on spanking. A good warming of my bottom always starts my juices flowing, and I often spank myself when I’m masturbating. Of course, nothing compares to pushing down my panties and submissively draping myself over a good looking guy’s knees.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I was in graduate school that I found a guy I wanted to confide in. Jim was a sensitive, open guy and very comfortable to be with. I felt certain he wouldn’t laugh or think any less of me if I told him my spanking fantasies, and I was right. He was very understanding and I was thrilled to hear that the idea of turning a pretty girl over his knee for a good spanking had crossed his mind more than once.

We went out and bought a wooden hairbrush with a long handle and smooth, flat back. Returning to Jim’s small apartment, we went through the whole routine, with Jim lecturing me on my behavior, ordering me to take down my panties and then signaling me over his knees. It was beautiful, exactly as I had imagined it, and when he was finished and my bottom felt like it was on fire, we made the most passionate love.

Subsequent spankings were even better, as Jim really got into it. As I squirmed on his lap and kicked my legs, he’d smack my ass again and again. I’d urge him on, telling him to hit me harder or spank me faster, and many times I came before the spanking was over. But I’d still want Jim’s hard cock in me after he’d warmed my ass for it was then, with my blazing bottom squirming on the cool sheets and his organ thrusting deep inside my soupy pussy, that I had my very best orgasms.

Once out in the business world, I found quite a few men eager to spank me. Experience has made me much less hesitant to ask for what I need, so that now if I’m with a guy I like a lot and am sexually attracted to, all it takes is something like “I deserve a good spanking for keeping you waiting” or “Maybe if you warm my ass I’ll stop being so cranky” to set everything in motion.

The result is that I’ve been spanked with razor strops, paddles, leather belts, hairbrushes, and, of course, hands. I’ve gotten it while draped over a guy’s knees, over the back of an easy chair, over a low stool, while bending forward and holding onto my knees and while on all fours. I was introduced to this last spanking position about a year ago by an older man. Jed was something of an expert on spanking, having warmed the bottoms of all four of his wives on a regular basis.

He had me get on my hands and knees, and then he straddled me so that he was looking down at my bare bottom. He pulled my skirt up over my waist and pushed down my panties. He used his hands first, slapping my bare ass like he was beating a drum. Quickly establishing a rhythm, his right hand would strike my left buttock seconds after his left hand had landed on my right buttock. Then, when my ass was what he called a “pretty pink,” he produced a large paddle and really let me have it.

Getting spanked in that position really turned me on, and I came several times before he was finished. Although he was getting on in years, Jed could till manage a stiff erection and he was quick to give it to me (doggy style, of course) right after the spanking. Today, just getting down on my hands and knees and looking back over my shoulder as my lover lifts my skirt and lowers my panties is enough to start me quivering with lust.

Thanks again for the great letters on spanking. I hope more women write in to you describing the very special pleasure of a good spanking and how it spices up their sex life.

Ms. E.Y., Florida

The proprietress of the antiques shop came up and introduced herself warmly as I stared openly at the long, thick, black leather razor strop glistening with oil. My cock had forced its way up my belly, beyond the waistband of my briefs. The lady’s eyes darted to my palpitating pants and flashed astonishment. “May I help you with something?” she asked wickedly.

“I must have that razor strop, Mrs. Radcliff,” I told her. “I’ll pay fifty dollars for it.”

“I had no idea it was worth that much,” she said in surprise.

“It’s a real jewel. One rarely finds razor strops made of real leather today. The ones sold in barber supply stores are flimsy. Look how sturdy it is,” I explained as I fondled the object of my desire.

“You don’t need to tell me how sturdy it is,” she rejoined. “My ex husband used it on me more than once.” She reached back behind her as if to rub away the memory of the sting. “Are you going to keep your wife in line with your new razor strop?”

“No, I’m single,” I answered, searching for the right angle. The night before, I had shared my desire for corporal punishment with my girlfriend and she had abruptly ended our relationship. I had vowed never again to voice my submissive needs, but now I felt a hot wind of desire within me, a whirlwind of freedom to broach my favorite subject with this seemingly understanding saleslady.

