I Guess I Never Knew – by Matt for Cat – May 2002 – (short, M/F, Erotic Discipline implied, emotional) – Matt uses Cat to imagine this tale of loss and longing.
Birthday Party by Lexi - October 2000 – (short, M/F, hot) – Lexi makes this birthday a night to remember
Buyer’s Remorse by Diane with Matt’s help - February, 1995 - (short, M/F, light, EDD) Diane can’t stop her spending without Matt’s help, which she gets.
Lurker's Birthday - Fiction by Matt - June, 1997 - (medium, MF/F) A silly story, based on Diane’s Wish Police, about what happens to those who lurk too long, never posting.
The Boy at the Marketplace - Fiction by Matt - (short, M/F, public spanking) - A dark sexy boy takes an interest in a housewife and soon has her upended. Based on an idea of Diane’s.
Chicago by Matt for Linda – (medium, M/F, Erotic Discipline, heavy) – February 2000
The Planning Stories Fiction by Matt - October, 1998 - (very long, F/M, Erotic Domestic Discipline) - Matt’s fictional characters Julie and Steve act out a wicked story they each read on a spanking message board.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Permanent Collection - Table of Contents
Preface
Early Days
The Road Not Taken, by Matt - describing August, 1985 to January, 1986 (written Summer 2000, short, personal) Matt tells a SSS newsgroup member about a high school experience that he hasn’t forgotten.
A Request, by Shannon - May, 1990 - (medium length, M/F, Erotic Discipline) Once started, Shannon comes to need the occasional spanking, even if she has to ask for it.
My Unbalanced Mind by Diane - October, 1995 - (medium, M/F, ED) A trip to the theater turns into a mind-blowing experience when Diane’s misdeed is uncovered. Great story!
My Married Friends by Amy - November, 1995 - (medium, MF/F, DD role-play) A very naughty young lady gets the spanking she yearns for with Matt and Diane’s help.
I Imagine by Matt with Diane – February, 1996 – (short, M/F fantasy, intense) – In Matt's absence Diane imagines what they will do – someday, if she's brave enough.
Here I Am by Eve and Matt - May, 1997 - (medium, M/F, ED) Matt records Eve’s impressions as she comes to meet him for the first time.
Fiction
The Trouble With E-Mail - March, 1999 (short in length, M/F, ED implied) Safe in her office, this young lady gets herself in more and more (and more!) trouble.
Parents Who Spank - (short, MF/f implied, discipline, light-hearted) One young lady sees to it that her traitorous friend pays for her black deeds.
A Caning In Waiting - (short, M/F, EDD implied, somewhat abstract) - A disciplinary agreement encourages a divorcee to be selective.
The Trouble With E-Mail, Part II - March, 1999 (medium, M/F, ED role play) She comes home to her substantial comeuppance.
Chapter II
In the Midst by Suzanne - December, 1998 - (M/F, some D/s, intense) - Matt turns the tables to provide a sexy, intense little whipping right in the middle of a party and in the middle of Suzanne's lovely fanny.
Jen’s Counselor by Matt – March, 2000 - (medium, M/F, some D/s, heavy) - Jen has a friend help her with her problems at the price of a hard spanking.
Am I Right? by Lexi – June, 2000 - (short, M/F, ED, light-hearted) – Let's get all these little rules and semantics straight, shall we?
Donna's Return by Matt – August, 2000 - (short, M/F, ED implied, emotional) - not even sure what to say about this one...
Sonia Flirts/ Harsh Stranger by Sonia – November, 2000 - (medium, M/F, ED, heavy) – Sonia escapes the danger she put herself in but not the later consequences.
Party Games by Matt – June, 2001 - (short, M/F, ED) – Behavior at a past party comes back to haunt Ellie.
Cat Comes On the Scene
(M/F stories, short, fun, hot, intense erotic discipline)
A Mystery by Matt – March, 2002
Scissors by Cat and Matt – May, 2002 - (RL M/F light bondage) Cat and Matt play out her fantasy of having her clothes cut off.
Recast by Matt – September, 2002 - a short wild ride into the depths of a scene
Ever Since
Our Acquiescent Pixie by Matt – April 2006 - (RL, Medium, MF/M, ED, Intense)
Do You Want a Spanking? Fiction by Matt – June 2006 - (Medium, M/F implied, Light) – A lesson in class carries over to later as a young woman gets her mind on a single track.
I'd Like to See You by Matt – August 2006 - (Medium, F/M, ED) – Matt has a new request for a frequent partner.
Early Days
The Road Not Taken, by Matt - describing August, 1985 to January, 1986 (written Summer 2000, short, personal) Matt tells a SSS newsgroup member about a high school experience that he hasn’t forgotten.
A Request, by Shannon - May, 1990 - (medium length, M/F, Erotic Discipline) Once started, Shannon comes to need the occasional spanking, even if she has to ask for it.
My Unbalanced Mind by Diane - October, 1995 - (medium, M/F, ED) A trip to the theater turns into a mind-blowing experience when Diane’s misdeed is uncovered. Great story!
My Married Friends by Amy - November, 1995 - (medium, MF/F, DD role-play) A very naughty young lady gets the spanking she yearns for with Matt and Diane’s help.
I Imagine by Matt with Diane – February, 1996 – (short, M/F fantasy, intense) – In Matt's absence Diane imagines what they will do – someday, if she's brave enough.
Here I Am by Eve and Matt - May, 1997 - (medium, M/F, ED) Matt records Eve’s impressions as she comes to meet him for the first time.
Fiction
The Trouble With E-Mail - March, 1999 (short in length, M/F, ED implied) Safe in her office, this young lady gets herself in more and more (and more!) trouble.
Parents Who Spank - (short, MF/f implied, discipline, light-hearted) One young lady sees to it that her traitorous friend pays for her black deeds.
A Caning In Waiting - (short, M/F, EDD implied, somewhat abstract) - A disciplinary agreement encourages a divorcee to be selective.
The Trouble With E-Mail, Part II - March, 1999 (medium, M/F, ED role play) She comes home to her substantial comeuppance.
Chapter II
In the Midst by Suzanne - December, 1998 - (M/F, some D/s, intense) - Matt turns the tables to provide a sexy, intense little whipping right in the middle of a party and in the middle of Suzanne's lovely fanny.
Jen’s Counselor by Matt – March, 2000 - (medium, M/F, some D/s, heavy) - Jen has a friend help her with her problems at the price of a hard spanking.
Am I Right? by Lexi – June, 2000 - (short, M/F, ED, light-hearted) – Let's get all these little rules and semantics straight, shall we?
Donna's Return by Matt – August, 2000 - (short, M/F, ED implied, emotional) - not even sure what to say about this one...
Sonia Flirts/ Harsh Stranger by Sonia – November, 2000 - (medium, M/F, ED, heavy) – Sonia escapes the danger she put herself in but not the later consequences.
Party Games by Matt – June, 2001 - (short, M/F, ED) – Behavior at a past party comes back to haunt Ellie.
Cat Comes On the Scene
(M/F stories, short, fun, hot, intense erotic discipline)
A Mystery by Matt – March, 2002
Scissors by Cat and Matt – May, 2002 - (RL M/F light bondage) Cat and Matt play out her fantasy of having her clothes cut off.
Recast by Matt – September, 2002 - a short wild ride into the depths of a scene
Ever Since
Our Acquiescent Pixie by Matt – April 2006 - (RL, Medium, MF/M, ED, Intense)
Do You Want a Spanking? Fiction by Matt – June 2006 - (Medium, M/F implied, Light) – A lesson in class carries over to later as a young woman gets her mind on a single track.
I'd Like to See You by Matt – August 2006 - (Medium, F/M, ED) – Matt has a new request for a frequent partner.
I Guess I Never Knew
I Guess I Never Knew
by Matt for Cat, May 2001
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2001 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
by Matt for Cat, May 2001
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2001 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
That first night, I didn’t worry. Cute, I thought - she set this up for a night she’d be working. Ah, well... interest never sleeps, she’ll have this to pay for as well. I smiled at her bravado - not even content with getting herself in over her head for burning the cane...
I seem to remember expecting that she would show up just when I would have to choose between putting her off and being late for work - had she planned that, too? Did she know this was a morning I would need to be on time? I had shaved and showered with a smile at the thought of her sailing in at the last minute, so pleased with herself. I wished I could make a quick change, and beat her at her own game, surprise her by announcing that no one was expecting me until ten... but then she didn’t sail in at all, did she?
When my meeting was over, I had expected to find a message from her... one of her favorite tricks, waiting until I was safely tied up at work, and then calling to admit her latest indiscretion... I checked all of my e-mail accounts and phone mail, repeatedly, then obsessively... If she’d gotten stranded somewhere, she still should have had access to her e-mail, I was thinking - though maybe she hadn’t wanted to say anything too obvious from a place she might be seen. But we had enough secret phrases between us, didn’t we? Just the phrase “I’m sorry” led to very predictable results - a thought that brought another smile to my face, the last I would have for quite some time...
By evening a nameless worry, the worry of the unknown, perhaps? was nagging at me. I called out hopefully when I came through the door, I looked through the house, I checked the kitchen, the table, and the desk in the den for a note. The answering machine did not hold any answers. My e-mail filled with offers for credit-cards and Viagra...
For three days I jumped between being on line and keeping the phone line open, cursing myself for having never put in a second line... some confusion over cell phones, voice mail - and my usual procrastination.
That wasn’t when I knew - oh, I had known. There was a tidiness I had tried to overlook, an absence small personal items that had only existed on the edge of my perception. Ominously, what she had left behind were things I had bought for her - I had the idea that some of those things she had brought with her were no longer here, and maybe they hadn’t been thrown away...
So I had known for some time before I first started thinking about it... forced myself to want her to be gone and safe and happy, not lost and hurt and out of touch... I had always wanted her to be strong, wanted to help her feel secure in her independence - shouldn’t I be happy now? Then why am I crying?
It would be unfair to say she was afraid - that is the wrong place to start. She was so brave! But she knew, or she had learned, or had been unwillingly taught, that the world could be a dangerous place, and that someone who wanted to give and give had to be strong - stronger than those who would just take and take. What did I always tell her? “I won’t punish you anywhere near as badly as the world would for the same thing...” Now I wanted to scream “It was a game! A game, that’s all!”
Her cell phone doesn’t answer. I don’t leave another message. My e-mails don’t know what to say - “I’d like to talk with you?” That’s code for a caning. “All is forgiven?” What if she doesn’t think its my place to forgive, this time? What if she’s gone because I never let her know how important she is to me, while she never failed to tell me how important I was to her?
I remember being a teen, on an intolerable family trip... a fast-food stop at the junction of two interstates. Stick out my thumb and disappear forever, I thought - a million square miles to look for me... but she’s done me one better, she could be anywhere in the world... her friends work in distant cities I never quite bothered to keep straight... it would be easy for her to arrange to stay far from here for however long she chooses to...
Is she alone? I have seldom met a person who could be so alone as she can... has she stepped across the country and I am the only one who knows? Do all her on-line friends think she is still in front of a screen in the den?
Or has she found someone else? Someone with a better balance of support and discipline? Which did I give her too much of, or not enough of? There is an easy question - did I have to be so hard on her? Did I have to break her every time I punished her? Sometimes I think yes... I would punish her so hard that we had to refer to all of the other spankings as massages... our massage board... our massage belt... a hand massage... mmmm a tongue lashing...
But punishment, that was different. She wanted to stand up to me, to show that she was stronger - as if she could win against a cane, and in that position! She wanted to show that she could take more than I could dish out - that she was strong enough to face the world without fear... that she could give without reservation... and I always chose to show her that she wasn’t...
How strong would she have to have been? To comply with “more arch to your back, turn your heels out. WELL out...” in a bored, annoyed tone... to endure that “third stroke,” where I would release my hips and spring my full weight and motion into a single thin line across her proffered buttocks? The sixth, and ninth, and twelfth, put in the crease where she could least ignore it? And the fourteenth, if she had earned it... my cruelty of waiting until I sensed that she had planned a trip to the bathroom just before announcing a session, so that she could suffer - or beg to exchange the luxury of relief for extra strokes or some unspeakable depravity...
And how many times did I fail to break her? Once. My regret compounds itself a thousand times at the thought... one time, when I knew I would have her back in position in less than 48 hours, I let her think she had beaten me... two nights I had let her go to sleep thinking she had won... and then in the morning the phone had rung and the trap had sprung as neatly and as surely as a complicated dance step, many time rehearsed. Oh, how she had hated that session! Her eyes, her grimaced jaw held as much true hatred as they did mere anger... Had I been the least bit merciful? Had I been the tiniest bit generous? Or had I merely been pleased with myself for how well I had orchestrated the whole thing? Perhaps her absence is the answer to those questions...
Her work - I could go by there, wait around, look around - for what? In hopes of having a public, humiliating scene? Her family, our friends - I hesitate to let them know that I don’t know where she is. I’ve told her I want her back, now I must leave the choice to her...
I am struck by two facts - one, how little I do alone. How many of our activities were just an excuse for changing the locale of our being together... And two, how little our paths cross. Without conscious effort, I may never see her again, not even incidentally or coincidentally...
Has she found someone else? Does he fill more of her needs? Or just not know that she has them? Does she need to be free of me knowing her so well? Does she think I judge her and find her wanting? It was a game!
How do I say the right things? How do I remain the person she wants me to be, and yet tell her how much I have come to need her in my life? Or has she decided that the only way I can remain the person she needs me to be is for me to remain, while she moves on? Shouldn’t I be willing to do that for her?
It was the ruby that she wore
On a stand beside the bed
In the hour before dawn
When I knew she was gone
And I held it in my hand
For a little while
And dropped it into the wall
Let it go, heard it fall
I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without
People speak of love don't know what they're thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
Try to find the word for forgiving
You keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
The shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart
(from “In the Shape of a Heart, Jackson Browne, 1986)
Birthday Party
Birthday Party
by Lexi for Matt - October 2000
(short, M/F, hot) – Lexi makes this birthday a night to remember
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2000 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
I had planned this for what seemed an eternity, but in actuality it was not that long, although as I gathered my thoughts I had been planning for this all my life.
I knew he suspected nothing and that was exactly the way I wanted it. He disliked surprises but this was not something that he could return or refuse, because the gift was me. I wanted to catch him off guard so I decided to give him his birthday present three weeks early.
As I entered the room and gazed around... I remembered how it started... how he brought me there to discuss my fears and my inhibitions, how he was so patient and listened, never judged, but encouraged me to look deep within myself to see I had the ability to give and was worthy of receiving... ohhh so much time had passed, and sooo many things had changed. I had begun to evolve into the woman I wanted to be, but he had changed too. It wasn't anything he said, it was more what he didn't say, anymore... But... I couldn't just stand here, I had preparations to attend to.
I had taken care of the arrangements with room service, for the Strawberries and Champagne...
I unpacked my suitcase and took the scented candles out and placed them strategically around the bedroom, I made sure the CD's were in the proper order, and then I unfolded the negligee I had purchased just for him. This night was to be a gift to him, all for him... I dimmed the lights, lit the candles and turned on the CD player Sherherazad filled the room.
I went into the bathroom and began to fill the tub with water and bubbles, I had enough time and I wanted to envision what was going to be.
