Saturday, October 21, 2006

My Married Friends by Amy - November, 1995

Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.

by Amy - November, 1995


I know all of you are accustomed to people with a lot of different tastes but even so I feel weird writing this. It’s not just because I enjoy spankings or that the ones I prefer are blisteringly hard. That’s the way I am. But as a single girl unwilling to confide in every boyfriend and to explain exactly what I want, I’ve found another source for my spankings - one that leaves me more frustrated than ever! Added to the fact that our play-scene is always identical, I have to admit that I consider myself a little strange.

My situation started when I confided my desires to a friend of mine. He was the perfect confidant - he considered everything acceptable. When I’d tested him on a few examples and he didn’t seem judgmental, I decided to bare my soul to him. A few drinks also may have had something to do with it. I didn’t expect anything to come from it, though, since he was happily married and we’d always had a very chaste relationship. I admit I was a little surprised when, the following Friday evening, he suggested that he and his wife play the part of my overly strict parents to my role as a slightly wayward teenager. His idea was for me to be a little more detailed in the specifics of my fantasy and then they would act it out with me strictly for my benefit. There would be no hint of sex or even nudity on their part (though presumably some would be required on mine). My own satisfaction would be my concern and their sex would remain private.

I was pretty excited by this proposal and I said so. Matt called his wife to meet us for dinner, where I nervously gave them my bare-bones requirements. They were as follows: I am a teenager and I have misbehaved. I’ve been caught without question. I am to be spanked as hard as they are willing to do so on the bare bottom. I can beg and plead without effect unless it is a more punitive one. They are to act unreasonably strict. Once we try something, we stick with it until we all agree to change it.

This was perfect for Diane, who I’ve since learned really gets off on acting and directing. Matt’s a pretty forceful, self-assured person and I always figured he was in charge but it was Diane who looked at me and said, “Okay. We’ll call you sometime in the next two weeks.” That’s the last we spoke of the subject but my heart pounded as I imagined my bottom cheeks at the mercy of this stern-acting woman. My pussy got hot just wondering how much she’d enjoy my being spanked, how far she was willing to go and whether she’d do it herself or have Matt do it.

To say that it was a long weekend doesn’t begin to describe it. I found myself wondering just what I knew about this woman. Matt’s the kind of guy that, when I said I’d enjoy (or at least find satisfying) a spanking that left my backside blazing, that’s just what he’d want to give me - exactly what I’d “enjoy”. He’d always described his wife as the nicest of persons, as did everyone else I knew. But what if she was jealous of our working relationship, the hours we shared every day, my professional wardrobe, the downtown lunches, the occasional after-work drinks? And now I’d be over her knee, suffering under the torment of who-knows-what instrument she might choose to tan my hide?

The more I considered it, the more I convinced myself that I was in for a fathomless, endless thrashing like I’d never imagined. And the more I thought about that, the hotter I became. I had told myself I wouldn’t masturbate until we’d had our scene, to build my excitement but I quickly convinced myself that she wouldn’t have said two weeks if she was going to call right away. I resisted the urge Saturday morning but gave in that evening and twice on Sunday and even then had to fight myself not to again at bedtime.

Monday morning Matt stuck his head in my office to ask if I’d had a good weekend. He asked if I’d been preoccupied and if I’d be able to work. I could only tell him I’d try - fortunately, he’s not our boss! My efforts took a major hit right before lunch (planned with Matt) when Diane called! Needless to say I was very surprised and even a little scared. I imagined that she knew I’d been masturbating and was going to spank me for that! With the right attitude there was no end to the spanking that could lead to! She said she just had some questions for me and I strongly suspect just wanted to make me miserable. Miserably horny, that is. She wanted to know if they could really spank me hard, if I wanted over-the-knee or bent-over (I hadn’t even thought of that!) and if I needed to come over on the weekend so that I wouldn’t have to worry about sitting at work the next day. I was on my office phone worrying about being overheard so I just answered, “Very”, ”the first option”, and “actually, I’d prefer Monday through Thursday”. I was so hot I was sure I’d squish when I walked. She was certainly firming up her plans for me and my poor bottom!

Maybe she did know about my masturbating because she finally called the following Tuesday after I spent a week of thoughts filled with endless, extended, and repeated spankings, failing to resist the temptation to relieve my constant frustration. She told me to be there the following evening at six and one night of abstinence was plenty to bring me to a fever pitch. I didn’t have anything planned and I suspect that Matt had looked through my appointment book. I agonized over what to wear and decided on my plainest but briefest underwear with a dress long and tight enough that it would have to come off and hose and sandals. Matt looked over my outfit and smiled when he saw me Wednesday morning but when we went to lunch he made no reference to the evening whatsoever.

I got to their house right on time (by being early and spending ten minutes of torture in the car worrying about how embarrassingly wet my panties were getting). In fact, I developed a excruciating need to pee, so I showed up at their door with my legs pressed together (classy, huh?). This gave me a perfect opportunity to take off my hose, though. What happened when I came out of the bathroom is something I’d been dreaming of for years.