“What I want most of all,” I began, “is a pretty woman, ready, willing and able to administer the strapping I dream about constantly. I’ve got the foundation built for a very successful medical practice, a Victorian townhouse I’m enjoying restoring, a private plane, leisure time to take adventurous trips anywhere on the globe. What I lack is a woman I can adore completely. If I’m wrong for sharing this with you, Mrs. Radcliff, send me on my way now.”

Her exquisitely plucked eyebrows arched. She blushed deeply and took a deep breath. She arched her back, and I saw her nipples beneath her silk blouse. She looked rather beautiful this way, and I watched breathlessly as she unhooked the beastly length of leather from the barber chair. She drew it back as if testing the possibility of striking me, but then looked at the fragility of the valuable antiques around us and relaxed her aggressive posture.

With a laugh and a shake of her head, she said, “I just remembered how I used to dance around when I got it. As big as you are,” she told me, “one or two good swats and I’d be out of the antiques business. You’re taking a trip to the woodshed.”

I followed meekly behind her as she led the way to a small room at the rear of the building, ogling her lovely buttocks and the cascade of swirling curls falling nearly to her slim waist.

“Drop your pants while I go put the ‘Gone Fishing’ sign on the door, and when I get back you’d better be bare bottomed.”

I complied, stripping nude. I submitted to her thorough inspection of my physique when she returned, then trembled when she told me, “Looks like you’ve been handled with kid gloves, when what you need is hard leather.”

Suddenly she grabbed my hard cock like it was a doorknob, swinging me past her, nearly causing me to lose my balance. Before I could straighten up again, the strap struck like a snake, biting my ass, and then biting it again.

“Please,” I pleaded, frightened by what just two swats had done to my butt.

The long hot tongue of leather spoke for her by licking my ass lasciviously. I dropped to the floor on all fours.

She walked around until she stood in front of me. Then, throwing the strap down, she went out of the workshop, striding back a moment later with a long handled hairbrush with a large oval shaped head. She sat in a straight wooden chair across the room from me. She tugged her skirt high up on her thighs, then spread her legs apart. I looked up at her from the floor with surprise.

She answered my unspoken question with, “No one is supposed to be looking up there, so why should I wear panties?”

“Irrefutable logic, Ma’am,” I agreed.

“Recess is over,” she announced sternly. “Get over my lap.”

That glimpse of her bare pussy had given me a second wind. Despite my tender ass, I got up, resolved to reach the pink finish line that lay beneath her secret curls. As I lay across the lap that had enticed me into a beating, she squeezed her thighs together, trapping my cock between them. She teased me mercilessly by contracting and releasing her muscles until I was about to shoot off.

I had forgotten the hairbrush above me until she reminded me with a flurry of resounding smacks. She alternated cheeks like a fast drummer doing a showy solo and never missing a lick. The oval maple handle blistered my behind and I squirmed wildly as an image flashed in my mind of a bird fluttering helplessly to escape a hungry predator.

Finally Mrs. Radcliff rolled me roughly off her knees onto the floor and stood up to announce, “So what’s it going to be next, my grandmother’s carpet beater?”

I screamed, evoking hysterical laughter from her.

She stood proudly and rolled her skirt up so it rested high on her flaring hips. Her black silk garter belt framed her silky black bush. Neatly coiffed, it displayed her fleshy pussy lips beautifully, forming a large isosceles triangle with sharp, graceful lines that rose astonishingly high across her white belly.

Relieved that the ordeal was over, I scolded her, “Now you’re going to get the licking of your life.” I knelt beneath her navel. I parted her pubic plumage with my tongue so it could explore the magical valley wherein I hoped to please her. My quivering tongue delighted in the tactile contrasts between her short, sharp tipped fur and the slippery smoothness of her pussy.

Gently spreading her labia with my fingertips, I parted her last veil of privacy with my tongue tip to find a white witch of Eros, who shed her pink hood and rose glistening to help me cast a spell on our towering queen. Mrs. Radcliff’s cunt served up a pungent peppery broth to fill my senses while my tongue drew soft, crazy figure eights of love, circling from clit to vagina and back around again.