I casually kicked off my shoes and began undoing my blouse, as I did this I started to remember how he undressed me the first time, so tenderly, so carefully, as if I was so fragile that I would break, and probably I would have if it hadn't been him. How he unbuttoned my blouse from the bottom up... As I untangled myself from the sleeves I saw my erect nipples pushing against my bra... ...screaming to be set free, and as I reached back and unclasped the bra... ...my breasts spilled forth hungry for his mouth. As I recalled how his tongue felt as it circled around the taut, tender nipples I felt my feather enveloping me, and the wetness between my legs increasing... my fingers nimbly caressed and stroked my nipples, and that yearning that is felt on the roof of my mouth was becoming sooo strong... that my breath was quickening... as I quickly undid my pants and eased them over my hips... they landed in a heap around my ankles... and as my left hand teased my tits, my right hand traveled down my stomach to find my clit... and as I rubbed... my body quaked as I came... and I sighed and the tears trickled down my cheek... and yet I felt as excited now as before I came... and wanted to feel this way always and forever... I stepped out of my pants and sat on the edge of the tub... to take off my thigh hi's... the bubbles were reaching over the tub, and seemed to be gently caressing my ass... I turned off the water and tested it with my right foot, it was perfect... as I lowered my body into the water... I was engulfed in bubbles up to my chin... As I soaked and listened to the music, I was transported in my mind to what this evening would mean... A chill went up my spine and when I opened my eyes I realized that I had goosebumps and had been languishing here for over an hour... I unplugged the drain and turned on the shower and the stream of hot water washed away the residue of bubbles and I lathered my hair and droplets of water cascaded off my body ... I exited the shower and wrapped myself up in the bath sheet... and toweled dried my hair... as I looked in the mirror... I promised myself tonight was going to be perfect... and that I was going to look perfect... smell intoxicating and it would be my time to finally walk through the looking glass...
I blow dried my hair... and it was PERFECT... my makeup was impeccable and I made my way back to the bedroom... The room had taken on an aura of a dream... the candles had burned down to just give the right flicker and when I inhaled my nostrils were filled with ambrosia...
I shed my towel... and stood there nude... taut nipples... my skin silky... I inspected myself in the mirror... and I wished that he could see me now... ohhh he would soon enough... I reached for my favorite perfume... and began by putting it on the back of each knee cap, the bend in my elbows... my wrists and behind each ear... the hollow of my neck... and finally the valley between my breasts.
With great care I picked up the negligee... slipped it over my head... and as the cool silk glided over my warm and ready body... I again went to make sure everything was perfect... I stood on tip toes... and first inspected the back... except there was NO back... just the strings that tied across my back... the bottom was clinging to my ass... you could see the outline of my cheeks... now I directed my attention to the front... it covered 3/4 of each breast... and exposed my bare midriff... my nipples protruded and again seemed caged and unable to be where they desired to be... I closed the bedroom door and walked directly out onto the balcony and although it was still cold I ventured to the railing... and inhaled the night... and I caught a glimpse of the first star... and as was my practice I wished, a wish I wished every night... and a wish I would always wish... I was lost in my reverie and never heard him enter... I could hear him call my name... and with that... I could feel my heartbeat quicken... and that patch on the back of my neck get warm and a flush overtake my body "How could him just saying my name... arouse me so??" But it did... I didn't turn around I waited... a moment and he saw me bathed in the moonlight and he knew he was glad I was here. He began to walk towards the balcony, and when I turned... he stopped... and he looked... He had never seen me look more ravishing I glowed or was it the moon casting its spell on me. I seemed to float into the room...
I didn't let him speak, I took his hand and led him to the chair... I helped him off with his suit jacket and placed it on the back of the desk chair... everything I was doing was being done... slowly and deliberately... so that he could watch my every motion... as my gown moved, and accentuated my ass cheeks... as I turned and he could catch a peek at my breasts... I urged him to sit... and everytime he started to speak I placed my finger on his lips and said "Shsssh, let me take care of you tonight"
I climbed on his lap... my scent WAS intoxicating, he wanted to scoop me up and carry my to the bedroom, to bury his face on my chest... taste my skin... but he was also curious, about what I was going to do next... sooo he decided to wait... and see... I began undoing his tie... slowly... it was odd but it seemed like I was mimicking a strip tease, except he was the one being undressed... I pulled it out from his collar, and tossed it on the floor... and I picked up his hand... and took his fingers one at a time... and sucked them... licked them... delicately I tasted them... and kissed the tip before I moved on to the next finger... and when I finished that... then I began unbuttoning his shirt... from the bottom up... he smiled, there was something very familiar about this... but he couldn't take his eyes off me... he was watching my mouth, as I took my tongue, and wet my lips... traced them trailed my tongue over my teeth... each time I undid another button I did the same thing... and with each undone button my smile grew... after the last button was undone... I placed my hands on his chest... and moved them slowly up and over his shoulders and pushed his shirt off... I retreated from his lap, and positioned myself on the floor to untie his shoes... remove them, and his socks... I got between his legs... and looked up... and as I was making love to him with my eyes, my fingers began the task of unzipping his pants... I could feel his cock... bulging through his pants... I took his hands and asked him to stand up... and he did... I eased them slowly down... and suggested that he sit again... and he did... I slid them off his legs... and there he was in boxers, and I knew he would be wearing them because he had a suit on... Never taking my eyes from his... my fingers began exploring, searching... as if for the first time ever he felt my fingertips glaze over his cock... and it twitched trying to find my fingers again... I released it from its hiding place... and it seemed as taut as my nipples did... and now unrestricted it was able to grow... as I tended it... crouched in-between his legs... I brought my mouth closer, he felt my breath warm, and inviting... my tongue was like a serpent darting and jabbing, never actually touching at least not yet... and as if a hot poker had seared him... that was how the tip of my tongue felt as it touched him for the first time tonight... and I started at the very tip... first with a kiss so gently... so sensuously... and then I began to taste him... all of him. licking... sucking... and I felt him thicken... and throb... and the blood course through his cock... I licked up and down... not one millimeter untouched by my lips or tongue... my hands were under his ass, kneading and stroking... pushing him closer to me... I then leaned forward and brushed his cock with my tits... I shivered with the sensation it gave me. I was wet... and wanted him to touch me, to massage my clit... BUT not now... I began to take him in my mouth... first just the tip... I swirled my tongue around it top side and bottom... and as I took him deeper into my mouth the velvet insides of my cheeks... closed around him... and I took him deep into my mouth deep into my throat... and I was moving my head up and down with his rhythm... his hands gripped first my shoulders... and then the back of my head... and all the while he was growing and throbbing... and I was thrusting my head up and down... the precum began to fill my mouth... and I knew that soon he would explode and erupt... and I quickened my movements... and the fire that was within my too was speeding up... and I felt his body get more rigid... and he held my head more tightly... and... I tasted him... but wouldn't allow myself to come just yet... and as his body jerked, and as my mouth filled... a warmth came over me... and my fingers were digging into his ass... and as he let go of my head... I picked my head up... and he bent down to meet me and he licked my face, and kissed me... and he lay back in the chair... and I heard his breathing become more even... and as he went to move again... I said... "No, Not yet... "
by Lexi for Matt - October 2000
(short, M/F, hot) – Lexi makes this birthday a night to remember
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2000 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
I had planned this for what seemed an eternity, but in actuality it was not that long, although as I gathered my thoughts I had been planning for this all my life.
I knew he suspected nothing and that was exactly the way I wanted it. He disliked surprises but this was not something that he could return or refuse, because the gift was me. I wanted to catch him off guard so I decided to give him his birthday present three weeks early.
As I entered the room and gazed around... I remembered how it started... how he brought me there to discuss my fears and my inhibitions, how he was so patient and listened, never judged, but encouraged me to look deep within myself to see I had the ability to give and was worthy of receiving... ohhh so much time had passed, and sooo many things had changed. I had begun to evolve into the woman I wanted to be, but he had changed too. It wasn't anything he said, it was more what he didn't say, anymore... But... I couldn't just stand here, I had preparations to attend to.
I had taken care of the arrangements with room service, for the Strawberries and Champagne...
I unpacked my suitcase and took the scented candles out and placed them strategically around the bedroom, I made sure the CD's were in the proper order, and then I unfolded the negligee I had purchased just for him. This night was to be a gift to him, all for him... I dimmed the lights, lit the candles and turned on the CD player Sherherazad filled the room.
I went into the bathroom and began to fill the tub with water and bubbles, I had enough time and I wanted to envision what was going to be.
I casually kicked off my shoes and began undoing my blouse, as I did this I started to remember how he undressed me the first time, so tenderly, so carefully, as if I was so fragile that I would break, and probably I would have if it hadn't been him. How he unbuttoned my blouse from the bottom up... As I untangled myself from the sleeves I saw my erect nipples pushing against my bra... ...screaming to be set free, and as I reached back and unclasped the bra... ...my breasts spilled forth hungry for his mouth. As I recalled how his tongue felt as it circled around the taut, tender nipples I felt my feather enveloping me, and the wetness between my legs increasing... my fingers nimbly caressed and stroked my nipples, and that yearning that is felt on the roof of my mouth was becoming sooo strong... that my breath was quickening... as I quickly undid my pants and eased them over my hips... they landed in a heap around my ankles... and as my left hand teased my tits, my right hand traveled down my stomach to find my clit... and as I rubbed... my body quaked as I came... and I sighed and the tears trickled down my cheek... and yet I felt as excited now as before I came... and wanted to feel this way always and forever... I stepped out of my pants and sat on the edge of the tub... to take off my thigh hi's... the bubbles were reaching over the tub, and seemed to be gently caressing my ass... I turned off the water and tested it with my right foot, it was perfect... as I lowered my body into the water... I was engulfed in bubbles up to my chin... As I soaked and listened to the music, I was transported in my mind to what this evening would mean... A chill went up my spine and when I opened my eyes I realized that I had goosebumps and had been languishing here for over an hour... I unplugged the drain and turned on the shower and the stream of hot water washed away the residue of bubbles and I lathered my hair and droplets of water cascaded off my body ... I exited the shower and wrapped myself up in the bath sheet... and toweled dried my hair... as I looked in the mirror... I promised myself tonight was going to be perfect... and that I was going to look perfect... smell intoxicating and it would be my time to finally walk through the looking glass...
I blow dried my hair... and it was PERFECT... my makeup was impeccable and I made my way back to the bedroom... The room had taken on an aura of a dream... the candles had burned down to just give the right flicker and when I inhaled my nostrils were filled with ambrosia...
I shed my towel... and stood there nude... taut nipples... my skin silky... I inspected myself in the mirror... and I wished that he could see me now... ohhh he would soon enough... I reached for my favorite perfume... and began by putting it on the back of each knee cap, the bend in my elbows... my wrists and behind each ear... the hollow of my neck... and finally the valley between my breasts.
With great care I picked up the negligee... slipped it over my head... and as the cool silk glided over my warm and ready body... I again went to make sure everything was perfect... I stood on tip toes... and first inspected the back... except there was NO back... just the strings that tied across my back... the bottom was clinging to my ass... you could see the outline of my cheeks... now I directed my attention to the front... it covered 3/4 of each breast... and exposed my bare midriff... my nipples protruded and again seemed caged and unable to be where they desired to be... I closed the bedroom door and walked directly out onto the balcony and although it was still cold I ventured to the railing... and inhaled the night... and I caught a glimpse of the first star... and as was my practice I wished, a wish I wished every night... and a wish I would always wish... I was lost in my reverie and never heard him enter... I could hear him call my name... and with that... I could feel my heartbeat quicken... and that patch on the back of my neck get warm and a flush overtake my body "How could him just saying my name... arouse me so??" But it did... I didn't turn around I waited... a moment and he saw me bathed in the moonlight and he knew he was glad I was here. He began to walk towards the balcony, and when I turned... he stopped... and he looked... He had never seen me look more ravishing I glowed or was it the moon casting its spell on me. I seemed to float into the room...
I didn't let him speak, I took his hand and led him to the chair... I helped him off with his suit jacket and placed it on the back of the desk chair... everything I was doing was being done... slowly and deliberately... so that he could watch my every motion... as my gown moved, and accentuated my ass cheeks... as I turned and he could catch a peek at my breasts... I urged him to sit... and everytime he started to speak I placed my finger on his lips and said "Shsssh, let me take care of you tonight"
I climbed on his lap... my scent WAS intoxicating, he wanted to scoop me up and carry my to the bedroom, to bury his face on my chest... taste my skin... but he was also curious, about what I was going to do next... sooo he decided to wait... and see... I began undoing his tie... slowly... it was odd but it seemed like I was mimicking a strip tease, except he was the one being undressed... I pulled it out from his collar, and tossed it on the floor... and I picked up his hand... and took his fingers one at a time... and sucked them... licked them... delicately I tasted them... and kissed the tip before I moved on to the next finger... and when I finished that... then I began unbuttoning his shirt... from the bottom up... he smiled, there was something very familiar about this... but he couldn't take his eyes off me... he was watching my mouth, as I took my tongue, and wet my lips... traced them trailed my tongue over my teeth... each time I undid another button I did the same thing... and with each undone button my smile grew... after the last button was undone... I placed my hands on his chest... and moved them slowly up and over his shoulders and pushed his shirt off... I retreated from his lap, and positioned myself on the floor to untie his shoes... remove them, and his socks... I got between his legs... and looked up... and as I was making love to him with my eyes, my fingers began the task of unzipping his pants... I could feel his cock... bulging through his pants... I took his hands and asked him to stand up... and he did... I eased them slowly down... and suggested that he sit again... and he did... I slid them off his legs... and there he was in boxers, and I knew he would be wearing them because he had a suit on... Never taking my eyes from his... my fingers began exploring, searching... as if for the first time ever he felt my fingertips glaze over his cock... and it twitched trying to find my fingers again... I released it from its hiding place... and it seemed as taut as my nipples did... and now unrestricted it was able to grow... as I tended it... crouched in-between his legs... I brought my mouth closer, he felt my breath warm, and inviting... my tongue was like a serpent darting and jabbing, never actually touching at least not yet... and as if a hot poker had seared him... that was how the tip of my tongue felt as it touched him for the first time tonight... and I started at the very tip... first with a kiss so gently... so sensuously... and then I began to taste him... all of him. licking... sucking... and I felt him thicken... and throb... and the blood course through his cock... I licked up and down... not one millimeter untouched by my lips or tongue... my hands were under his ass, kneading and stroking... pushing him closer to me... I then leaned forward and brushed his cock with my tits... I shivered with the sensation it gave me. I was wet... and wanted him to touch me, to massage my clit... BUT not now... I began to take him in my mouth... first just the tip... I swirled my tongue around it top side and bottom... and as I took him deeper into my mouth the velvet insides of my cheeks... closed around him... and I took him deep into my mouth deep into my throat... and I was moving my head up and down with his rhythm... his hands gripped first my shoulders... and then the back of my head... and all the while he was growing and throbbing... and I was thrusting my head up and down... the precum began to fill my mouth... and I knew that soon he would explode and erupt... and I quickened my movements... and the fire that was within my too was speeding up... and I felt his body get more rigid... and he held my head more tightly... and... I tasted him... but wouldn't allow myself to come just yet... and as his body jerked, and as my mouth filled... a warmth came over me... and my fingers were digging into his ass... and as he let go of my head... I picked my head up... and he bent down to meet me and he licked my face, and kissed me... and he lay back in the chair... and I heard his breathing become more even... and as he went to move again... I said... "No, Not yet... "
Buyer’s Remorse
Buyer’s Remorse by Diane with Matt’s help - February, 1995 - (short, M/F, light, EDD) Diane can’t stop her spending without Matt’s help, which she gets.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Buyer’s Remorse
- Diane? What is that?
“A dress - isn’t it cute?”
- Yes, very cute. Looks new, even.
“Um, uh huh....like it?”
- Diane. Whether I like it or not is not the question. The question is, did you just buy a new dress when you knew you you’d already spent all of this month’s budget and some of next month’s?
“Welllllll, yes, but see, it was like this - we need new drapes in the living room, so I went to J. C. Penny’s...and on the way there I saw this dress, it was the last chance to buy it...I saved us lots of money, it was on sale...”
- You’d better take it off, you’re returning it AND you’re getting spanked...
“Ohhhhhhhh, um, Matt? I can’t...”
- Can’t take it off? C’mere, I’ll help.
“No, can’t take it back. It was on clearance. That’s why it was such a great deal?”
- Diane, you’d better be joking. If that dress can’t go back, you’re it so much trouble...
“Ohhhhh. A lesson spanking?”