Diane immediately grabbed my arm just above the elbow. In a no-nonsense voice she said “Come in to the living room, young lady. Your father and I would like to talk to you.” She steered me very forcefully into the living room, where Matt was sitting on the couch. On the coffee table in front of him was a copy of Penthouse magazine. Diane took a seat across from him and left me standing. I was shaking in anticipation of what was about to happen. I found myself clenching my buttocks and if I could have clenched my pussy I would have done that too.

“I had to put away some of your ironing today, Amy. Look what I came across in your closet,” Diane started. “Suppose you tell us where you got it?”

“I .. I bought it,” I stammered. “I was curious about it.”

“You’ve been told how we feel about these things, young lady,” she continued. I will never hear the term “young lady” again without expecting a spanking. “I doubt there’s been any chance for misunderstanding.”

“Does he have to be here?” I asked, indicating Matt with a very small shake of my head. My fear was no act - I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.

“I think you know that he does. Remove your dress. Maybe that will help you understand your situation.”

My hands trembled as I unbuttoned what I call my “flasher” dress - it opens all the way down the front, like a car-coat. I saw Matt swallow as my bra, belly, and panties appeared. Bending over to get the last buttons, the scent of my drenched panties filled my nostrils. They had been soaked when I walked in the door and by now they were completely hopeless. I stood up to see Diane calmly holding out an arm for my dress. I stepped out of my pumps and felt even smaller and more vulnerable. I couldn’t imagine a pretense for getting me out of my bra, so I just reached up a took it off. I was gratified to see Matt’s eyes widen at the sight of my breasts. I expected some sort of remonstrance from Diane but she pretended not to notice. Her calm assurance frightened me all the more. It was time to start pleading.

“Really, I’m sorry. I know what you think but it was just this once.” In my mind I was telling myself that that was a lie, so completely was I mixing fantasy and reality, and that I’d be punished for it as well. “I know you don’t approve but I just wanted to see what it was like. I was just curious.” I was almost in tears and starting to squirm where I stood. Unconsciously, I put my hands behind me to protect my threatened bottom. Matt couldn’t take his eyes off me (and I knew he had a hard-on) yet he hadn’t said a word.

“You knew how we feel. You knew the consequences and did it anyway in complete disregard for our feelings. Now you will receive those consequences. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I practically whispered.

“Good. Go to my dresser and get the clothes brush from the top right-hand drawer,” Diane demanded.

So this was what I’d waited for all these years. I went into her room and found the drawer. Opening it, I saw the brush and it fascinated and terrified me. It was an oversized hairbrush with a head as big as a man’s hand and a long lever of a handle. The wood was thick, heavy, and polished. I was sure it spanked like nothing I’d ever felt before. As I reached for it tentatively I found it difficult to even touch it, like I’d get an electric shock. When I did pick it up carefully and tested it against my palm (lightly) it put an end to doubts I’d never had. I was dying to test it against my bottom but I didn’t dare. What if it left a mark? What if they overheard in the living room? Paralyzed, I stood there for far too long.

“Amy, come out here now,” Diane’s severe command shocked me out of my reverie. I jumped with a start and almost ran back to the living room, brush swinging heavily in hand. Matt and Diane hadn’t moved. My nipples had somehow managed to get even harder and Matt’s direct stare on them made me blush furiously. Was he here just for my embarrassment? Renewed thoughts of Diane’s potential jealousy raced through my mind and I turned to her.

Diane asked, “Will this do? It looks terrifically effective,” referring to the hairbrush. I couldn’t speak and probably couldn’t even breathe (I don‘t remember). Suddenly she pulled the coffee table toward herself and Matt moved to the edge of his seat and spread his legs. And eased his hard-on, I thought wickedly. Ooh, an extra ten swats if they could read my mind! For a moment it didn’t occur to me what was happening but then Matt had his hand out for the brush. Handing it to him handle first, tears welled in my eyes.

He slowly loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt at the neck and then his cuff, stretching his arm out in preparation. I really started crying then, even as I bent over his leg. He only offered me one leg and pushed my shoulders toward the floor, raising and tilting my poor bottom up so that the tenderest parts were the most vulnerable. I’d never expected a position like this! I was crying and apologizing like crazy, promising never to do it, or anything like it, ever again. Then he locked me between his thighs which reminded me that there was no hope and no escape. Somehow I’d expected to be able to get up, roll off, something that would leave me in ultimate control. What had I asked for? As hard as they dared? A blistered bottom? Suddenly I was sure I’d get all I’d bargained for at the very least. What did I really want? To be under someone else's total control? Whose control was I under, his or hers? My mind whirled.