She released my head from the sharp angle at which her wide crotch had held it and lay back on a nearby couch. She hugged her knees to her chest, brazenly exposing everything from her long, fur lined ass crack to her quivering pink cockring of a pussy. I tongued her on the spot her obscene body language invited me to kiss. She breathed deeply and warned as I entered her, “I fuck as hard as I spank.”

I stroked her hot insides as hard as she had stroked my ass, desiring to tame her bucking haunches. Her thrusting pubic bone bumped me skyward while her talented pussy tugged me back down into the hot whirlpool until I splashed my molten lava all over her insides.

But her wild abandon aroused my cock again, and the fire she had lit under me still burned. “You’ve had my ass, now I want a piece of yours,” I told her as I flipped her onto her belly.

She came up fast onto all fours and tried to crawl off the couch. I grabbed her waist by the handles to drag her back into the ring with me, using the juice from her cunt to lubricate my birch hard dick. I pushed firmly into her back door.

“Yes, oh, yes,” she greeted me, relaxing her sphincter and wantonly arching her back. I worked as relentlessly on her backside as she had on mine. She tried to fight back by tightening her asshole’s hold on my cock, adding to my pleasure. Her strategy worked, and within seconds I soaked her ass crack.

We snuggled drowsily together, and kissed for the first wonderful time.

“You know what’s wrong with marriages today?” she asked.

“No, what?”

“Pantyhose I will never own a pair.”

“Marry me,” I said.

Mr. T.C., Tennessee

For the first time in my life, I’ve met someone really special and worth writing about. His name is Joe and I am fiercely attracted to him. It’s amazing, because he is my opposite in every way.

You see, I have always been an aggressive woman accustomed to having my own way. At work and at play I take charge, dominating others with my strong personality, refusing to be intimidated by anyone or anything. Physically attractive and mentally tough, I achieve goals others wouldn’t even contemplate striving for. So I was fully prepared, or so I thought, for the likes of Joe, an arrogant, chauvinistic “tyrant” who clings to the eighteenth century notion that women should be kept barefoot and pregnant.

To say there was a clash of wills is the understatement of the year. What I had in mind when I agreed to go out with him was a one night stand, nothing more. All I wanted was the opportunity to put this macho egomaniac in his place. I wanted to destroy his ego with my total lack of response, completely frustrating him with my indifference. By the time I go through with him, he’d have new respect for the female gender. Never again would he regard a woman as merely an instrument for his pleasure.

Well, absolutely nothing went as planned. Form the very beginning he exerted a strong influence over me. It annoyed me to acknowledge that he was charming and good looking and, yes, capable of arousing me sexually. Still, I was determined to be difficult, to prove to him that I was one woman he couldn’t manipulate. I didn’t squeal with delight when he suggested we go to his apartment after dinner. I said that as I had nothing better to do, it would be all right.

I was still being contrary when we arrived at Joe’s place, but no sooner had he closed the door behind him than he took matters into his own hands. Grabbing me by the elbow, he steered me into his bedroom, sat on the bed and hauled me over his lap. Sputtering protests, I struggled to break free, but Joe was too strong. And the next thing I knew, my skirt was up over my waist and Joe’s hard hand was whacking my bottom.

I had never been spanked as an adult and it was humiliating, to say the least. Even more so when, after a dozen or so smacks, Joe pulled down my underpants and then resumed the spanking, this time striking my bare and utterly vulnerable backside. Twisting this way and that and kicking my legs, I demanded to be released immediately. Joe, of course, ignored me and just kept spanking. Soon I was sobbing uncontrollably, my body draped limply over Joe’s knees as he whacked away. Never before had I been so humiliated, and I vowed to get even somehow.

And then, to my complete surprise, I started to feel something besides anger. It was an altogether unfamiliar pleasure, accentuated by the pain of Joe’s hand striking my buttocks. The heat at my poor backside was warming my pussy, fueling it with a need to be filled. My cries of pain became moans of pleasure. Even my humiliating position became a source of arousal. By the time Joe stopped spanking me, I was crazy with the need to be fucked.

