Naughty Spanking One

by Miranda Forbes

  Easier said than done but somehow an increasingly nervous Tara complied.

  ‘Better,’ grunted Jack grudgingly and commenced spanking; lightly at first his palm skimming the surface to visit the merest suggestion of a stinging impact to Tara’s porcelain globes. It was, she initially considered, endurable. Indeed the resultant mild smarting sensation coupled with the realisation that here she was, at last, surrendered, bare-bottomed and helpless across a demonstrably handsome man’s knee. It proved a considerable turn on.

  As the minutes ticked by, Jack gradually increased the pace and power of each spank, cupping his hand slightly to increase the sound of each percussive impact. Tara enjoyed the ripples each subsequent slap sent shuddering through her taut flesh. Ah, it was beginning to smart now, Tara’s feet kicked out involuntarily and she gasped and wiggled across his lap as the heat in her bottom began to inexorably increase. Her bottom felt as if were positively glowing, ‘Oh no,’ she groaned, squirming on his lap, ‘enough already, it’s starting to hurt.’

  ‘The purpose of spanking being what exactly?’ observed Jack wryly. ‘If it ain’t hurting it ain’t working,’ he added as, satisfied with the warmth radiating from her scarlet-hued upper cheeks, he switched his attentions to Tara’s lower posterior curves.

  ‘Ow no!’

  Tara’s indignant gyrations became ever more animated and, despite the constraint of her tangled hosiery, she unintentionally parted her legs far wider than was prudent to maintain any vestige of modesty.

  Jack smiled; she’d obviously been entirely truthful when hinting at being no novice with regard to matters sexual. Tara’s pudenda were completely clean-shaven, her labial lips clearly exposed and glistening with the unmistakeable evidence of incipient arousal. He paused from spanking her delectable rear to savour the sight then, carefully taking each labium between finger and thumb, rubbed them delicately together. Tara groaned ecstatically in response and continued to do so with loud abandon for the next few minutes as her moist secrets were expertly petted and probed. An assured thumb circled her clitoris and stroked her own juices around her puckered anus. Deft fingers slipped into her hot, wet vagina and began to delve deeper and faster into her honeyed portal. Moans of pleasure escaped her as she writhed across his lap, trapped between pleasure and pain, her arousal increasing by the moment. Tara raised her arse without inhibition, inviting the resumption of contact with his punishing palm, while at the same moment pushing back her pubis; the better to enjoy his urgent finger-fucking of her hungry sex. Her climax came quickly and violently, arching her body in intense physical pleasure as Tara was smacked and penetrated to a noisy release.

  ‘Did that meet your expectations?’ enquired Jack finally as she lay dishevelled, satiated and breathing heavily across his knee.

  ‘More intense than I ever imagined,’ confirmed Tara fervently.

  ‘Remember, you still have a dose of the paddle to come and I don’t think you’ll find that so user-friendly,’ said Jack. ‘Go and fetch it please.’

  Her maiden spanking had clearly had a salutary effect as, knickers and tights still half way down her thighs and bottom glowing red Tara obediently hobbled to the bedroom to fetch the instrument of correction.

  ‘How do you want me?’ she enquired meekly upon her return.

  Jack allowed the moment of hushed expectancy to last the better part of a minute while he examined the shiny leather implement she handed him.

  ‘Beautifully made,’ he murmured, ‘finest quality material, look at the grain. Excellent,’ he soliloquised, turning the paddle over and slapping it experimentally against his palm.

  Tara winced as a sound like a pistol shot echoed around the room.

  ‘Hand-tooled, beautiful stitching,’ Jack continued his eulogy, ‘and specifically designed for just one purpose,’ he fixed her with a steely look, ‘to make the bare bottoms of irresponsible young women extremely hot and sore.’

  Tara winced again, hands clutching at her still hot moons. Her look mutely beseeched mercy.

  ‘How do I want you?’ said Jack returning to her question, ‘with as few encumbrances as possible. Take off those damn tights, knickers, skirt; the lot in fact. Then put the killer boots back on, their high heels will tense your calves and push that pert little arse out nicely. Oh, and keep the glasses on too. Not only do I find them irrepressibly cute but I want you to witness your hiding.”