- Yes, a learn-a-lesson spanking. Didn’t you just have a lesson in this?
“Um, I guess so...”
- You guess so? It must not have made much of an impression on you.
“No, no, it did. It hurt!”
- Couldn’t have been too bad, you’re doing this again already. Couldn’t have been bad enough.
“Ohh, it was bad enough. I spent lots of money that time! I just spent a little money this time... and it’s not like we’re poor...”
- Diane.
“Yes?”
- We’re not poor, no. But last time you spent your whole clothing budget for three months without batting an eyelash. Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t by any more clothing until your budget caught up with you? Well, your budget just caught up with you.
“Ohhhhhhh. A lesson spanking? And no being nice afterward?”
- Mmmmmm, baby. You know I can’t be nice afterward, you wouldn’t learn a thing.
“But it’s a long time till bedtime...and you’ll have to wait, too...then you’ll say I’m a tease...then you’ll spank me again when I’m already sore...”
- Diane? Who bought the dress? Me, or you?
“I did, I guess.”
- Ah, you don’t have any panties on?
“No, I...I thought you might want to spank me...ow!”
- You knew you were getting in trouble!
“Wellllll...but it’s cute - ow!”
- We’re going to get you out of this dress, young lady... it’s going in your closet until the first of May, when you’d have enough money to pay for it...
“Oh, I can’t...”
- You can’t?
“It’ll be out of season - that’s why it was on sale - for so cheap! I have to wear it!”
- Have to, huh? Okay, you wear it. And every time you wear it I’m going to take it off you and spank you.
“Ow! Mmmm, every time? Ow!”
- Every (smack!) time...
“But not a lesson...”
- Well, no, not a bad spanking... still, a spanking every time...
“Mmmmmm, okay... I won’t wear it two days in a row then...”
- But tonight you are going to learn a lesson - one you won’t forget this time...
“Baby? You’re going to start with your hand?”
- I’m going to teach you a lesson over my knee, is what I’m going to do!
“But you’ll start with your hand?”
- Why do I start with my hand, Diane?
“Because you care about me...”
- And why do I teach you a lesson?
“Same reason?”
- Yes. Because I care about you. Now over you go...
“Ow! Ow! Oh, start softer - that hurts!”
- Diane! It’s supposed to hurt!
“Ow! Oh! Mmmmmmmmm. Ah mmmmmmm.”
- Now Diane, we have an agreement. You don’t have to worry about every little thing...
“Mmmmm hmmmm...”
- And I tell you when you’re going too far...
“Ooooh oh! Oh!”
- And then you stop...
“Mmmmm mmm hmm...”
- Or...
“Mmm hmm?”
- Or you get your bare bottom spanked!
“Ow! Ow! Hey! Ow!”
- Had enough?
“Nnnt nnn. Not ready...”
- No?!?
“Ow! Ow! OWWW!”
- Want you to be ready....
“Eee! Mmmmm, that’s better... nnnt nnn, not ready mmmmmm...”
- Want you to be good and ready - want this bottom to be ready to really learn this lesson - not have you back in a month again...
“Mmmmmmm...”
- I know what that wiggle means...
“You do?”
- That’s you’re “don’t you want to spank this cute bottom” wriggle, isn’t it?
“Mmm, mmm hmm...”
- I think (tap tap) that’s ready enough. Up!
“Ohhhhhhhhh....”
- Now let’s get this pretty little dress off of you...
“Wellll, okay...”
- Mmm, this bra isn’t new, is it?
“No, you know it’s not. I was good, see?”
- Mmm, well, a little good...
“Oh, don’t tease... now who’s teasing? Not fair! Ow!”
- If you didn’t want to wait, you shouldn’t have bought the dress.
“Ohhhhhhh... hey, where are you going?”
- To get something.
“To get what?”
- You’ll see...
“Oh, ummm, what’s that for?”
- What do you think? To warm your pretty little bottom.
“Instead of the hairbrush?”
- What do you think?
“Um, I don’t know?”
- Before the hairbrush. Nice warm leather paddle before that mean old teacher of a hairbrush...
“Ohhhh, that’s what I was afraid of...”
- Mmmm, yes, you look, mmmm, very nice...
“Oooooo don’t do that!”
- This right here with my finger?
“Ooooo ooo ooo uh huh that!”
- Mmmm and why not?
“Oh! I think you scratched me!”
- I did?!?
“Mmm hmmm...you should kiss it and make it better...OW! Ow! Yeow! Just kidding!”
- Hold still...
“YEOW!”
- Okay now, back over my knee... put your bottom up where I can spank it good...
“Ow! Ow! Jeez, start slow! Can’t you start easier? Ow!”
- Baby, this is easier...
“YEOW! YEEEOW!”
- See? Didn’t I start easier?
“Ow ow...yes...ow oh ow...”
- Got to have you all warm... skin...
“Eeek! Ow!”
- And muscle...
“Oh! Oh! Ugh! Oooo!”
- Even though...
“Ow ow zowee...”
- I’m only going to use the hairbrush a little...
“Ahhh. Oh ow!”
- Well, a lot - but in one...
“Eeek! Ow!”
- Or two little places...
“Ohhhhh! Owwwww!”
- Aren’t I?
“Oooo uh huh...ow oh yes, you are...ow OW!”
- Okay up. You go this time. And I’m counting...
“Ohhhhh....”
- That was quick - see, you can be a good girl, when you want to be...
“I am a good girl...”
- When properly motivated. No, no, don’t start that again, just bend over, right here... Diane?
“Yes?”
- How much was this dress?
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...”
- Diane, how much?
“It was on saaaaaale... OW! God, that better count! Fifty-five dollars...”
- Not very much, is it?
“Wellll... not in money... OW! Jeez!”
- But money you’re not supposed to be spending on clothes, isn’t it?
“OW! Nooooo.... OW! Matt, that hurts!”
- Of course it hurts, Diane... that’s our deal, isn’t it? If you spend what you said you wouldn’t...
“OW! OW! OHHH! Not that much!”
- Then I have to spank you like this!
“OH jeez no - it hurts too much!”
- You didn’t spend too much money, Diane?
“Not too much...”
- How many swats do you have left?
“Ohhhhhh...OW! Um, a lot?”
- Yes, seems like a lot now, doesn’t it?
“Oh! God, yes! OW!”
- There now - are you learning your lesson?
“OH! Oh yes - yes, oh yes, I’m learning...”
- The lesson you didn’t learn six weeks ago?
“Yes - yes!”
- Even with all those swats?
“Yesss...”
- Do you want to get all those swats again, Diane?
“No! No no! OW GEEZ NO!”
- So this time you will learn your lesson...
“Eeek! OW!”
- Plus get spanked each and every time I take that dress off of you...
“Mmm... (ow!)... until April...”
- Until (swat!!!) May - longer if I say so...
“Ohhhh... no fair... OW!”
- Ready for the hard ones?
“WHAT?!? OW! OH, GOD! OW! YEOW-OW!”
- And this should finish up...
“OWWWWWOW OH OWWWOWOW!”
- All done. Up you get!
“Oooooo. No rubbing?”
- No rubbing!
“No hugs?”
- Well, yes, you can have a hug. C’mere.
“Mmmm. That’s better. And no clothes till?”
- Till May, now, just about - you only have a little money left in April.
“That’s a long time...”
- Do you need more spanking to help you remember?
“No! Unt uh. I remember! I remember just fine!”
- Good. I thought you did.
“Oh, baby?”
- Mmm hmm?
“I’m too sore to fix dinner - let’s go out to eat.”
- You!
“OW! Hey! Ow! Ow! Stop! That hurts! Ow! Kidding! Kiddiiiiing!!!!!!! OW! Ow ow OW!”
(And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got my new drapes!)
The Boy at the Marketplace
The Boy at the Marketplace - Fiction by Matt - (short, M/F, public spanking) - A dark sexy boy takes an interest in a housewife and soon has her upended. Based on an idea of Diane’s.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
The Boy At the Marketplace
The sunlight glares brutally on the large square cement blocks, which have been painted a pale pink to represent Mediterranean tiles but in the shade of the portico the air is warm and comforting. The Marketplace, as it is called, is long on cars but short on people at this mid-morning hour. I feel their eyes upon me, some trying to look without staring, some turning away from politeness - perhaps a few, distant, who watch in outright curiosity or even admiration. I am embarrassed, perhaps - but thrilled by the embarrassment, which is even less than that, certainly not shame, just the pleased self-consciousness that might come from wearing my prettiest dress. I do not try to cover myself despite my nudity. What can be done about this nude woman, thrilled by such a situation? The question rises in my mind and the cycle begins - embarrassment, thrill, the need to be spanked, embarrassment, thrill, need.
I follow the portico toward the fountain, with its grass and hedges and seats circling it, an oasis in the center of these acres of cement basking under the pitiless summer sun. As the stores continue off to the left, at the door of the coffeehouse, a young man still lurks, leaning against the wall, watching me aslant but openly as I approach, leaning as he did yesterday evening when I passed here with my husband, on the way to a movie. In his black leather pants and the black synthetic shirt that hangs loosely on his lanky frame, he has a hunter’s watch - seeing everything, waiting, ready. Last night I was shrubbery, part of the scenery, not within his perception. Today among the pastel-dressed we stand our starkly against the sun-bleached figures around us.
His eyes see all without acknowledgement. My breasts are larger and lower than those of his generation, nipples darker and skin lighter than his tanning-bed acquaintances. Not so long ago he was what I call him, a boy - but he has hardened these past two years, has gained experience without judgment. I feel an old high school anxiousness as I offer him my hand.
My wrist is captured in his strong, precise, musician’s fingers - guitar or drums, I ask myself? My breathing skips and my face brightens. Leaving the protection of the shade, my pale skin pinkens and burns as the vicious sun descends upon it, sizzling. My excitement wells up inside of me, rising, spreading, painting my shoulders, neck and face, gripping my heart and my breath.
He does not lead, I do not follow - we walk in unison as we approach the fountain where four jets throw themselves twelve, twenty feet into the air in a towering display of hydraulic wonder. Even the slight movement of air brings the wet coolness to my blazing breasts, belly, and thighs.
The second skin of his pants is warm and smooth under my tummy, against the tops of my thighs. The baked red brick is rough and hot against my calf, heel and toe. My hair falls forward, shielding my face - if I cry, blush, or smile, no one will be the wiser.
He handles me easily, careless, insistent. His hand reaches roughly between my legs and moves upward, plowing my thighs apart. He does not invade me, choosing to cup me, compress me, flatten and smooth me. With the deliberate pressure pulsed along the length of each finger, his every thought goes straight from his mind to mine.
A wide leather strap circles his wrist and its buckles bite into me as he pulls me in tighter. My cheeks spread under this pressure and miss it as it is released, soon followed by his retreating hand. He manipulates the strap and suddenly it comes down, up, around, wherever - shocking me, turning a handful of random squiggles into a broad smart of united sting, pulsing as one in response. Have I been too bold before this crowd?
His hand falls in a steady rhythm with unerring skill. I warm without pain - all that I feel is an expansion of my need. I am stretched tighter and tighter, pushed further and further, opened without being filled. What does he use now, what will he choose next? I am clear and light, nothing but an empty chamber stretching away from my echoing need. Something pulls tighter and tighter, needing to snap, to be released.
His knees straighten, his legs slant. I roll off of them, sliding along the thick, round, long, strong, leather-encased banisters. I tumble as I fall and fall and fall toward the ground far below.
I awake surrounded by white - white sheets, white light coming in through the windows. And the ache! The ache of my endless need has driven my breath to painfully shallow pants. As the room swims into view, I recognize my husband’s face, peaceful, still asleep next to me.
The bedcovers are not thin but still I am careful as I draw my nails over the place where his excitement lay. Lightly, lightly, not wanting to wake him too quickly. Soon I match my breathing to his own, deep, ragged, mine slowing, his quickening. As my back arches in the acuteness of my desire, his eyelids flutter. Not long now. He catches me watching him and I smile.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
The Boy At the Marketplace
The sunlight glares brutally on the large square cement blocks, which have been painted a pale pink to represent Mediterranean tiles but in the shade of the portico the air is warm and comforting. The Marketplace, as it is called, is long on cars but short on people at this mid-morning hour. I feel their eyes upon me, some trying to look without staring, some turning away from politeness - perhaps a few, distant, who watch in outright curiosity or even admiration. I am embarrassed, perhaps - but thrilled by the embarrassment, which is even less than that, certainly not shame, just the pleased self-consciousness that might come from wearing my prettiest dress. I do not try to cover myself despite my nudity. What can be done about this nude woman, thrilled by such a situation? The question rises in my mind and the cycle begins - embarrassment, thrill, the need to be spanked, embarrassment, thrill, need.
I follow the portico toward the fountain, with its grass and hedges and seats circling it, an oasis in the center of these acres of cement basking under the pitiless summer sun. As the stores continue off to the left, at the door of the coffeehouse, a young man still lurks, leaning against the wall, watching me aslant but openly as I approach, leaning as he did yesterday evening when I passed here with my husband, on the way to a movie. In his black leather pants and the black synthetic shirt that hangs loosely on his lanky frame, he has a hunter’s watch - seeing everything, waiting, ready. Last night I was shrubbery, part of the scenery, not within his perception. Today among the pastel-dressed we stand our starkly against the sun-bleached figures around us.
His eyes see all without acknowledgement. My breasts are larger and lower than those of his generation, nipples darker and skin lighter than his tanning-bed acquaintances. Not so long ago he was what I call him, a boy - but he has hardened these past two years, has gained experience without judgment. I feel an old high school anxiousness as I offer him my hand.
My wrist is captured in his strong, precise, musician’s fingers - guitar or drums, I ask myself? My breathing skips and my face brightens. Leaving the protection of the shade, my pale skin pinkens and burns as the vicious sun descends upon it, sizzling. My excitement wells up inside of me, rising, spreading, painting my shoulders, neck and face, gripping my heart and my breath.
He does not lead, I do not follow - we walk in unison as we approach the fountain where four jets throw themselves twelve, twenty feet into the air in a towering display of hydraulic wonder. Even the slight movement of air brings the wet coolness to my blazing breasts, belly, and thighs.
The second skin of his pants is warm and smooth under my tummy, against the tops of my thighs. The baked red brick is rough and hot against my calf, heel and toe. My hair falls forward, shielding my face - if I cry, blush, or smile, no one will be the wiser.
He handles me easily, careless, insistent. His hand reaches roughly between my legs and moves upward, plowing my thighs apart. He does not invade me, choosing to cup me, compress me, flatten and smooth me. With the deliberate pressure pulsed along the length of each finger, his every thought goes straight from his mind to mine.
A wide leather strap circles his wrist and its buckles bite into me as he pulls me in tighter. My cheeks spread under this pressure and miss it as it is released, soon followed by his retreating hand. He manipulates the strap and suddenly it comes down, up, around, wherever - shocking me, turning a handful of random squiggles into a broad smart of united sting, pulsing as one in response. Have I been too bold before this crowd?
His hand falls in a steady rhythm with unerring skill. I warm without pain - all that I feel is an expansion of my need. I am stretched tighter and tighter, pushed further and further, opened without being filled. What does he use now, what will he choose next? I am clear and light, nothing but an empty chamber stretching away from my echoing need. Something pulls tighter and tighter, needing to snap, to be released.
His knees straighten, his legs slant. I roll off of them, sliding along the thick, round, long, strong, leather-encased banisters. I tumble as I fall and fall and fall toward the ground far below.
I awake surrounded by white - white sheets, white light coming in through the windows. And the ache! The ache of my endless need has driven my breath to painfully shallow pants. As the room swims into view, I recognize my husband’s face, peaceful, still asleep next to me.
The bedcovers are not thin but still I am careful as I draw my nails over the place where his excitement lay. Lightly, lightly, not wanting to wake him too quickly. Soon I match my breathing to his own, deep, ragged, mine slowing, his quickening. As my back arches in the acuteness of my desire, his eyelids flutter. Not long now. He catches me watching him and I smile.