He ordered me to my feet and as I stood before him, my face wet with tears, my legs rubbery, he drove a hand between my legs and up under my skirt to my soaking pussy. He smirked. “Looks like you’re not as tough as you think, Ms. Smarty Pants.”

“Fuck me now,” I begged.

Joe ordered me to strip and as I did, he took off his own clothes. When we were both naked, he told me to get on my knees and open my mouth. I obeyed, and a moment later he was fucking my face, his warm, swollen cock sliding wetly in and out of my hungry mouth. A few minutes later I was on the bed whimpering with pleasure as he penetrated my pussy. He fucked me like that for a while and then turned me over and did me doggy style, occasionally punctuating his thrusts into my pussy with a hard slap of my buttocks. I came several times while Joe was fucking me and then a final time when he groaned and sent his semen spurting into my clasping pussy.

It’s been two months now and Joe and I are still involved, seeing each other about once a week. Two people could not be more different, yet in bed we are amazingly compatible. He delights in taming me, and I delight in being tamed. He is the first man to ever stand up to me, and by doing so he has taught me a lot about myself. I’m still somewhat of a bitch where others are concerned, demanding and getting my way more often than not, but with Joe I’m as soft as a newborn kitten especially after he’s put me over his knee, bared my bottom and turned my asscheeks a flaming red!

Ms. S.W., Louisiana

What I like most about Variations are the letters and stories dealing with spanking, an activity that’s always fascinated me. I used to fantasize about getting spanked by a forceful, strong willed woman, and, conversely, about taking a pretty young lady over my knee for a good paddling. I say “used to” because recently I got to enjoy both sides of my erotic spanking fantasy.

A few weeks ago I received a service call (I’m an exterminator) from a fashionable section of town. Over the phone the lady angrily complained about another company she had used, saying everyone there was totally incompetent. So I drove to her house the following day thinking I had one tough customer on my hands. Little did I know how tough.

I pulled into a winding driveway and brought the truck to a stop in front of a large house that couldn’t be seen from the road. That the lady was loaded was obvious. She was in the garden by the side of the house having a heated discussion with a pretty young woman who I assumed was one of the hired help. When she saw me she ended her conversation and walked to my truck. Much to my surprise, she greeted me warmly, saying I could call her Connie. She was a very good looking woman, about thirty five, with a voluptuous body and coal black hair. She was tall, too, about five feet eleven, I figured, and was quite an imposing figure.

She grew very intense when she started telling me about the infestation of termites in the attic of her house. She told me that I had better do a good job or there would be hell to pay. Something told me she was dead serious. I tried a smile and said, “Lady, I’m the best. You don’t have to worry.”

To which she responded, “I am not the one who needs to worry, Buster. You are.”

With that, Connie led me into the house and then up a long, winding staircase. I happened to turn around as we were climbing the stairs and saw that she was staring at my buns. I had fixed my eyes on hers as she led me into the house, and my spanking fantasy had taken hold. I wondered where all this was going to lead.

Arriving in the attic, Connie told me she was going back downstairs and to call if I needed her. Ten minutes later, as I was inspecting the attic, I heard shouting from the backyard and went to a small window and looked outside. Once again the lady of the house was chastising the pretty young woman. “I will teach you to do it my way, Anna,” she said. “Now get your saucy little ass to the tool shed and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as he leaves.” My heart started pounding in my chest, because I knew Connie intended to punish Anna with a spanking.

It was late in the afternoon before I finished my work and went downstairs into the kitchen. “About time,” Connie said. “I thought you had fallen asleep up there.” Telling me to stay put, she left the kitchen to get her checkbook. While she was gone I noticed a tin of cookies on the table. Thinking she wouldn’t miss a few, I grabbed about a half a dozen and stuffed them in my pocket. Connie returned with a check and I thanked her. As I was pulling away from the house, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Connie, strap in hand, marching toward the tool shed. It was all I could think of that night.