  Heart thumping, thighs trembling, Tara hurried to obey. A cool breeze from the window brushed across her fair skin as she obediently stripped of her outfit. Small boobs aside she was proud of her gamine frame and endless legs. The spanking hadn’t been so bad, the thrill of masculine contact – strong hands bending her to his will, everything she hoped for in endless girlish imaginings – had made her come uninhibitedly after all. That said though, somehow the prospect of a leathering with the paddle was good deal scarier, guaranteed to hurt her already sore behind. Now that it came to the crunch, what if she wasn’t brave at all, just how cruel would Jack be? Yet perversely these very doubts, the fear of the unknown, proved to possess aphrodisiacal qualities. Pulling on the boots she stood up straight, thrust her breasts and shaven pubis thrust proudly forward and, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation, faced her tormentor.

  Christ but she looked gorgeous, thought Jack who was finding it increasingly difficult to resist the temptation to sweep Tara from her feet, carry her straight to the sofa and bend her to his wicked way. Instead he cupped each of her outthrust little tits in his hands, felt her shiver with pleasure as he softly squeezed them taking each erect nipple between finger and thumb and gently twisting.

  ‘Oooooh,’ a low moan escaped Tara’s lips, the sensation was exquisite. Her knees felt weak and Tara’s tongue circled her lips in lascivious pleasure, inviting his kiss.

  ‘You little trollop, you’re really turned on aren’t you,’ announced Jack fondly running his hands appreciatively down the front of her naked body, across her flat hard abdomen to the junction of her thighs.

  ‘Look at you, sopping wet again,’ he said holding a glistening finger before her bespectacled eyes as evidence of her body’s betrayal. ‘Far too much pleasure for a girl destined to be punished, time to turn around, bend over and touch your toes.’

  Tara needed no second bidding and being enviably young, supple and fit easily achieved the required stance. Bent almost double, legs apart, perfect peach of a bottom pushed out for his delectation, her denuded sex glistened lewdly.

  Not trusting himself to observe any longer Jack stood back, raised his arm and delivered the first blow

  CRACK!

  ‘Oooh yaaa!’ Tara yelled out in pain and surprise as her left buttock absorbed the brunt of the unexpectedly severe impact. ‘Christ that hurt,’ she gasped, grimacing at the pain

  WHACK!

  ‘Yeeow, shit!’ she cried in outrage as an identical blow struck the right cheek. Both buttocks now stung fiercely, their entire surface throbbing with what seemed to Tara an unendurable hurt.

  WHACK!

  ‘Aaaah!’ Hands loosing their grip on her ankles and flailing before her, Tara half rose from her jacknifed pose.

  ‘Get back down girl,’ growled Jack unsympathetically and in the knick of time she managed to resume her position. Only half way there. ‘Oh Christ,’ Tara moaned, ‘that smarts.’ The burning flesh of her poor bum felt as if it had been stretched drum-tight then flayed.

  WOP!

  ‘Ooof, Omigod! That was too low!’ With a wail of anguish Tara gyrated frantically her damaged derriere, providing Jack with an undignified display of her bottom crack. Oh this was torture, far worst than she’d ever anticipated. Craning her neck she peered over her shoulder to discover her already pink bottom was now further decorated with livid marks, which looked as if they might take days to fade.

  SLAP!

  ‘Yeow!’ Unable to control her reaction Tara shot uptight, the pure burning pain bringing tears to her eyes. Her hands clutched her blazing bum. Jack howev
er was in no mood for clemency. Tara’s first time must be hard; be firm now, he’d decided and ensure total obedience in the future. Within minutes the fiery sting would mutate into a warm, insidiously spreading sensual glow, but as yet Tara remained a novice still to discover such compensations. With a firm hand in the centre of her back he forced the snivelling girl back down and delivered the last stroke.

  CRACK!

  ‘Oh Oh Oh!’ Tara was immediately upright again and performing an anguished jig in front of him.

  ‘Oh hellfire Jack, thank fuck that’s it, I couldn’t take any more,’ she wailed in obviously genuine distress.

  ‘Oh but you will young lady.’