Chicago - for Linda
Chicago by Matt for Linda – (medium, M/F, Erotic Discipline, heavy) – February 2000
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2000 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Chicago
The late-winter dark makes the street all the less attractive as Linda picks her way through the re-frozen slush. Parking and leaving the car, she is hit by a nasty blast of Artic air, tightening her coat protectively. She walks up the steps cautiously, the tar-paper treads keeping her safe if she is careful.
The door opens before she can ring the bell, reminding her of her tardiness. She steps quickly into the small entryway , which is no warmer than outdoors, though out of the wind. A beckoning hand demands her coat and cold adds to the stiffening of her nipples under jacket, blouse, camisole, and bra. The door into the living area is still closed. Is there someone here? Linda wonders. Am I that late, interrupting, intruding, has there been a snag in our plan?
Matt opens the door for her and she enters the parlor, as he still calls it. It is noticeably cooler than normal, this room that is usually warm in winter, although that is not what causes her to sweat when she is in it.
“We’re short on time,” he intones, confirming her schedule, not his.
“Yes, I’m expected for dinner, I’ll have to leave at seven,” she explains, going on to report, “and I’m twenty minutes late.” She faces him so that he’ll know she’s sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to make it up on the road, just like you taught me.” It had been hard, being careful, but he wants her to take care of herself, even when it means cutting their little sliver of time from an hour to forty minutes. He is waiting for her breakdown. “Um, five... well, seven minutes are mine, I was talking. And I missed the corner in the dark, I guess that’s two.”
“So you’re up to nine and eleven,” he tallies. Linda nods, that is fair. “We’ll deal with it in the middle, that’s where it will best fit.” He pauses for a moment to look at her. “It’s so good to see you again. Remove your skirt?”
This is an easy task and she does so immediately, laying it on the back of the couch almost without taking her eyes off of him. In addition to her suit, she is wearing black Winteralls, largely for warmth in the short skirt, though she also knows how much he likes them. Taking a shoulder in each hand, Matt studies her for a moment as she closes her eyes and offers her mouth. He kisses her firmly, one forearm running up the center of her back and pressing them tightly, momentarily, together.
“Since we’re in a hurry,” is all he says, sitting suddenly in the chair positioned for their purpose. She is immediately in position for him, and he begins to spank her rhythmically with his hand. Almost instantly she’s squirming, and his free hand clamps first her hip, and then the wrist of her back-flung arm as she grimaces.
“Linda!” he asks with surprise, “What is this?”
“I... I had my husband punish me this morning,” Linda gasps, as her usually brave demeanor fails to make an appearance.
“Oh? What did you do wrong?” Matt asks, ready to add an item to this evening’s list.
“Nothing, really....”
“Really?” he presses, continuing his treatment despite her soreness.
“Really! Oh, oh, oh that already hurts!”
Curious, he stops short - that is all he wants, a little response. Standing her up, he waits for an explanation.
“I... well, I staged a tantrum in the bathroom and he gave me the wooden paddle, you know how he does,” Linda started.
“Go on.”
“Then I said that since he was a bully, why didn’t he just use his belt.”
“So he did.”
Linda nods and swallows hard. A paddled, strapped bottom won’t surprise her husband on her return tomorrow. Indulgence from Matt, however, is too much to expect - she’ll get her full dose from him, too.
“Did you make love to him?
“Um, no, the other thing.”
“I see.” He moves closer and takes her chin in his hand. “Linda, you’ll do the same again as soon as you see him. Any problem with that?”
“No,” she assures him. He grins slightly and she receives a light peck on the lips.
He steps to the table and slides open the drawer. “I’ve turned the heat down so you won’t sweat in your suit,” he informs her, his voice tinged with regret. Turning back to her from picking up the paddle, Matt gives her a withering, questioning glance.
“I need these,” she whines, for, though her tights are gone, she’s wearing panties. Spinning quickly, she offers her bare bottom. “See? They’re thong. They won’t make a bit of difference, really. I have to keep them on,” she adds hopefully.
“You want to be spanked with your panties on?” He asks as she nods with enthusiasm. “Very well, you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
Returning to their previous positions, Linda barely has time to see this evening’s paddle - small, thick, wooden, with a thick rubber pad on one face. She’ll prefer that at first and regret it later, she knows - except that Matt starts out quickly, firmly, and it is not long at all before the wicked sting of the rubber has caught up with her. She’s much sorer than she realized.
“Um, um, um....”
“Had enough already?” Matt asks, surprised. Linda nods shortly but quickly, energetically, not wanting her reply to be mistaken.
“Up, quickly, please.” Soon she is standing in from of his seated figure - a little embarrassed by tonight’s sensitivity, whatever the source.
“Ready for me to take your panties down and start on my spanking?”
“What!?! Um, no!” Then, being pulled back over his lap, she cries, “No! Please! I can’t! Not tonight!”
Calmly Matt reminds her that he doesn’t spank with panties on, if she wants one that is fine but he has plenty more for her without. By now another two dozen have landed, the sting increasing with every one - and she knows he won’t allow “his” to be shorter than “hers.” Humiliated as she is, she agrees, somewhere in the third dozen, and he goes on for one more after that. She has almost risen when she says “But let me take them off” - usually he makes her - and this causes her to be grabbed and held in this half-way position while she gets two more sets she can’t afford.
“Well, since you paid the price, you can take them down yourself - I’ll get even later,” Matt warns, his voice full of an evil grin.
Feeling more self-conscious than she did even the first time she had to bare herself for him, Linda slips off the little wisp of panties, panty liner and all. Matt seems to pay no attention except for how quickly she can get back over his lap. She grasps the rung of the chair once again to control her hands and “his” spanking starts almost immediately. Swat after swat seems alarmingly familiar, and she realizes that he was planning this all along! Somehow knowing what’s coming is worse than not knowing, especially since he’s about to get to all those sit-spot ones! Just before he does, he pauses for an instant to tip her a tiny bit further forward, and she nearly screams in anticipation!
“Shhhhh,” he commands her, “Almost warmed up.”
Linda tries not to count all the swats she won’t have gotten if she’d at least given in the first time he stopped. Oh, they hurt - ow. But she’s pretty sure the two spankings will match, it’s almost over. And though it leaves her panting, cringing, and worried about crying, she makes it through.
“Up, please, over. Time for tardiness.”
This is where she really didn’t want her panties off, but I guess it can’t be helped, she tells herself. Foolishly still protecting her modesty as she rises, she stands (wriggling quite a bit) and bends toward the floor. Matt is fetching the long paddle and calls to her, “Feet together.” She gladly complies, bending her knees slightly, not being quite as flexible as she would like.
The long paddle is large but thin, burning without beating, not even as bad as the rubber-faced paddle she just endured.
“If you say you’ll be here at six and you’re detained, of course you have to be paddled some,” Matt reminds her in a bored voice, and with a whoosh of air a sharp sear races across her much reddened buns. The paddle returns steadily while Linda inhales on each absence, eleven swats absorbed with a few swallows and a little self-pity. So far nothing is close to as bad as this morning’s paddling.
“And nine. Seven for talking,” Matt pronounces, no escaping the blame for that. “Feet well apart, please. Breathe?” At his command her muscles relax slightly into this position. “And farther apart. Very good. Now, toes set, turn your heels out? Hands closer.” As she moves her hands all the closer to her feet, bending all the tighter, the whole panty issue seems completely ludicrous. Of course, had he let her keep them on, this is just when she’d be most grateful...
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Linda comments as Matt belts the first stripe across her poor stretched buns. She repeats this remark with little variation as the first seven arrive on target. In this position she can’t help but notice the weight shift from Matt’s back foot to his front with each swing. Even the last two, noticeably lighter, are difficult to accept, her legs shaking badly in her torment.
“Stand.”
Moving her heels in, then her feet, Linda prepares to rise, gasping, blinking, while Matt stoops to take her elbow and she leans into him slightly. Already he’s holding a glass of chilled white wine - he must have brought it in when he got the paddle.
“Drink this. We’re in a hurry.”
Shaking her hair back, she smiles at him and drains the glass in a swallow, as he loves to see her do. He smiles in return - he is very, very fond of this young lady.
“We have a problem,” she begins.
“Yes. You haven’t done your chores. How many are finished?”
“One,” she claims, squirming with the feeling that he knows she’s lying. Too late now - when she gets home she’ll write him a letter admitting both that she lied and that really she was short three of three, but she can’t face that in tonight’s constrained schedule.
“Two of three,” he intones, “Two of three,” dwelling on her lie without comment. “How did this happen?”
“I only found out I was coming yesterday at noon, I had to pack, and my husband was around the entire time.”
“Two of three,” she hears again and has to bite her lip. “Well?”
“Sir, I need to be spanked for not finishing my chores,” Linda admits, ambiguously not compounding her lie. Matt hates misdirection and ambiguity, he will be so mad when he reads about this, oh, next time...
“Oh!” she exclaims, remembering her train of thought. “We have a problem!”
Matt looks at his watch, then back at Linda.
“I don’t have anything here to fix my makeup.”
Matt looks at her with stern disapproval, a look that she hates. She squirms more than ever, her breasts tightening at the thought of how he expresses disapproval, real or feigned.
“Fine, I’ll lay you on your back, the tears can run into your ears,” he states simply.
“My hair...” she wilts into silence as his disapproval deepens. If they had the time, oh, what would he do to her?
But as it is time is quickly draining away, he cannot even undress her fully. With an exaggerated sigh, he looks toward the ottoman and indicates it with a glance. “Hang your hair over the edge,” he commands in an annoyed voice, “and get on your back!”
Not knowing where her legs best go, Linda keeps them straight and together with her feet on the floor, but soon her ankles are in Matt’s hand and they are being raised almost straight upward. After looping his watch into the button of her blouse, he has retrieved her panties and wrapped her ankles in them, his hand gripping this thin rope of fabric. Her ankles come toward her face briefly as another light kiss is stolen, but they soon return to where he had them.
“Upright and locked position,” he demands like a flight attendant. Nails dig into the sides of her punishment cushion as she starts to receive the wooden side of the paddle. This is worse, she thinks instantly, comparing it to a full day of seriously painful treatment. Matt mixes a solid swat and a popping action but both hurt tremendously, and just as he predicted, the tears are soon running into her ears. As she bends her knees in pain it raises her bottom but Matt has everything well under control. When her bottom’s down he swats inward in a sweeping motion and when she curls up he swats downward right onto her. Now and then he mentions “two of three” and her stomach churns, she’d almost like to tell him but she can’t, and her tears increase. Maybe a weekend, or a week sometime...
Pulling her panties off, he orders her to roll over onto her hip, but keeps one hand wrapped tightly around an ankle. Not being able to believe this position, Linda covers her face with her arms and jacket, but Matt does not continue. She can feel him waiting, finally peeking out.
“What happens when you try to hide from me?”
“You make it worse,” she whines.
“Look at me, Linda. Look at me looking at you. I know every part of you, inside and out. You want me to. I accept everything about you. Now let me watch you while I finish your spanking.”
Linda curls up the leg she is laying on to curve her bottom for him.
“Is there a lot left?” she asks.
“Should there be?” Matt answers rhetorically. He will take her silence as a yes. “Be ready,” he warns her.
When the spanking starts again she tries to keep her eyes on him. He swats so hard with so little effort, large, round swats! His gaze is on her face and yet his aim remains true. She hates being watched as she cries but is anxious to please him, her hand over her mouth to quiet the sounds she is making - even so she is not bearing up well. Finally he breaks his stare and concentrates on her bottom, almost turning her over below the waist. The pain is unreal - he knows just where is sorest and only spanks there. All this time she feels no less guilty for not doing what he has asked - what she has asked him to require of her - because of her lie, her weakness, her need for more. By the time he finishes her teeth are chattering, her legs have a mind of their own, and even her waterproof makeup and this position have not kept her punishment from being written on her face. Matt kneels and grips her, holding her still, pinning, pressing her down, letting her legs flail.
He unfastens his watch and returns it to his wrist, pulling her to her feet, only so that she can collapse against him.
“How long will it take you to dress and everything?”
“Five minutes,” Linda promises. Lipstick she can do in the car, breathing will have to take care of itself.
“Clients for dinner?” She nods in reply. “I’d call them Criminal, but I suppose you consider them Civil.”
“Of course,” Linda gives him a little smile.
“It’s seven now, you’ll be five minutes behind - your fault for the nonsense with the panties. Get me the strap and put your hands on the floor, can you? Try to look straight down - don’t spoil your makeup now.”
As she’s dressing, he gently chides her, “Next time have your chores done, try to be on time, and don’t wear panties.” Helping her into her coat, he turns her into a quick kiss and light embrace. “Give me a little notice,” he goes on, “and I do hope you can stay longer.” Linda feels his hesitation in releasing her, not refusing, just reluctant.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 2000 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Chicago
The late-winter dark makes the street all the less attractive as Linda picks her way through the re-frozen slush. Parking and leaving the car, she is hit by a nasty blast of Artic air, tightening her coat protectively. She walks up the steps cautiously, the tar-paper treads keeping her safe if she is careful.
The door opens before she can ring the bell, reminding her of her tardiness. She steps quickly into the small entryway , which is no warmer than outdoors, though out of the wind. A beckoning hand demands her coat and cold adds to the stiffening of her nipples under jacket, blouse, camisole, and bra. The door into the living area is still closed. Is there someone here? Linda wonders. Am I that late, interrupting, intruding, has there been a snag in our plan?
Matt opens the door for her and she enters the parlor, as he still calls it. It is noticeably cooler than normal, this room that is usually warm in winter, although that is not what causes her to sweat when she is in it.
“We’re short on time,” he intones, confirming her schedule, not his.
“Yes, I’m expected for dinner, I’ll have to leave at seven,” she explains, going on to report, “and I’m twenty minutes late.” She faces him so that he’ll know she’s sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to make it up on the road, just like you taught me.” It had been hard, being careful, but he wants her to take care of herself, even when it means cutting their little sliver of time from an hour to forty minutes. He is waiting for her breakdown. “Um, five... well, seven minutes are mine, I was talking. And I missed the corner in the dark, I guess that’s two.”
“So you’re up to nine and eleven,” he tallies. Linda nods, that is fair. “We’ll deal with it in the middle, that’s where it will best fit.” He pauses for a moment to look at her. “It’s so good to see you again. Remove your skirt?”
This is an easy task and she does so immediately, laying it on the back of the couch almost without taking her eyes off of him. In addition to her suit, she is wearing black Winteralls, largely for warmth in the short skirt, though she also knows how much he likes them. Taking a shoulder in each hand, Matt studies her for a moment as she closes her eyes and offers her mouth. He kisses her firmly, one forearm running up the center of her back and pressing them tightly, momentarily, together.
“Since we’re in a hurry,” is all he says, sitting suddenly in the chair positioned for their purpose. She is immediately in position for him, and he begins to spank her rhythmically with his hand. Almost instantly she’s squirming, and his free hand clamps first her hip, and then the wrist of her back-flung arm as she grimaces.
“Linda!” he asks with surprise, “What is this?”
“I... I had my husband punish me this morning,” Linda gasps, as her usually brave demeanor fails to make an appearance.
“Oh? What did you do wrong?” Matt asks, ready to add an item to this evening’s list.
“Nothing, really....”
“Really?” he presses, continuing his treatment despite her soreness.
“Really! Oh, oh, oh that already hurts!”
Curious, he stops short - that is all he wants, a little response. Standing her up, he waits for an explanation.
“I... well, I staged a tantrum in the bathroom and he gave me the wooden paddle, you know how he does,” Linda started.
“Go on.”
“Then I said that since he was a bully, why didn’t he just use his belt.”
“So he did.”
Linda nods and swallows hard. A paddled, strapped bottom won’t surprise her husband on her return tomorrow. Indulgence from Matt, however, is too much to expect - she’ll get her full dose from him, too.