My hip was pressed right into his erection and his free hand held my far hip tightly. My legs were free if I could lift them in this position but what good would that do other than to provide evidence of my suffering? I was completely out of control - not even knowing what I was saying, promising anything, weeping freely. Finally, he plucked at my panties which still covered my quivering, spank-free bottom and my embarrassingly drenched, puffy pussy. When they saw how aroused I was would they make my spanking worse? It would have to be, which aroused and frightened me all the more. I was practically humping the air.

“How about these?” he asked carelessly and snapped the leg of my panties. I immediately begged to be able to leave them on to protect my decency, swearing they wouldn’t protect me from such a spanking, that the brush would hurt plenty anyway.

But Diane loudly flipped the magazine open and declared, “Your friends don’t seem to have so much modesty!” With this she roughly grabbed my panties on both sides and yanked them down my thighs. She didn’t stop but took them right off but whenever I think back it’s her yanking them down off my bottom that I remember most. I shuddered with something close to orgasm from the way she demanded my total humiliation and determination to push my embarrassment to unbearable levels.

Rump roast. If you ever want to know how to do it, Matt’s the man to ask. The first swat landed on the softest part of my bottom, just above the thigh on the side away from Matt. That single swat was about as bad as any spanking I’d ever had and I let out a gasp I can’t even begin to describe. The second was right next to it, landing fully on the inside curve of the same cheek. That’s the tenderest spot anywhere and embarrassing because it’s so close to my bun-hole. The third was centered over my divide, pressing in with a rush of air. It literally sizzled from my wetness, even back there. Then the other side, inside curve with the tip of the brush almost pressing my bunhole and then the outside. All just barely above the leg, right where you’d spank when you want it to hurt as much as it can. And it did. And back, same swats, reverse order. Then slightly, oh so slightly higher and repeat. Five over, five back. And me panting, begging, crying, promising, anything, all to no avail. There wasn’t a direction I didn’t move, a muscle I didn’t twist. I would have given up but the spanks were too hard to just lie there and my body took on a mind of its own.

At the top of my bottom he started back down slowly, just as hard. The spanks weren’t coming slowly; only his progress was. There were no breaks whatsoever in the barrage as he marched relentlessly up and down my bottom. I knew exactly where he was putting every swat and it was worse than not knowing. The slight respite I'd gotten as he moved upwards disappeared as soon as he repeated his swats as he moved back down and each new row was more sensitive than the one above it. My mind filled with weird thoughts - that my breasts were shaking and swaying and he couldn’t see them to appreciate it, that tomorrow at work I’d be sitting funny and he’d know why. That (despite his razor-sharp hard-on slicing into my hip) there was something almost impersonal, unemotional in his rhythmic, planned style. And I was overwhelmed by the desire to fuck his brains out.

I was sure when he got to the bottom he’d stop and it’d be over. Then I’d cry and masturbate on the spot. But he started a new streak straight up the middle - in case my crack wasn’t sore enough. I could have told him it already was. On the low swats I could feel the air rush over my pussy, almost as if it were in danger too. I’d been kicking a lot but it must have gotten out of hand because Diane grabbed both my ankles and held them down. I thought I’d orgasm at her touch. Somehow the sense of satisfaction I projected on her, her demand for my humiliation and suffering beyond all sensible limits, was the most exciting part both while it was happening and when I remembered it with busy fingers afterward. With my knees together my crack seemed even wider. I found her cruelty almost more exciting than I could take but she wasn’t finished with me. As Matt got back down to the “bottom of my bottom” with those dangerous swats that seemed to threaten my pussy itself she let go long just enough to trail a fingernail quickly from side to side. Matt responded with a renewed attack of my softest spots but it was plenty clear who’s idea it was. Finally, as he continued to spank me in spots that must have been the color of a Bing cherry, he started lecturing me - asking if I’d be good, if I thought I’d learned my lesson yet, telling me he didn’t want to have to do it again but if he did he’d make it worse next time. Though I don't know how.

When he finally stopped, Diane moved her grip from my ankles to my wrists. As they let me get painfully up she kept my hands away from both my backside and my clit. I don’t know which one ached more but she sure knew what she was doing. I was so overcome by this last cruelty I could barely walk to the corner, shaking from head to toe from crying, my legs wobbly from kicking, my tummy sore from twisting.

Diane made me stand for twenty minutes with my hands at my sides under her watchful stare. I must have been quite a sight because I couldn’t stand still, hopping and squeezing my legs together. Then she ordered me to go up to Matt (completely naked, gyrating pussy and all) to apologize for misbehaving, thank him for correcting me so definitely and apologize for kicking and crying like I hadn't deserved it. He asked if I was convinced not to do it again (with the intent of starting over?) - I couldn’t believe it! How could I have taken another swat? This brought on a new wave of tears but I begged him not to spank me anymore, promising over and over I'd never do anything like it ever again, trying so hard to sound sincere enough! Finally, I was sent to “my room” at long last.

I should be spanked for what happened next but thankfully I wasn’t.

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