The next morning I received a call from Connie. She was furious. She knew that I had helped myself to some cookies and demanded that I return to her house for punishment otherwise she would inform my supervisor that she had caught me stealing. With my heart in my throat, I agreed to see her. After work that day, I went home, showered and changed. In my mind I kept seeing Connie walking to the tool shed with that strap.

I arrived at Connie’s big house around seven o’clock and rang the bell. She answered the door in tight black slacks and a light blue blouse. She looked great. “Well, well,” she said, smiling. “You look really handsome when you’re all cleaned up. I thought that would be the case.” She led me into the kitchen and we sat down at the table. Pointing to the tin of cookies, she said, “Do you know what I used to do when I caught my husband stealing cookies?”

I shook my head as the bulge in my pants got larger.

“I spanked him,” Connie said. “I spanked him until he couldn’t sit down. Best thing in the world to do.”

I blushed from head to toe. My stomach was tied in knots and I found it difficult to swallow. Connie smiled and said, “Don’t be embarrassed, Archie. Everyone needs a good spanking from time to time, and now it’s your turn.” She stood up. “Follow me.”

With my head spinning, I followed Connie down a long hallway and into an oak paneled library. I stood quietly by a large, heavily padded chair and she went to a closet. When she opened the closet door, I saw a number of instruments of punishment hanging from hooks. Connie selected an old style hairbrush and returned to where I was standing. She smiled wickedly and then, sitting in the chair, she said, “Take off everything but your underpants, Archie.” With my heart beating fast, I did as directed. “Now get across my knees!” Connie barked.

Again I obeyed, draping myself across Connie’s lap. It was wonderfully humiliating and very exciting at the same time. I knew she could feel my erection against her leg, but for some reason she chose to ignore it. She pulled down my shorts and ran her hand over my buttocks, tracing the cleft with a finger. “You have a good ass, Archie. Nice and firm.” I made the mistake of thanking her for the compliment. She smacked me hard. “Say nothing unless I ask a specific question! Do you understand?” I told her I did. When I looked back at her she told me to keep my eyes on the floor.

I heard her breathing hard as she stroked my buttocks, sizing up the target, as it were. Then suddenly she started in, her hard slaps on my ass making me flinch. “Don’t tighten up,” she warned. “I want to see some bounce.”

Well, Connie continued spanking me, gradually increasing the force and pace of the blows. I held back for as long as I could and then had an explosive orgasm, my semen streaming all over her silky black slacks. “Naughty, naughty boy!” she roared. “How dare you come all over my new slacks!” She gave me a dozen more swats and then ordered me into the bathroom to clean up.

I returned to the library with a towel wrapped around my waist. Connie was sitting in the chair, slowly slapping the flat back of the hairbrush against the palm of one hand. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Come here,” she said, pointing to her lap. Again I found myself draped across her knees. “Put your hands behind your back.” I did as directed, and she tied my hands together with silk cord. As she was tying my ankles together, she said, “There are spankings and there are real punishments, Archie. You will now discover the difference.”

“No, please,” I said as Connie started lifting the towel away from my rear. She ripped the towel free and threw it onto the floor. “You have just earned a trip to the tool shed,” she said. “But first…” Connie finished the sentence with a hard blow to my naked, vulnerable backside. She whacked me again and again, and soon she was hitting me with gusto.

After fifteen solid smacks with the hairbrush, I wanted to scream, but I bit my lip as tears streamed down my face. Each well directed blow had me begging for mercy. Or course I got none. Connie continued whacking me with the hairbrush as I twisted and bucked on her lap. The pleasure/pain was so intense that I finally came all over her bare leg. I could hear her breathing hard and then, she stopped hitting me.

Holding me in place with one hand, she soothed my burning bottom with the other, stroking it tenderly while telling me to relax. When she let me up, I got dressed and washed my face in the bathroom. I met her a few minutes later in the kitchen, and she chuckled as I very carefully eased myself into a chair.

We were waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when the phone rang. Connie’s face lit up when she answered it. “Hello, Anna,” she said. “How are you?” She listened for a minute and then chuckled. “So you slept on your stomach last night, did you?” She looked at me and winked. “Well, you’re just going to have to learn your place around here and watch your tone of voice when speaking to me.”