“Did you make love to him?
“Um, no, the other thing.”
“I see.” He moves closer and takes her chin in his hand. “Linda, you’ll do the same again as soon as you see him. Any problem with that?”
“No,” she assures him. He grins slightly and she receives a light peck on the lips.
He steps to the table and slides open the drawer. “I’ve turned the heat down so you won’t sweat in your suit,” he informs her, his voice tinged with regret. Turning back to her from picking up the paddle, Matt gives her a withering, questioning glance.
“I need these,” she whines, for, though her tights are gone, she’s wearing panties. Spinning quickly, she offers her bare bottom. “See? They’re thong. They won’t make a bit of difference, really. I have to keep them on,” she adds hopefully.
“You want to be spanked with your panties on?” He asks as she nods with enthusiasm. “Very well, you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
Returning to their previous positions, Linda barely has time to see this evening’s paddle - small, thick, wooden, with a thick rubber pad on one face. She’ll prefer that at first and regret it later, she knows - except that Matt starts out quickly, firmly, and it is not long at all before the wicked sting of the rubber has caught up with her. She’s much sorer than she realized.
“Um, um, um....”
“Had enough already?” Matt asks, surprised. Linda nods shortly but quickly, energetically, not wanting her reply to be mistaken.
“Up, quickly, please.” Soon she is standing in from of his seated figure - a little embarrassed by tonight’s sensitivity, whatever the source.
“Ready for me to take your panties down and start on my spanking?”
“What!?! Um, no!” Then, being pulled back over his lap, she cries, “No! Please! I can’t! Not tonight!”
Calmly Matt reminds her that he doesn’t spank with panties on, if she wants one that is fine but he has plenty more for her without. By now another two dozen have landed, the sting increasing with every one - and she knows he won’t allow “his” to be shorter than “hers.” Humiliated as she is, she agrees, somewhere in the third dozen, and he goes on for one more after that. She has almost risen when she says “But let me take them off” - usually he makes her - and this causes her to be grabbed and held in this half-way position while she gets two more sets she can’t afford.
“Well, since you paid the price, you can take them down yourself - I’ll get even later,” Matt warns, his voice full of an evil grin.
Feeling more self-conscious than she did even the first time she had to bare herself for him, Linda slips off the little wisp of panties, panty liner and all. Matt seems to pay no attention except for how quickly she can get back over his lap. She grasps the rung of the chair once again to control her hands and “his” spanking starts almost immediately. Swat after swat seems alarmingly familiar, and she realizes that he was planning this all along! Somehow knowing what’s coming is worse than not knowing, especially since he’s about to get to all those sit-spot ones! Just before he does, he pauses for an instant to tip her a tiny bit further forward, and she nearly screams in anticipation!
“Shhhhh,” he commands her, “Almost warmed up.”
Linda tries not to count all the swats she won’t have gotten if she’d at least given in the first time he stopped. Oh, they hurt - ow. But she’s pretty sure the two spankings will match, it’s almost over. And though it leaves her panting, cringing, and worried about crying, she makes it through.
“Up, please, over. Time for tardiness.”
This is where she really didn’t want her panties off, but I guess it can’t be helped, she tells herself. Foolishly still protecting her modesty as she rises, she stands (wriggling quite a bit) and bends toward the floor. Matt is fetching the long paddle and calls to her, “Feet together.” She gladly complies, bending her knees slightly, not being quite as flexible as she would like.
The long paddle is large but thin, burning without beating, not even as bad as the rubber-faced paddle she just endured.
“If you say you’ll be here at six and you’re detained, of course you have to be paddled some,” Matt reminds her in a bored voice, and with a whoosh of air a sharp sear races across her much reddened buns. The paddle returns steadily while Linda inhales on each absence, eleven swats absorbed with a few swallows and a little self-pity. So far nothing is close to as bad as this morning’s paddling.
“And nine. Seven for talking,” Matt pronounces, no escaping the blame for that. “Feet well apart, please. Breathe?” At his command her muscles relax slightly into this position. “And farther apart. Very good. Now, toes set, turn your heels out? Hands closer.” As she moves her hands all the closer to her feet, bending all the tighter, the whole panty issue seems completely ludicrous. Of course, had he let her keep them on, this is just when she’d be most grateful...
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Linda comments as Matt belts the first stripe across her poor stretched buns. She repeats this remark with little variation as the first seven arrive on target. In this position she can’t help but notice the weight shift from Matt’s back foot to his front with each swing. Even the last two, noticeably lighter, are difficult to accept, her legs shaking badly in her torment.
“Stand.”
Moving her heels in, then her feet, Linda prepares to rise, gasping, blinking, while Matt stoops to take her elbow and she leans into him slightly. Already he’s holding a glass of chilled white wine - he must have brought it in when he got the paddle.
“Drink this. We’re in a hurry.”
Shaking her hair back, she smiles at him and drains the glass in a swallow, as he loves to see her do. He smiles in return - he is very, very fond of this young lady.
“We have a problem,” she begins.
“Yes. You haven’t done your chores. How many are finished?”
“One,” she claims, squirming with the feeling that he knows she’s lying. Too late now - when she gets home she’ll write him a letter admitting both that she lied and that really she was short three of three, but she can’t face that in tonight’s constrained schedule.
“Two of three,” he intones, “Two of three,” dwelling on her lie without comment. “How did this happen?”
“I only found out I was coming yesterday at noon, I had to pack, and my husband was around the entire time.”
“Two of three,” she hears again and has to bite her lip. “Well?”
“Sir, I need to be spanked for not finishing my chores,” Linda admits, ambiguously not compounding her lie. Matt hates misdirection and ambiguity, he will be so mad when he reads about this, oh, next time...
“Oh!” she exclaims, remembering her train of thought. “We have a problem!”
Matt looks at his watch, then back at Linda.
“I don’t have anything here to fix my makeup.”
Matt looks at her with stern disapproval, a look that she hates. She squirms more than ever, her breasts tightening at the thought of how he expresses disapproval, real or feigned.
“Fine, I’ll lay you on your back, the tears can run into your ears,” he states simply.
“My hair...” she wilts into silence as his disapproval deepens. If they had the time, oh, what would he do to her?
But as it is time is quickly draining away, he cannot even undress her fully. With an exaggerated sigh, he looks toward the ottoman and indicates it with a glance. “Hang your hair over the edge,” he commands in an annoyed voice, “and get on your back!”
Not knowing where her legs best go, Linda keeps them straight and together with her feet on the floor, but soon her ankles are in Matt’s hand and they are being raised almost straight upward. After looping his watch into the button of her blouse, he has retrieved her panties and wrapped her ankles in them, his hand gripping this thin rope of fabric. Her ankles come toward her face briefly as another light kiss is stolen, but they soon return to where he had them.
“Upright and locked position,” he demands like a flight attendant. Nails dig into the sides of her punishment cushion as she starts to receive the wooden side of the paddle. This is worse, she thinks instantly, comparing it to a full day of seriously painful treatment. Matt mixes a solid swat and a popping action but both hurt tremendously, and just as he predicted, the tears are soon running into her ears. As she bends her knees in pain it raises her bottom but Matt has everything well under control. When her bottom’s down he swats inward in a sweeping motion and when she curls up he swats downward right onto her. Now and then he mentions “two of three” and her stomach churns, she’d almost like to tell him but she can’t, and her tears increase. Maybe a weekend, or a week sometime...
Pulling her panties off, he orders her to roll over onto her hip, but keeps one hand wrapped tightly around an ankle. Not being able to believe this position, Linda covers her face with her arms and jacket, but Matt does not continue. She can feel him waiting, finally peeking out.
“What happens when you try to hide from me?”
“You make it worse,” she whines.
“Look at me, Linda. Look at me looking at you. I know every part of you, inside and out. You want me to. I accept everything about you. Now let me watch you while I finish your spanking.”
Linda curls up the leg she is laying on to curve her bottom for him.
“Is there a lot left?” she asks.
“Should there be?” Matt answers rhetorically. He will take her silence as a yes. “Be ready,” he warns her.
When the spanking starts again she tries to keep her eyes on him. He swats so hard with so little effort, large, round swats! His gaze is on her face and yet his aim remains true. She hates being watched as she cries but is anxious to please him, her hand over her mouth to quiet the sounds she is making - even so she is not bearing up well. Finally he breaks his stare and concentrates on her bottom, almost turning her over below the waist. The pain is unreal - he knows just where is sorest and only spanks there. All this time she feels no less guilty for not doing what he has asked - what she has asked him to require of her - because of her lie, her weakness, her need for more. By the time he finishes her teeth are chattering, her legs have a mind of their own, and even her waterproof makeup and this position have not kept her punishment from being written on her face. Matt kneels and grips her, holding her still, pinning, pressing her down, letting her legs flail.
He unfastens his watch and returns it to his wrist, pulling her to her feet, only so that she can collapse against him.
“How long will it take you to dress and everything?”
“Five minutes,” Linda promises. Lipstick she can do in the car, breathing will have to take care of itself.
“Clients for dinner?” She nods in reply. “I’d call them Criminal, but I suppose you consider them Civil.”
“Of course,” Linda gives him a little smile.
“It’s seven now, you’ll be five minutes behind - your fault for the nonsense with the panties. Get me the strap and put your hands on the floor, can you? Try to look straight down - don’t spoil your makeup now.”
As she’s dressing, he gently chides her, “Next time have your chores done, try to be on time, and don’t wear panties.” Helping her into her coat, he turns her into a quick kiss and light embrace. “Give me a little notice,” he goes on, “and I do hope you can stay longer.” Linda feels his hesitation in releasing her, not refusing, just reluctant.
The Planning Stories
The Planning Stories, Fiction by Matt - October, 1998 - (very long, F/M, Erotic Domestic Discipline) - Matt’s fictional characters Julie and Steve act out a wicked story they each read on a spanking message board.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1998 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission
Surprise is a useful element in a good spanking and I try to use it often. But for a great spanking, I think a dreadful anticipation can allow both parties to truly savor the moment. It’s a little too bad it’s not easier to combine the two - anticipation and surprise - but I’ve given up my quest for perfection and replaced it with a hope of more frequent excellence.
Let’s get this clear. I spank my husband and he loves it. In fact, nothing turns him on more. But the idea of me dominating him is almost laughable. Not only am I not the type but neither is he. He’s far too strong-willed and, on top of hat, he’s too independent. If he doesn’t agree with you, the best you can hope for is that he’ll ignore you and he’s perfectly willing to do that. While I don’t dominate him, I do give him fairly frequent spankings suitable to a healthy adult male. Some are hard, some are long, many are both, and some are neither, although, surprisingly, those that are neither are his least favorite, instead of vice-versa. These spankings are usually directed at some specific behavior and are very effective in changing things I don’t like. That’s another benefit to me. Steve says it’s just a matter of communication, that he likes the spankings but they communicate things I don’t like and he avoids those behaviors out of consideration for me, not out of spanking-evasion. A final benefit is that I’ve seldom been jealous of another woman, since I always have as much of his attention, and sometimes more, whenever we’re together.
I decided recently that I would put together a spanking that would please him, I suppose, consisting of promises of dire circumstances, some kind of reason behind it, and a few short days of anticipation. In this instance, I was able to add an element that turns him on all the more. Something a little different to heighten the erotic element, combined with what he refers to as a “casual cruelty.” I know these things drive him wild and he deserves it, in that sense, because at other times, he’s always happy to accommodate me in my desires.
So it was that we found ourselves in bed one night. I was feeling receptive and moved over to him. After a few little hugs, I told him to lie on his tummy. As he complied, he asked if anything was wrong.
“Nothing specific,” I tell him, kneading his buns. Already I hear a note of excitement in his voice as I continue, “But we’ve been bickering a lot lately. You don’t seem to be trying very hard to avoid it and sometimes you’ve said some things that you didn’t really have to. I was thinking about doing something about it.” I love these vague problems. They give me such a range of options. But this was going to be beyond all bounds.
I continue to pat and massage his buns while I mentioned a few little instances that I’d been referring to. He listens very carefully, because he takes these things so seriously. And I know he’s getting very turned on.
Sliding over on top of him, I can press down into a full-body hug. Mmmm, I love this. It’s so - connected. Steve loves it, too. He loves the feel of the underside of my breasts on his back.
“Maybe Thursday night. Any problem with that?”
As I know he will, he readily agrees. He’s always up for a spanking, both emotionally and physically. Now, excited, I take it one more step.
Trying to sound casual, I ask him, “Have you been reading the Storyboard recently?” We both know that we both read it. Reading is our favorite activity, right after sex and spanking, so reading about spanking rates pretty high on the list.
He swallows hard and a twitch goes through him. Although it’s no secret that we read the stories there, and sometimes share our favorite parts, I think he’s embarrassed by the fact and we don’t often mention it.
“Well, um, yeah…” is his weak reply.
“Did you see one called Hellfire Church?” Now I’ve really got his attention. Hellfire Church was a multi-part series that came out in late March and was full of ritual female-spanks-male with associated sex. We are almost obsessively monogamous, making many of their rituals impractical in the strictest sense. In fact, he would die to have anyone know about his preference in spanking. But another reason I’ve got his attention is that the rituals in Hellfire Church were extremely severe, with parades of woman putting whipping after whipping on the poor bottom of the main character. Not a situation even the most obsessive man would want to find himself in in real life.
“I did read it,” he admitted carefully. “It was largely satirical, I’m sure.” This is true. It poked a little fun at religious extremists, while being pretty extreme itself. But if he means we can’t do something like that in real life, it’s just wishful thinking.
“There was something in there that caught my interest,” I drawl, slowly. “It was called the Stick of Fire.” The jump he makes tells me I’ve hit paydirt. “They described it as being pretty fearsome.”
“Umm…yes,” was all he could muster.
“They used a little switch, they said only eighteen inches long, about as thick as a pencil.” In a minute he was going to be eighteen inches long, or explode in the effort. “Do you think,” I tried to sound doubtful, “do you think that could be effective?” Effective is our code word for very painful. I’ve spanked him to tears before and then some. He doesn’t like to remind me that these spankings are painful, so we always go by the euphemism.
His buns were clenching pretty impressively, in a minute they’d be plucking my pubic hair and I knew he was worrying. “Yes, ah, pretty effective,” he admitted.
“This was just a young boy, in the story. Would it have an effect on a full-grown man?” I massage his cheeks some more to make my point. I slap him lightly, very lightly, and he jumps.
“I think it would be plenty,” he promises me.
“Hmmmm,” I gave him, pretending to think it over. He’s panting, he’s so turned on. I’m trying to keep my cool and make him think I’m just dispassionately trying to find the best technique. It’s really working, too. Reaching my decision, I slide off with an “Okay, we’ll try that.”
I have him roll up on his side so that I can handle him in front. From behind him, I slide my hand down his tummy and get him in the vee between my thumb and forefinger. My fingertips dance off of the sensitive skin below and he’s about as big as he ever gets, which is plenty. I keep my other hand on his backside.
I try to gauge his excitement. With the plans I’ve got, I don’t want to have an accident. I’ve got a desperate need for him but I’d like to wait a minute or two. He’s so nervous he’s going up and down with every thought. I know I can almost read his mind. He’s wondering if he should tell me how bad this is likely to be, thinking that I don’t know. He’s thrilled at the prospect of such serious treatment. And I’ll bet he’s trying to remember the details of one short part of a very memorable but lengthy series. The part that was easy to remember was repeated references to the terror of the Stick of Fire.
“Sooo,” I bait him, “do you think I can make my point that way?” Ever the innocent, as if I don’t know my own strength.
“Yeah…. oh yeah. It’ll really make your point.” He can barely breathe. I stroke him some more, carefully.
Silence, then I whisper in his ear, “You know, they wet your bottom for it.”
“Who does?” comes his tense, automatic reply.