  ‘What? You’ve already given me six.’

  ‘Six of the best may work for the purposes of your fictional encounters, Tara, but someone who’s behaved as badly as you gets a full dozen in real life. Risking unsafe sex with stranger when drunk deserves a proper hiding.’

  ‘Oh but my poor little bottom, it’s agony, I can’t possibly stay in that position,’ Tara cried.

  ‘No, you’re right in that respect,’ conceded Jack. ‘I think bending over will have to be abandoned for the moment. In fact since you seem to find it impossible to stay down I may have to employ the diaper position.

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ enquired Tara suspiciously.

  ‘On your back, knees up to your chest, ankles in the air; that way I can hold your legs and beat your bum,’ responded Jack casually.

  ‘No way, too degrading, besides you might accidentally hit my pussy,’ pleaded Tara.

  ‘So what do you suggest? Because believe me Tara, that arse yours is going to be properly punished,’ declared Jack.

  ‘Alright, alright, let me kneel with something to hold onto, I can do this Jack, please don’t humiliate me,’ replied Tara plaintively.

  ‘Hmm, good idea. Let’s have you on that chair in front of the mirror. That’s it kneel up, hold onto the back and push that bottom right out for me. Good, now what can you see?’

  ‘An unforgiving brute about to make my poor stinging bottom hurt even more than it already does,’ moaned Tara petulantly, nevertheless proffering her perfect peaches just as Jack directed.

  ‘Correct,’ agreed Jack unabashed, ‘now then my beautiful bespectacled miscreant, watch closely.’ So saying he bought the paddle ringing down across her rear. Despite her animated wriggling and yelps of complaint Tara’s concluding chastisement was applied far less severely.

  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

  Three slaps fell in quick succession upon her lower curves, just above the tender junction of buttock and thigh.

  ‘OOOOH!’ she shrieked, frantically kicking her booted feet but managing to stay in place.

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The final trio were resolutely delivered to the tops of her thighs

  ‘URGH, Jack!’ For the first time she’d called his name and in a tone – if Jack wasn’t mistaken – tinged with an implicit acceptance of her to submission to him. As the cumulative smart seared her hindquarters, Tara shook her head vigorously and almost dislodged her glasses.

  ‘Is that it, can I rub?’ she enquired ruefully, one hand already sneaking towards her ravaged rear while the other pushed her specs back onto the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Yes you may,’ confirmed Jack, ‘but I’m not quite through.’

  ‘And does the “not quite” have anything to do with the lethal looking bulge in your trousers?’ asked Tara archly.

  ‘Correct,’ agreed Jack grasping her hips purposefully.

  ‘And I suppose you think I’m going to let you put that monster inside me?’ Tara was rapidly regaining her composure. ‘Oh!’ she added quickly as Jack did so.

  With a triumphal grin Tara ground her hot buttocks back into his firm abdomen, urging him on. Beginning with long, slow, steady strokes that soon rapidly increased in tempo, Jack felt her inner muscles grip his rampant cock, sending jolts of sublime pleasure coursing through his fevered loins. Tara arched her back, cried out and came a second time. Pausing only to withdraw his cock James reached orgasm, spurting jolts of thick, hot semen across her tenderised buttocks then rubbing it into the velvet skin.

  A short time later their respective roles, while not reversed, certainly seemed to be in transition. Announcing firmly ‘I’ve not yet finished with you my lad,’ Tara bade Jack sit on the chair whereupon she sank to her knees and began to skilfully revive his flagging manhood with her mouth and tongue. With her glasses perched incongruously upon her nose Jack thought Tara resembled a pretty but preoccupied academic. Had he included the soubriquet “Professor” this would in fact have been a completely correct assessment.

  ‘You know that old saying, that men don’t make passes…’ he began.

  ‘At girls who wear glasses? Load of old rubbish,’ averred Tara decisively. ‘Anyway, how about girls who wear glasses making passes in order to get spanked arses?’