A few minutes later, the conversation over, Connie sat down at the kitchen table and told me about Anna. She was a really good worker, and usually quite dependable, but every so often she would step out of line, necessitating a spanking. Anna never minded these spankings, because they aroused her sexually. When I told Connie that I thought Anna was very pretty and that I often dreamed of spanking an ass as appealing as hers, she smiled and said, “Well, it so happens that she thinks you’re a real hunk. I think she’d like it if you spanked her.”

I left the house with that thought in mind. My throbbing backside felt good on the cool car seat, and I felt my cock twitch in response when, as I was pulling away, Connie called out, “Remember, Archie. We have a date at the tool shed.”

I didn’t hear from Connie for almost a week, and I was beginning to wonder if she’d forgotten about me. But then one morning when I arrived at work, one of the secretaries handed me a note. It was a message from Connie, asking me to phone her at the earliest opportunity. I went into my office and dialed her number. When I got her she said that she had a small problem that she knew I could help her with. Then she put Anna on the phone. Meekly, Anna explained that she had been sassy with her employer and that she required “correction.” I asked her if she wanted me to administer her punishment. “Yes, sir,” she said softly. Connie got back on the phone and I told her that I’d be there in two hours, just as soon as I took care of a scheduled service call.

I arrived at Connie’s house to find her and Anna in the kitchen. Connie, looking all powerful, was berating Anna, who looked small and sad. Connie finally ordered Anna upstairs to a guest bedroom, where she was to wait for me. I watched Anna walk away, her beautifully rounded bottom swaying sexily in her tight jeans. My cock stirred in my pants as I envisioned her over my lap, her pretty ass turning a bright pink as I whacked it repeatedly.

“Wait till you see that ass up close,” Connie said when we were alone. “Remember, she likes to have her panties pulled down once she’s in place. And another thing, she’ll ask you to stop but she won’t mean it. She likes a long, hard spanking.”

When I arrived at the small bedroom, I found Anna sitting on the side of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. “You’ve been a bad young woman,” I said. “You need to be punished.” She simply nodded and stared at the floor. She lay back on the bed as I pulled off her boots and then her tight jeans. I noticed her red panties were already wet.

I sat on the side of the bed and ordered Anna over my knees. Once she was in place, I peeled down her underpants and gazed upon the loveliest bottom imaginable. Anna remained motionless as I pulled her shirt up to her shoulders. She was breathing heavily, no doubt in anticipation of the spanking to come.

I gave her a good smack, and she cried out. I gave her another once, and then another. In no time at all my hand was beating a steady tattoo on Anna’s delectable bottom. She sobbed and begged me to stop but never once tried to break free. When her hands flew back to protect her stinging ass, I grabbed them and held them at the small of her back.

By the time I was finished spanking Anna, my cock was rock hard. Anna lifted herself up off my lap and kissed me. “I must thank you for disciplining me,” she said. She had me stand up and then dropped to her knees. Quickly she unzipped my pants and brought out my raging hard on. It was in her mouth in a flash. She sucked on it hungrily as I ran my fingers through her long black hair. When I couldn’t take it any more, I ordered her to remove her panties and kneel on the bed.

As soon as she was in position, I stepped up behind her and sank my cock in her sopping wet pussy. Anna groaned and pushed back against me, her pussy clasping my cock with a vengeance. I fucked her with short, hard strokes as she gasped and moaned. She came before I sent my load flying into her pussy.

When I left Anna she was rubbing her well spanked bottom and thanking me again for disciplining her. I returned to the kitchen, where Connie was waiting for me. “How’d it go?” she asked. I told her Anna had been given a sound spanking. Connie grinned and said, “I hope you haven’t forgotten that you and I have a date at the tool shed.”

Well, I haven’t yet seen that infamous tool shed, but I know my time is coming. I can’t imagine what wicked instruments of punishment are stored there but I’m certainly eager to find out.

Mr. A.O., Delaware