“In this case, I do, of course. There’s suppose to be another woman involved, with her top off, holding your hands, but we’ll have to figure something else out. You can pick one of my friends to pretend she’s joining us.” Okay, I said I don’t get jealous but I do get envious sometimes, since some of my friends have busts to really be proud of. Or at least to really get noticed by Steve, since it’s his favorite feature on a woman, even though he says it’s her smile. The idea of him choosing one of them, whoever she is, will give me a little more inspiration and he knows it. But back to the subject at hand. I lick my fingertips and trace them over his cheeks. “They use a sponge, I guess. To wet your bottom. It’s supposed to help it sting more. Do you think that’s true?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always heard that. I guess it must.”
“Well, now you can find out, because it has to be wet for this. I’ll have to remember to buy a sponge. Though I guess you won’t be able to compare it, since it’ll be wet from the start. I wonder why it makes it worse? You’d think it might cool it off,” I speculate carelessly.
Steve hates to hold anything back. “Actually, it lowers the resistance of the skin and lets the nerves pick up sensations more clearly. Umm, I read that in an article about swimming, or something,” he admits.
“Oooohh,” I coo, grabbing a big bunch of cheek, “this should be good, then.” He shudders in reply. “You don’t happen to remember,” I ask, drawing it out, “how long this little ritual is supposed to take?”
“Ah, no. I’m sure they said a long time.”
“Twenty minutes, it just so happens. Though the boy in the story could only take ten. They still had to finish, of course.”
“Of course,” Steve says with a note of sarcasm. I continue to rub. I’ve got to hurry, I can’t keep this up much longer. I need some action, fast.
“It’s only moderately hard but very fast. Do you think you can take twenty minutes?” We’ve discussed this before. Steve’s always telling me that you can get a lot of sizzlers in in a minute, and if I’d just take another minute of my time, I could move a spanking from hard to extreme, that it’s so little extra effort for me and what an effect on him!
“I think,” he replies cautiously, “that, you know, it’s a fiction story. That would be a lot. I don’t think it could really take that long. Not if it’s fast, especially.”
“Okay,” I finally concede to him, “Maybe that is too long. But I want it to be like on the Storyboard.” I know this will turn him on. “So think about what I said, I’m going to show you how much I mean it, if you think eighteen inches is long enough. And think about who you’d like to have holding your hands. As bad as you’re going to get it, it might as well be for that, too. Though maybe a little harder, on that part.”
With that, I pull him onto his back and climb back on top of him. I am so ready. As I’m slipping over him, trying to grip him, I lean forward and whisper through my hair, “that’s not till Thursday. We can do a lot before then.”
“Don’t you want me to…” he starts to offer.
“Not tonight, sweetie. That can wait.”
Thursday Night Semi-Finals
It’s Thursday evening and I’ve decided to give my husband a real thrill, a severe spanking just like one we read about on the Storyboard in Hellfire Church, by Marcia. In the story, this Stick of Fire ritual was mentioned as especially fearful and I’m sure Steve is likewise. We both enjoyed reading about it and we’ve enjoyed anticipating it, though I don’t think he will actually be able to enjoy getting it.
It’s been a great couple of days since Tuesday night when I told him what I was going to do. My husband’s never so attentive as he is between when I tell him he’s getting it and when he does. And in a case like this, oh boy! He was more than happy to bring me off both Wednesday morning and this morning, though we couldn’t make love this morning because he needs to be horny to appreciate a good spanking. Even so, I’m feeling well taken care of and soon he will be, too.
Diner is an interesting proposition, with him so preoccupied he can barely think about anything beside how to kill off the hours until bedtime. His mouth must be dry, because he’s having trouble swallowing, speaking, or looking me in the eye. His attention is further drawn to the switch I’ve put on the middle of the table. According to specifications, it’s eighteen inches long (I measured it), thin as a pencil, and it’s the greenest, whippiest branch I could find. April is a good time for whippy branches in our yard, so I didn’t have to look far. We have some tree-sized shrubs that put out growth that you can’t believe, so it wasn’t a problem. I soaked it, too, to make sure it would be flexible. It doesn’t look like much, just lying there but I guess when you’re facing 20 minutes of it on a wet bottom, it captures your attention. Hidden in the bedroom, I have a sponge, among other things.
Trying to make dinner conversation, I ask him, “Did you look up that story on the Storyboard?” I know he has, who wouldn’t have? But he’s still embarrassed, though he’s not going to lie about it.
“Ah, yes, as a matter of fact I did.” Bringing the subject up is not going to decrease his preoccupation with it.
“Did I get it all right? I’m not leaving anything out, am I?” I pick up the little switch and swish it back and forth. He pales like he’s made of wax.
“Did you, did you get the sponge?” He’s really cringing on this one.
“Oh, yes. Had to buy one but I’ve got it now.” I pause for dramatic effect. This is going to be an amusing conversation. “Did you decide who we’ll pretend is joining us?” You see, in the real ritual, another woman should be holding his hands. I told him to choose someone, just for pretend. Oh, yes, and this woman is topless and he’s a big breast fan. I’m sure this is killing him. He knows who I’m a little envious of, who’s drawn more than their share of his attention. “It’s Beth, I suppose. Shall I call her?” I ask, reaching for the phone.
A look of utter mortification comes over his face. Beth is more his friend than mine, she’s got a double dose on a slender frame and the subject of her figure has come up before. But he respects Beth, she seems intelligent and even though she’s the one most likely to be sympathetic to his unusual interest and take it seriously, it would kill him for her to know about it. That’s one reason I don’t really get jealous. He could never really cheat on me, because he couldn’t bear to let anyone else know.
“Not Beth, huh? Who, then? Cindy?” Cindy is a bubbleheaded friend of mine, opposite from Beth in every way, including bust development. Though she’s fun and might actually go for it, she’s not really what the situation calls for. For one thing, she’d laugh at the suggestion. Laugh loud.
Maybe he figures it’s time he better offer a suggestion. “I don’t know. Maybe… Kim?”
“Kim?” I am surprised. “You don’t even like her.” I can see his point, though. Kim’s got some big breasts, because she’s a little overweight, though not much. And he doesn’t know her that well, so his embarrassment would be less. And she’s not pretty enough for him, or smart, or thin, so how jealous would I be? An interesting choice but I think I’m letting him off too easy. “Nah,” I tell him, “Get real.”
There’s a long silence while he thinks about it and I let him. He’s obviously very uncomfortable and squirmy, though nothing like he will be later, I assure you. Finally, he looks at me.
“Just pretend, right?”
“Just for pretend,” I assure him. Who, a movie star? My sister?
“Ummm, how about Glenda?” He finally admits. An interesting choice. I hadn’t thought of her, because we’re not really close friends. But it is in keeping with the story, for several reasons. She’s tall, a foot taller than me, maybe, and even taller than him. And she’s proportioned big but she’s an apple, not a pear. If she was swinging a paddle, he might never sit down again and she’d have no trouble holding him wherever she wanted to. She’s pretty enough and she’s got boobs just like bowling balls, though lighter, I hope. But what’s more, she’s seriously religious and would not think much of our little game. If she got involved, there’s no question that she’d be in it to teach him a lesson and a ritual would be just her thing. I wonder how long, and how deeply, he’s been thinking about this. More than two days? He better not have been!
I think I’ve made a little mistake and I exercise my prerogative to change my mind. After all, I have to enjoy this a little, too, so I decide I’ll have a little fun at his expense. “Okay, Glenda it is. She’ll hold your hands and keep an eye on the clock and make sure you get enough. But I’m going to spank you for wishing it was Beth and boy, are you going to be sorry. Agreed?” Like it’s a question. He just nods and tries to swallow. You know all these stories where the master says, “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to?” I don’t ever say that, we don’t do things that way but I don’t need to. You never heard anyone so quiet as he was while he waited for nightfall.
At 7:30, as he leaves the room for a moment, I quickly shed my blouse and bra. I’m in a skirt, hose, and low heels, with my hair pinned up and I scoop up the switch off the table. When he returns, one look at my bare breasts and what I’m holding and his jaw drops open. I mean really.
“It’s time,” is all I say.
He thought he had another hour and a half, at least, but he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, paralyzed. He can’t bear the sight of me half-dressed like this, it’s always driven him wild.
“Take all of your clothes off, please,” I ask politely. Wordlessly, his clothes fall to the floor, and quickly. He’s actually embarrassed to be nude in front of me, which is kinda cute. What he’s most embarrassed about is the fact that, having checked the Storyboard, he knows I’m going to spank him to tears, probably as a halfway point. Like I said, I’ve done it before but not very often and we’ve never mentioned it before or afterward, that’s for sure.
“And into the bedroom?” I prod. He scampers to comply in his disrobed state. His manhood is excited but true fear is keeping him from getting too far in that department. He doesn’t really know which way to turn.
Once we’re in the bedroom, he can see my preparations. I have a chair up against the side of the bed, a bowl of water with a sponge on the nightstand, and a pillow on the bed for him to bury his face in, the companion bosom being absent. The little switch is in my hand, making ominous noises and a copy of our reference story, Hellfire Church, Part II, is on the bed near the chair. Three strips of a bath towel lay across the chair and I pick them up.
“These will have to substitute for Glenda, I suppose. I’m going to wrap them around your wrists, then around the bedpost, then you can hold them. You know you can’t let go, right? Or I’ll have to start over. Unless you want that?”
He silently shakes his head “no.” He’s pretty self-conscious about not being able to take the spanking he’s about to get. With that we begin the manipulations to maneuver him into place. We take care of his hands, first, as I said, and then I sit down, with a small towel over my lap. I couldn’t really care about getting wet, it’s just for the effect. My husband’s silence and his slow, careful movements tell me just how nervous he is. It’s a lot of effort, getting a man his size across my lap, and the bed, especially with his hands practically tied to the headboard but with some shifting about, we manage.
With the switch in my left hand, resting on his back, I pick up the sponge in my right.
“It didn’t say anything about a reason in the story. Maybe they didn’t even have one. But you know what my reason is, don’t you?” He nods vigorously but I continue anyway. “It’s not that there’s been anything wrong with your behavior, exactly but sometimes I feel like you’re picking at me.” I pat his wet bottom with my hand, then squeeze a rivulet of water down the furrow between his cheeks. They shiver more than you would expect and gooseflesh appears across them.
“You’re just not trying hard enough to say nice things to me and I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all. Now I’m going to show you how much and I expect this to be memorable.” The poor man is trying so hard not to beg, I honestly feel sorry for him but the memory of this spanking will turn him on for months into the future. I must remain firm.
The copy of Marcia’s super-hot story is within easy reach and I pick out the most important passage, paraphrasing a bit.
“His bottom was sponged wet and Glenda held his wrists in grips of steel. The Stick itself was a narrow straight switch, 18 inches long, stiff and whippy. The procedure was the apply to Stick rapidly, at about one to two blows per second, all over Steve’s bottom, with moderate force, the wet skin making it sting like blazes. As soon as Julie began, Steve began bawling like a two-year-old, tears running down his face.”
“Julie smiled at Glenda,” I read on, “knowing that a full 20 minutes of "buzzing" was going to visit Steve’s naked, wet behind. At about the halfway mark, Steve’s tears changed to sobs, deep sobs that shook his whole body, and he pressed his face into Glenda's breasts, wailing out his complete surrender. Steve gave up, surrendered to the two women and poured out his emotions of remorse and obedience. But this was only after 10 minutes and the ritual required a full 20 minutes' ordeal, so Steve was kept in this state, while the switch whizzed and snapped on his bare wet behind for ten long minutes more.” Whew! If he wasn’t so scared, I’d be surprised if that hadn’t gotten him off all ready.
“Shall we begin?” I asked rhetorically, setting down the story. I’m holding him across the back with my left arm, pressing my breast into his back, which he loves. I dab his bottom once more, almost sympathetically, since once I started I did not intend to stop. “Glenda will watch the clock and let us know when you’ve had enough. If it gets hard, that’s when I think you’re wishing it was Beth.” He’s already squirming and I haven’t even started yet, so it’s not a big change a second later when I land the first swift smack. I have to admit, that little switch on his poor wet bottom sure had him hopping. I've never seen him move so much.
At first I stick with the tried-and-true, parallel lines across the buns, on the lower half of the cheeks. The lines aren’t too bad, I’m not smacking him that hard but they must really sting because he’s not just squirming, he seems to be reacting to each little stroke and even with the pillow I can hear him gasping and clenching his teeth. So I start moving around a lot more unpredictably and he’s trying to jump this way one second and that way the next.
I can see where a second person would come in handy, because I normally like to give a lot of little talk, in a kindergarten-teacher type sympathetic way, with a “Are we learning to watch what we say?” and “Will this help you remember what I said?” and “When you’re good, I won’t have to spank you like this, will I?” But this ritual requires a lot of concentration, more that a big paddle you can just swing in a mindless way.
I’m covering as much ground as I can, trying to stretch it out without slowing down. I continue to work fast, getting high, low, and underneath, all to good effect. He seems so sore on the upper parts that I start in on the tops of his legs, not because they’re sensitive but just because they haven’t gotten it yet. I don’t focus there, I keep a lot of them higher up but quite a few do end up down there and he seems to hate it, so I include them more and more. Maybe it was all the build-up but I get him in tears in no time, which is no small feat with him.
My wrist is starting to feel the strain and, as they say, we’ve only just started. Isn’t it funny, me complaining, while he suffocates his cries into a pillow, as his bottom gets redder and redder? With this thought, I figure that I can take it longer than he can.
This is where I change my angle. Call me a wild and crazy gal but instead of nice straight lines that I’ve always been taught to make, I add some slant. Still parallel, though, can’t get too radical here. I start high and slant down and away which is even harder on my wrist but oh! What an effect! Then I go low, with the lines coming up. Not only is this easier on my wrist but he’s making sounds I never heard before, so close together that they’re all getting garbled. So I do a lot of this, before I start on some up, some down.
Next I start using the tip of the switch instead of the whole long side. First I track down the last little remaining glistens of water, so he’s completely dry. Then the outside of his right cheek gets a whole line of them, followed by each side of the furrow between his cheeks. I don’t have to be on the receiving end to figure out these are really doing it. His voice takes on a higher pitch, about four octaves higher.
Once again I wish Glenda, or someone, was actually here. I’d love to have him hear me saying, “He’s turning pink now,” when he’s bright red, “We’re certainly off to a good start, aren’t we?” “He doesn’t take these very well, does he?” or “Do you think he needs to squirm this much?” I give him a few little warnings about how he needs to calm down, having so far to go but that’s about it.
I don’t want to start a big feud with the Storyboard authors but we’re no wimps and we didn’t make it anywhere near ten minutes. Before too long, his backside looks like he fell asleep nude in a wicker chair and he is really wailing. I figure that’s the halfway point and hope my arm holds out and keep going. He’s trying to pound his captured hands, without much success and I try to keep up my pace.
I won’t bore you with the details of the second half, except to say that when I use the tip, first it’s to take out the little white spots left by all the crossing lines and then to try to point out where all the lines cross. This is really mean, because when I hit one of these spots, not only does it leave a purple mark but he rears like the stallion I’m going to make out of him in a few minutes. My only saving grace is that he’s moving around so much the switch doesn’t quite come down where I intend it too, so he can live through most of them.
He gets plenty more of the straight and angle ones, too, since I want the second half to be as long as the first, though I’m slowing down a little. I’ve always been very proud of my husband but I have to admit that he’s not taking this very well at all. As I near the end, I try to make them a little harder, like I promised, but I don’t know that he can really tell the difference.
I did use the tip some more, well, a lot, to get him between the buns and he really hated that. In fact, I think he’s got a spanking coming up with nothing but that, he hates it so much. The next time I’m mad at him, pretty soon.
Another thing the story was right about, once I finished, I had to hold him a long, long time while he continued to buck about. When I finally let him let go and get up, he danced around like they always say! I thought that was just a figure of speech but now I know better. He’s doing what look like deep-knee bends, with his penis bobbing up and down on every squat.