  The Good Girl

  by Emily Dubberley

  I don’t know what made me do it: I’ve always been a good girl. As a kid, I worked hard at school, went to bed when I was told to and didn’t think about shoplifting, sneaking out to parties or even wearing make up (other than the clear lip-gloss and brown mascara allowed by my mum). University was about getting my degree. OK, there were a few drunken nights – I’m not the dullest person on the planet – but I attended all my lectures, even the 9 a.m. ones, and never let a party night interfere with my essay deadlines. I was in my first job within a week of graduation and, since then, I’ve been steadily working my way up the career ladder. Now, aged 30, I’m Marketing Director for a global brand that you’d know if I named it, with a beautiful two-bed flat in an up-and-coming part of town and a life that, to any outside observer, looks flawless.

  Most of the time I’d be inclined to agree. I can afford to buy designer clothes, stock my fridge with Waitrose’s finest and go on exotic holidays. Although my job’s stressful, my weekends are my own and I make the most of them, cooking for friends, going horse riding and going on spa breaks at least once a month. It’s just that sometimes it all seems a little boring. Everything is so routine, so well-ordered that sometimes I want to break free of it all: tell my boss what I really think of her; go travelling and not wash my hair for a month; get off my head at a party full of people ten years my junior. I guess that was how I got myself into this mess.

  It was two weeks and three days ago that it all started. I’d been at a work dinner and had indulged in a few too many glasses of wine: the client kept topping up my glass and it seemed rude to refuse. I decided to walk home to help clear my head. It was only a short journey and the streets were well lit. I ambled along, looking at the stars and enjoying the balmy evening. It felt like there was some special sparkle in the air, and when I passed the park, the swings seemed to beckon to me. I felt like being frivolous; and I had always loved playing on the swings when I was younger. Glancing around, I couldn’t see anyone who’d witness my immaturity and, giggling to myself, I ran to the gates. I pushed at them but – damn – they were locked. I almost walked away, but the idea of feeling the wind whooshing past my cheeks as I swung back and forth was just too tempting. The gate wasn’t that high. Hoiking my pencil skirt up to mid-thigh level, I found a foothold, gripped onto the top of the gate and clambered over it. I felt rebellious as I ran for the swings and started to play. All the stresses of my week seemed to melt away as I kicked off with ever more force, climbing higher and higher. I closed my eyes and let the elation flood my body.

  “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?”

  The voice broke into my thoughts and I wobbled on the swing. I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a tall man in his late twenties. Reality kicked in and I realised that I was alone in a park at night with a strange man. I thought about ignoring him and hoping he’d go away but figured that would probably antagonise him. Keeping swinging so that he couldn’t grab me, I answered him.

  “I’m swinging.”
>
  “Well, you shouldn’t be. The park’s closed.”

  A hitherto unknown rebellious streak rose up in me, no doubt spurred on by the drink and adrenaline.

  “So? It’s just a bit of fun.”

  “And if you fell off and hurt yourself, I’d be the one who got sued. Get off the swing. You’re trespassing.”

  With relief, I realised that he must be the park keeper.

  “It’s a public park.”

  “Only between the hours of 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. Right now, it’s closed and you’re breaking the law.”

  I slowed myself on the swing, partly because I was getting light-headed and partly because I was beginning to realise that he was right. What was I doing?

  “OK, sorry. It just looked so tempting when I was walking past. I’ll go now.”

  “Not so fast. I told you, you’re breaking the law. I’m going to have to call the police.”

  I could see the headlines in the trade press now: ‘Susie Zane arrested for playing on swings’. I’d be a laughingstock.

  “Please don’t,” I said to the stranger. “I wasn’t doing any harm. I didn’t realise I was doing anything wrong.”

  “So you normally climb over gates to get into the park then?”

  I realised he must have been watching me from the moment I entered the park.

  “No, I… Oh, look, I haven’t done any harm. Can’t you let me go? Please?”

  The stranger looked me up and down.

  “Well, I might be able to let you off. But I think you need some punishment, otherwise you might do it again.”

  “I’ll help you tidy the park. Or I could write a press release for you if you’ve got any events coming up here.”

  “Not my department. Anyway, I don’t think that’d be enough punishment. No, I think you need to be taught a proper lesson.”

  Something in his voice made me look more closely at him. There was a definite flirtatious glint in his eyes – which, now I came to think of it, were rather twinkly and sexy.