But I had other things on my mind. I didn’t even take my skirt off, I just shucked off my hose and shoes and pulled him into me. He was still bucking some, even, and that gave us a pretty strange rhythm.
Now I’m looking forward to a long time of whispering in his ear, “Do I need to use the Stick of Fire?” Thank you, Marcia, and believe me, your story’s been put to good use around our house.
P.S. there was nothing “little-boyish” about it!
A Plan - The Addendum
I hope some of you read my story, A Plan, that I posted last weekend. I described in great detail a spanking that I gave my husband, that was probably the worse spanking he’d ever had, delivered with a short switch on a wet bottom for a long, long time. It was an idea we got from the story Hellfire Church, by Marcia. Some of you may have realized that, although I wrote in the present tense, this spanking actually occurred some weeks ago.
I know that at least one person read the story. That person is my husband. I knew he would and he did. And he came to the dinner table Monday night very much in the present tense.
“I, um, saw your story on the Storyboard.”
“Yes, wasn’t it hot? Did you know that’s why I wanted you so bad last night?”
“It was about me.”
“Relax. It was fictional,” I assured him.
“I didn’t come off sounding very good. You told them you gave me a little boy’s spanking and that I cried like a baby the whole time.”
I looked at him with a glance I hoped was smoky. “That wasn’t a little boy’s spanking, was it?”
“No, no, not at all. But that’s how it sounded.”
I listened attentively. My husband is very forceful and usually speaks quite directly. Tonight he was beating around the bush and choosing his words with care. I was afraid I had really hurt his feelings.
“Sweetheart,” I consoled him, “I only did it to turn us on. Wasn’t it exciting, seeing your name on there?”
“My real name, by the way.”
“Just to make it more exciting,” I promised him. “No one will know it’s you. Who would ever suspect? You’re so self-confident and…”
“That’s another thing. You kept saying I was so embarrassed.”
“You do get so embarrassed,” I countered.
“But what will your readers think? It’s… it’s…”
He wanted to say “its embarrassing” but realized that it would sound too silly.
“Oh, honey. They understand. They’ve all been in the situation. It’s embarrassing to ask for a spanking, and to want to get one, and to be turned on by a spanking that makes you cry. They’ve all felt that way, they don’t think any less of you for it.”
“I suppose,” was all he would say.
“One thing you said in your story?”
“Yeeesss?” I drawl.
“You said that you were going to spank me again? Not like before but, um, in a special way? If you got mad at me, do you remember? Pretty soon?”
I nod with a sardonic smile. Suddenly, tonight’s meekness on his part became perfectly clear.
“Were you, um, really going to do that?”
“You bet I am,” I told him. “It won’t take so long but it’ll be plenty.” I paused for a moment and he looked like he had something he wanted to say but I beat him to it, “Pull down your pants,” I asked him.
“Now?” he replied. There was panic in his voice but he immediately started to comply. I turned him to face the table and slowly bent him over. My hands ran around inside his Jockeys and pulled them down with a caress.
“When I decide to spank you, and I will decide to spank you” I patiently explained, “I’m going to use the very same type of switch but I’m not going to do your buns at all. I’m just going to give you those hard little tippy-type of swats that land right in here.” I ran the tips of my fingers up and down the furrow between his cheeks. He was bright red with embarrassment, even before I pulled one, then the other, cheek apart so that I could rub him all the more. “These are the spots I never get at in a regular spanking so you’re going to need a lot of them. Maybe four dozen?” He exhales rather obviously, thinking he can take four dozen. “Four dozen,” I repeat with a smile, “on each side. And you sure seemed to hate it. I bet it will be very effective.”
By the way he swallows hard, I know he wants to say something. “What is it?” I ask sympathetically, bending close to hear him.
“Are you going to, um, going to use the water?”
“Oh yes. Our friend the sponge. It wouldn’t be the same without it, now would it? Which part do you hate worse? Is it the sting?” He nods vigorously. “Or the embarrassment? Aren’t you embarrassed to have me wet you with a sponge back there?”
A shudder runs through him to tell me I’m right. My hands pass around in front of him, as I press my skirt against his buns. I squeeze, I tease, I pull a little. Then I break away.
“Buckle up, big boy, I don’t want to do it right here on the dirty dishes. You’ll get your special spanking soon enough, believe me. Just don’t let me get annoyed.” With this, I lead him by the hand into the bedroom. A blissful interlude follows.
What he doesn’t know is, I am already a little annoyed. We were at a barbecue on Sunday and some of his comments about my family were completely uncalled for. He’ll say that it should be okay, since all the stories were true, and he’ll claim that it’s unfair, because I started it, but it’s my family, I get to say some of these things, he doesn’t.
So Stevie, sweetheart? You’re about to be spanked. I know you’re going to read this and when you went in to get on the computer, I went into the bedroom to take off my blouse and wait for you. When you get to the end of this post, you’re going to take your clothes off. All of them. In the cupboard right behind your chair, there’s a new green switch, a sponge, and a bowl. Get some water for the bowl and bring it into the bedroom, because you’re about to get it just like I told you. Except, do you know what? I just now decided to make it a little longer. Okay, not just a little, a lot. A whole lot, you poor boy. Don’t worry, though, it won’t interfere when you sit down tomorrow.
See you soon, sweetie. I love you!
Lurker's Birthday
Lurker's Birthday
Julie and I bought a new computer this weekend and some of the software was already loaded, so I poked around a bit to see what we'd got. That's when I came across a folder called WordPad-Diary. Who could resist?
When I found this entry, I had to show it to Julie right away and I knew we'd be posting it before too long. Hope someone out there at SSS is as interested as we are.
***
Dear Diary (it said),
I was sitting at my computer tonight, happily cruising my favorite website, when the doorbell rang. I looked out and there was a policewoman with a respectable-looking couple, so I opened the door.
"Internet police, ma'am, may we come in?" Since they were in already, it wasn't much of a question.
"Who?" I asked. I didn't even know the Internet had police. I looked at the couple she had brought with her - a tall Anglo woman, maybe a banker or real estate agent, and a quiet, heavy-set Hispanic man. Respectable, you know? Like someone from church. The officer was a short woman, not much taller than me but with muscles where I'm round, so she did look like she could handle herself.
"Internet police," she repeated. "You've been lurking on the SSS news group for one year as of 8:00 this evening, without posting."
"Would there be something wrong with that?" I asked defensively, trying to cover my shock. "There's nothing wrong with listening." I was hoping that I was not admitting anything, without saying something really stupid, and I like the term "listening" better than "lurking" anyway. After all, SSS was on my screen in the bedroom at this very moment so I couldn't very well pretend I'd never been there.
"Well, people are free to listen but responses are what feed our writers, as I think you know."
"Lots of people respond!" I countered, realizing too late that I should just keep my mouth shut. So I'm a slow learner, I've had this problem all my life - keeping my mouth shut, I mean.
"That's not the issue here," I was told. "Lurking without posting may not exceed one year in duration. It's in the bylaws... certainly you've read the bylaws?"
"Yes, well, um, I was going to, I've been waiting until they're posted again."
"They're posted regularly, ma'am. And they specifically state that the duration of lurking may not exceed 365 consecutive calendar days, exclusive of February 29th."
"Okay, so what? You're going to kick me off? You're going to de-lurk me?" I tried to sound a lot braver than I felt. I did not really want to be exposed to the world of SSS and I certainly didn't want to be kicked off. I was hoping they'd give me a choice, I could make up a name and come out if I had to.
"Not exactly. We consider this to be your news group birthday and are here to treat it as such. This is Deborah and this is Jorge," she waved, indicating her companions.
My jaw fell to the floor. "I don't think so!" I demanded, "Get out of my apartment!"
Officer Brunswick, as her badge identified her, seemed unmoved. She flipped open a small notebook.
"On February 17th, you copied a story from the board to other electronic medium. This was specifically and explicitly forbidden by the author. The evidence, we believe, is on your hard drive at this very moment. Do any of the following phrases sound familiar to you? 'Listen here, little missy... who do you think... you won't be sitting... how dare you... if I ever... won't forget this one'?"
I got an icy feeling across my seat. There were more than a few stories like that on my hard drive. I never had any idea it was against the law.
"Everyone does that," I stated definitively. "You can't single me out."
"Perhaps people do. We'll not argue that point. As far as singling people out, we are prepared to make you a test case for Internet property rights." As a wave of horror swept over me she verbalized my very thoughts - "You can see yourself on AP top stories - with a photo, perhaps."
Instinctively I covered my bottom with both hands and pushed it as far away from this trio as it could get. Tears sprang to my eyes. I could not have people know about me, I'm not the type to be famous, much less infamous.
"So, shall we see you in court - and on My Yahoo 'Stories of the Hour'?" Brunswick asked.
"Or?" I half-wailed, half-moaned. She waved again to Deborah and Jorge.
They didn't look wicked - more serious, disapproving, perhaps, and a little disappointed. My mind spun as I tried to figure out what could be going on. As I said, Deborah was tall and Anglo and looked very competent and respectable. She wasn't in any kind of scary or sexy costume, just a woman going to work. At an office.
I say an office because Jorge probably works outdoors. He had a deep tan and very hard hands, I couldn't help but notice. His shoulders looked like he did a lot of lifting and not weight-lifting, work lifting, I mean. His middle looked liked he had lifted a few beers in his time as well. His clothes were clean and not worn, even though they didn't look new, so he looked dressed up, especially his shirt, which was orange and red with a Latin-western design. He still had most of his thick dark hair and his sideburns were way too long. I couldn't help but notice that behind the requisite oversized belt buckle was a wide, heavy, and somewhat overworked leather belt.
I thought of the stories I had most often cruised and a light went on. I almost laughed! These two were supposed to be my parents, me their daughter. What was funny about it is that my father was born in California and works in a bank (I probably thought of one of his co-workers, seeing Deborah) and my mother is a housewife, as short and plumper than I am. She's the one from Mexico and only works a few days a week, at the market. It was almost like they'd gotten my parents reversed.
Then the unfunny thought occurred to me - what always, always went on in these stories. I felt that exact sensation they always describe - a combination of glistening excitement and abject fear. I thought instantly about what panties I had on - clean, at least, even if they did lack sex appeal. Why I should worry about appealing to these people, I don't know. Why I even went along with it, I don't know. I guess in a way I wanted to. A year of reading these stories had gotten me more than ready.
Even as I thought back to a story or two, Jorge went over to my couch and sat down like he owned the place. His legs were well out in from of him and he looked like he was on a throne. Without a word he patted his solid thighs and motioned me over with a look. For some reason I drifted in his direction.
As soon as I got close his arm caught me under the seat and in an instant I was across his lap. I thought of hot stories with belts and switches and very embarrassing positions and hoped and prayed this wasn't one of those. I really didn't want that, I really, really didn't. Thankfully I still had my jeans up when he smacked me the first time.
"So, little lady, you know it all now, do you?" he started. I didn't answer as much harder smacks fell on my seat. I could feel how easily he was spanking me and already it hurt. I felt sticky from the whole situation and that made me feel dirty. Feeling dirty always makes me feel like I should be spanked, which didn't make me feel any less sticky.
The spanks got hard and he'd just started. I tried to take it.
"Maybe one more lesson might still teach you something," he told me, spanking quickly.
"Umpft," I responded. "Umpft, umpft, umpft."
When I read these stories, I always imagine that I'd get extra swats because my seat is big, not one of these "his large hand covered her entire bottom" types. It's not a good feeling, exactly, but it does excite me in a weird way, that I would have to be spanked all the more. But he was spanking just in a few spots and I found myself starting to fight him, I had to. Already I was crying some and it didn't look like he was going to let up. I asked, begged, cried for him to stop.
"Oh, no, chiquita, you still have much to learn," he assured me but he did start moving around. I was so embarrassed by how many places he could fit his hand on the target I was giving him. Through my jeans it didn't really sting but it hurt! I was really getting so sore and I begged some more, until I thought of the fact that when he did stop, my pants were coming down! I was in no shape to be seen, I'd die! I quickly switched to "sorry's" and tried to be more compliant. But it was so hard with him spanking me like that!
He seemed to have found the softest parts and was staying in those few spots. I couldn't help kicking and even swinging my arm but he didn't even notice. He held me across the back like I was a child, and where his arm held me, I didn't move a bit. His soft, firm voice kept reassuring me how much better I was getting with every painful spank. Finally he stopped but only to reach for the top of my jeans. I was sweaty and more, I was crying with pain and sobbing with embarrassment and I felt so sorry for all those girls I had read about and envied. My squirms were in a way that was probably turning him on, even though he'd stopped spanking me.
I have never been more relieved than when the hand at the top of my jeans pulled me off his lap.
"Do you think you can be good now?" he asked very seriously. I assured him I would, that I'd be very, very good and that I was very sorry and sorry he had had to spank me. He just told me to remember that it could always happen again.
I had fallen out of half of my bra and turned away to fix it and to give myself a chance to regain my composure and stop crying. If he'd sent me to the corner I'd have gone gratefully but that was not in store for me.
Deborah spoke with authority as she stated "We'll be wanting some privacy, I believe." She opened her purse and withdrew a wooden hairbrush and the scenario seemed chillingly familiar. "Will you wait for me in your room?" she asked, but it wasn't a question.
I was half glad to get out of there, in fact I closed the door behind me, I was so out of it, but on the other hand I was all the more scared and very sore already. Deborah opened the door and came in, closing it again behind her. The hairbrush, of course, was still in her hand.
"Are you going to take those down, or am I?" she asked menacingly. By now I knew I had no choice around here, so I did what she wanted, except slowly.
She sat.
"If I have to take those down for you, you are going to be the sorriest young lady in this city tonight," she predicted. I started crying again but at least the door was closed. I squeezed my legs together in fear and before I could move she stood up and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Oh, so that's how it'll be, will it?"
"No! No!" I cried, oblivious to the two outside, "I'll do it!"
"Too late," she informed me and my seat was bare and I was back facing downward. "Missy, you have just made a very, very big mistake." Deborah slapped me hard right where I was sorest and I howled. "Stop that!" she commanded. "Settle down!" A rain of spanks fell on my unprotected seat, right on the bare skin. They hurt!
She eased up some until I did settle down and finally she stopped all together. I couldn't resist a little breath of relief. "I don't want to do this at all," she lied, "and I am certainly going to make sure that I only have to do this once! And as for that foolishness about your panties, you know what I'm going to do about that!"
I was begging and "please'ing" and asking her not to but it didn't seem to make any difference. I guess I should have known but at the time I thought it was worth trying. Deborah waited and waited but then finally asked if I was ready to get the hairbrush. Of course I said no but she repeated herself exactly and followed it with, "That's two." I gulped hard, knowing I'd have to say it. Then she was already repeating, "Anna, are you ready to have me spank you with my hairbrush?" again. I said "Yes, yes!" trying to interrupt her but still she said, "That's three."
What happened after that I can hardly describe, not that I've forgotten a minute of it. She spanked with a snap that made each and every swat go right through me - I couldn't believe something could hurt that much! She did kind of the same thing as Jorge, spanking those few bad spots at first for a long time, then moving around. When she got low and kind of inside my cheek, I begged her, "not there, pleaseeee not there!"
She assured me that I would be spanked there and gave me a bunch right there to prove it and then another big bunch just on the other side. She promised me that "every square inch of my bottom" was going to get "every swat I had earned for it." At that point I just had to give up, I couldn't fight her anymore. I just lay across her lap and sobbed, bouncing from the reflex to her terrible stinging snaps.
I guess I would have been done then if I had cooperated better, because she finally stopped. She told me again how much she hated to do this and patted me with the brush. I jumped, even though it was light, and she sort of laughed at me. She said she didn't appreciate my making her job harder with my foolishness about my panties. She put her hand on the cheek away from her and smoothed it upward, pulling it flat down below. "And now I am going to make you very sorry you didn't cooperate when you needed to," she informed me.
"I AM sorry!" I protested but to no avail. I started struggling again but she had me completely under control. And it was true, I was sorry, sorry I hadn't pulled down my panties, sorry I needed to be spanked, sorry I read all those stories and got soft feeling while all those poor girls got spanked. I tried to tell her but she was having none of it.
"You're not sorry yet, not by a long way. You just think you are but just wait until I've really spanked you," she threatened. She pulled my cheek up again and started spanking, just in that one spot. Hard and stingy both at once and I was already soooo sore! Then she moved to the other side and I had to get each of the swats again over there!
My breathing was both panting and sobbing, I thought I would hyperventilate but she held me while I calmed down. She reached up and stroked my hair but then, with a voice that chilled me, she asked, "How old are you, Anna?"
I knew what that meant and I started sobbing again but this time she just waited. And waited. I told her, "Twenty four."
"Twenty," she said, tapping my bottom. "Four."
"And! How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"
"Nooooooooo!" I wailed, "Owwwwwwww!" as she brought the brush down hard, "Two. Two!" I insisted and I thought I was being fair.
Those swats were so much harder! I couldn't believe the earlier ones weren't the hardest she could spank - though at least these didn't snap like the ones I'd already had. She counted out the twenty-four very hard swats - twenty-four on each side! I should have been done but she repeated her question.
"How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"
"Three," I sobbed piteously. I didn't even care anymore, this spanking would never be over. Then she swatted me and I started caring again. She repeated her first two sets, acting like she hadn't already given them to me - and then, then! This new mom they'd given me spanked out a third set right in the middle! I couldn't even fight her, I just had to lie there jerking back and forth and crying and being very, very sorry.
She had spanked me for so long that when she was done I didn't really believe it. She let me lie there and cry and then slump down between her legs and cry some more. After a while she stood me up, handed me my poodle from my bed and stood me in the corner, where I leaned with my head against the wall.
After a long time I looked around and she was still sitting there. She got up and found me my robe and put it around me, then led me out to where the others were still waiting.
They stood up and Jorge looked at me sympathetically, I thought. As well he should. Deborah got her purse and at long last the dreaded hairbrush disappeared from sight.
"We'll be going - for now," Brunswick warned. "You had best de-lurk quickly."
I immediately agreed, trying to look contrite and sincere. Once the door was closed, I headed right back to the computer. So I had to stand, I probably sit too much anyway. What I need to do, I figured, was find just the right stories. No telling when they'd be back and I certainly wasn't going to read the by-laws. Now let's see, there was one about a handsome sheik.....
***
Julie looked at me speculatively. "Do you think this policy has ever encouraged anyone to respond, instead of just listening?"
"NOOO!" we laughed in unison.
Julie and I bought a new computer this weekend and some of the software was already loaded, so I poked around a bit to see what we'd got. That's when I came across a folder called WordPad-Diary. Who could resist?
When I found this entry, I had to show it to Julie right away and I knew we'd be posting it before too long. Hope someone out there at SSS is as interested as we are.
***
Dear Diary (it said),
I was sitting at my computer tonight, happily cruising my favorite website, when the doorbell rang. I looked out and there was a policewoman with a respectable-looking couple, so I opened the door.
"Internet police, ma'am, may we come in?" Since they were in already, it wasn't much of a question.
"Who?" I asked. I didn't even know the Internet had police. I looked at the couple she had brought with her - a tall Anglo woman, maybe a banker or real estate agent, and a quiet, heavy-set Hispanic man. Respectable, you know? Like someone from church. The officer was a short woman, not much taller than me but with muscles where I'm round, so she did look like she could handle herself.
"Internet police," she repeated. "You've been lurking on the SSS news group for one year as of 8:00 this evening, without posting."
"Would there be something wrong with that?" I asked defensively, trying to cover my shock. "There's nothing wrong with listening." I was hoping that I was not admitting anything, without saying something really stupid, and I like the term "listening" better than "lurking" anyway. After all, SSS was on my screen in the bedroom at this very moment so I couldn't very well pretend I'd never been there.
"Well, people are free to listen but responses are what feed our writers, as I think you know."
"Lots of people respond!" I countered, realizing too late that I should just keep my mouth shut. So I'm a slow learner, I've had this problem all my life - keeping my mouth shut, I mean.
"That's not the issue here," I was told. "Lurking without posting may not exceed one year in duration. It's in the bylaws... certainly you've read the bylaws?"
"Yes, well, um, I was going to, I've been waiting until they're posted again."
"They're posted regularly, ma'am. And they specifically state that the duration of lurking may not exceed 365 consecutive calendar days, exclusive of February 29th."
"Okay, so what? You're going to kick me off? You're going to de-lurk me?" I tried to sound a lot braver than I felt. I did not really want to be exposed to the world of SSS and I certainly didn't want to be kicked off. I was hoping they'd give me a choice, I could make up a name and come out if I had to.
"Not exactly. We consider this to be your news group birthday and are here to treat it as such. This is Deborah and this is Jorge," she waved, indicating her companions.
My jaw fell to the floor. "I don't think so!" I demanded, "Get out of my apartment!"
Officer Brunswick, as her badge identified her, seemed unmoved. She flipped open a small notebook.
"On February 17th, you copied a story from the board to other electronic medium. This was specifically and explicitly forbidden by the author. The evidence, we believe, is on your hard drive at this very moment. Do any of the following phrases sound familiar to you? 'Listen here, little missy... who do you think... you won't be sitting... how dare you... if I ever... won't forget this one'?"
I got an icy feeling across my seat. There were more than a few stories like that on my hard drive. I never had any idea it was against the law.
"Everyone does that," I stated definitively. "You can't single me out."
"Perhaps people do. We'll not argue that point. As far as singling people out, we are prepared to make you a test case for Internet property rights." As a wave of horror swept over me she verbalized my very thoughts - "You can see yourself on AP top stories - with a photo, perhaps."
Instinctively I covered my bottom with both hands and pushed it as far away from this trio as it could get. Tears sprang to my eyes. I could not have people know about me, I'm not the type to be famous, much less infamous.
"So, shall we see you in court - and on My Yahoo 'Stories of the Hour'?" Brunswick asked.
"Or?" I half-wailed, half-moaned. She waved again to Deborah and Jorge.
They didn't look wicked - more serious, disapproving, perhaps, and a little disappointed. My mind spun as I tried to figure out what could be going on. As I said, Deborah was tall and Anglo and looked very competent and respectable. She wasn't in any kind of scary or sexy costume, just a woman going to work. At an office.
I say an office because Jorge probably works outdoors. He had a deep tan and very hard hands, I couldn't help but notice. His shoulders looked like he did a lot of lifting and not weight-lifting, work lifting, I mean. His middle looked liked he had lifted a few beers in his time as well. His clothes were clean and not worn, even though they didn't look new, so he looked dressed up, especially his shirt, which was orange and red with a Latin-western design. He still had most of his thick dark hair and his sideburns were way too long. I couldn't help but notice that behind the requisite oversized belt buckle was a wide, heavy, and somewhat overworked leather belt.
I thought of the stories I had most often cruised and a light went on. I almost laughed! These two were supposed to be my parents, me their daughter. What was funny about it is that my father was born in California and works in a bank (I probably thought of one of his co-workers, seeing Deborah) and my mother is a housewife, as short and plumper than I am. She's the one from Mexico and only works a few days a week, at the market. It was almost like they'd gotten my parents reversed.
Then the unfunny thought occurred to me - what always, always went on in these stories. I felt that exact sensation they always describe - a combination of glistening excitement and abject fear. I thought instantly about what panties I had on - clean, at least, even if they did lack sex appeal. Why I should worry about appealing to these people, I don't know. Why I even went along with it, I don't know. I guess in a way I wanted to. A year of reading these stories had gotten me more than ready.
Even as I thought back to a story or two, Jorge went over to my couch and sat down like he owned the place. His legs were well out in from of him and he looked like he was on a throne. Without a word he patted his solid thighs and motioned me over with a look. For some reason I drifted in his direction.
As soon as I got close his arm caught me under the seat and in an instant I was across his lap. I thought of hot stories with belts and switches and very embarrassing positions and hoped and prayed this wasn't one of those. I really didn't want that, I really, really didn't. Thankfully I still had my jeans up when he smacked me the first time.
"So, little lady, you know it all now, do you?" he started. I didn't answer as much harder smacks fell on my seat. I could feel how easily he was spanking me and already it hurt. I felt sticky from the whole situation and that made me feel dirty. Feeling dirty always makes me feel like I should be spanked, which didn't make me feel any less sticky.
The spanks got hard and he'd just started. I tried to take it.
"Maybe one more lesson might still teach you something," he told me, spanking quickly.
"Umpft," I responded. "Umpft, umpft, umpft."
When I read these stories, I always imagine that I'd get extra swats because my seat is big, not one of these "his large hand covered her entire bottom" types. It's not a good feeling, exactly, but it does excite me in a weird way, that I would have to be spanked all the more. But he was spanking just in a few spots and I found myself starting to fight him, I had to. Already I was crying some and it didn't look like he was going to let up. I asked, begged, cried for him to stop.
"Oh, no, chiquita, you still have much to learn," he assured me but he did start moving around. I was so embarrassed by how many places he could fit his hand on the target I was giving him. Through my jeans it didn't really sting but it hurt! I was really getting so sore and I begged some more, until I thought of the fact that when he did stop, my pants were coming down! I was in no shape to be seen, I'd die! I quickly switched to "sorry's" and tried to be more compliant. But it was so hard with him spanking me like that!
He seemed to have found the softest parts and was staying in those few spots. I couldn't help kicking and even swinging my arm but he didn't even notice. He held me across the back like I was a child, and where his arm held me, I didn't move a bit. His soft, firm voice kept reassuring me how much better I was getting with every painful spank. Finally he stopped but only to reach for the top of my jeans. I was sweaty and more, I was crying with pain and sobbing with embarrassment and I felt so sorry for all those girls I had read about and envied. My squirms were in a way that was probably turning him on, even though he'd stopped spanking me.
I have never been more relieved than when the hand at the top of my jeans pulled me off his lap.
"Do you think you can be good now?" he asked very seriously. I assured him I would, that I'd be very, very good and that I was very sorry and sorry he had had to spank me. He just told me to remember that it could always happen again.
I had fallen out of half of my bra and turned away to fix it and to give myself a chance to regain my composure and stop crying. If he'd sent me to the corner I'd have gone gratefully but that was not in store for me.
Deborah spoke with authority as she stated "We'll be wanting some privacy, I believe." She opened her purse and withdrew a wooden hairbrush and the scenario seemed chillingly familiar. "Will you wait for me in your room?" she asked, but it wasn't a question.
I was half glad to get out of there, in fact I closed the door behind me, I was so out of it, but on the other hand I was all the more scared and very sore already. Deborah opened the door and came in, closing it again behind her. The hairbrush, of course, was still in her hand.
"Are you going to take those down, or am I?" she asked menacingly. By now I knew I had no choice around here, so I did what she wanted, except slowly.
She sat.
"If I have to take those down for you, you are going to be the sorriest young lady in this city tonight," she predicted. I started crying again but at least the door was closed. I squeezed my legs together in fear and before I could move she stood up and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Oh, so that's how it'll be, will it?"
"No! No!" I cried, oblivious to the two outside, "I'll do it!"
"Too late," she informed me and my seat was bare and I was back facing downward. "Missy, you have just made a very, very big mistake." Deborah slapped me hard right where I was sorest and I howled. "Stop that!" she commanded. "Settle down!" A rain of spanks fell on my unprotected seat, right on the bare skin. They hurt!
She eased up some until I did settle down and finally she stopped all together. I couldn't resist a little breath of relief. "I don't want to do this at all," she lied, "and I am certainly going to make sure that I only have to do this once! And as for that foolishness about your panties, you know what I'm going to do about that!"
I was begging and "please'ing" and asking her not to but it didn't seem to make any difference. I guess I should have known but at the time I thought it was worth trying. Deborah waited and waited but then finally asked if I was ready to get the hairbrush. Of course I said no but she repeated herself exactly and followed it with, "That's two." I gulped hard, knowing I'd have to say it. Then she was already repeating, "Anna, are you ready to have me spank you with my hairbrush?" again. I said "Yes, yes!" trying to interrupt her but still she said, "That's three."
What happened after that I can hardly describe, not that I've forgotten a minute of it. She spanked with a snap that made each and every swat go right through me - I couldn't believe something could hurt that much! She did kind of the same thing as Jorge, spanking those few bad spots at first for a long time, then moving around. When she got low and kind of inside my cheek, I begged her, "not there, pleaseeee not there!"
She assured me that I would be spanked there and gave me a bunch right there to prove it and then another big bunch just on the other side. She promised me that "every square inch of my bottom" was going to get "every swat I had earned for it." At that point I just had to give up, I couldn't fight her anymore. I just lay across her lap and sobbed, bouncing from the reflex to her terrible stinging snaps.
I guess I would have been done then if I had cooperated better, because she finally stopped. She told me again how much she hated to do this and patted me with the brush. I jumped, even though it was light, and she sort of laughed at me. She said she didn't appreciate my making her job harder with my foolishness about my panties. She put her hand on the cheek away from her and smoothed it upward, pulling it flat down below. "And now I am going to make you very sorry you didn't cooperate when you needed to," she informed me.
"I AM sorry!" I protested but to no avail. I started struggling again but she had me completely under control. And it was true, I was sorry, sorry I hadn't pulled down my panties, sorry I needed to be spanked, sorry I read all those stories and got soft feeling while all those poor girls got spanked. I tried to tell her but she was having none of it.
"You're not sorry yet, not by a long way. You just think you are but just wait until I've really spanked you," she threatened. She pulled my cheek up again and started spanking, just in that one spot. Hard and stingy both at once and I was already soooo sore! Then she moved to the other side and I had to get each of the swats again over there!
My breathing was both panting and sobbing, I thought I would hyperventilate but she held me while I calmed down. She reached up and stroked my hair but then, with a voice that chilled me, she asked, "How old are you, Anna?"
I knew what that meant and I started sobbing again but this time she just waited. And waited. I told her, "Twenty four."
"Twenty," she said, tapping my bottom. "Four."
"And! How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"
"Nooooooooo!" I wailed, "Owwwwwwww!" as she brought the brush down hard, "Two. Two!" I insisted and I thought I was being fair.
Those swats were so much harder! I couldn't believe the earlier ones weren't the hardest she could spank - though at least these didn't snap like the ones I'd already had. She counted out the twenty-four very hard swats - twenty-four on each side! I should have been done but she repeated her question.
"How many times did I have to ask if you were ready?"
"Three," I sobbed piteously. I didn't even care anymore, this spanking would never be over. Then she swatted me and I started caring again. She repeated her first two sets, acting like she hadn't already given them to me - and then, then! This new mom they'd given me spanked out a third set right in the middle! I couldn't even fight her, I just had to lie there jerking back and forth and crying and being very, very sorry.
She had spanked me for so long that when she was done I didn't really believe it. She let me lie there and cry and then slump down between her legs and cry some more. After a while she stood me up, handed me my poodle from my bed and stood me in the corner, where I leaned with my head against the wall.
After a long time I looked around and she was still sitting there. She got up and found me my robe and put it around me, then led me out to where the others were still waiting.
They stood up and Jorge looked at me sympathetically, I thought. As well he should. Deborah got her purse and at long last the dreaded hairbrush disappeared from sight.
"We'll be going - for now," Brunswick warned. "You had best de-lurk quickly."
I immediately agreed, trying to look contrite and sincere. Once the door was closed, I headed right back to the computer. So I had to stand, I probably sit too much anyway. What I need to do, I figured, was find just the right stories. No telling when they'd be back and I certainly wasn't going to read the by-laws. Now let's see, there was one about a handsome sheik.....
***
Julie looked at me speculatively. "Do you think this policy has ever encouraged anyone to respond, instead of just listening?"
"NOOO!" we laughed in unison.
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