Ultimate Spanking

by Miranda Forbes

  She had tried to initiate a little light spanking session by doing something mildly annoying to get a rise out of him, then acting like a naughty schoolgirl and lying across his lap. He still did not take the hint, so in the end she had actually asked him to spank her. Horrified, he had jumped up as if he had been burned and looked at her as if she had just confessed to killing a member of his family. She had felt humiliated; he had actually called her a ‘dirty little pervert’ and not in a nice way, and that had been the end of that.

  By the time she had met Mark, she was fast giving up hope of ever meeting anyone. But when he walked into the bar and sat down with her, she just knew, somehow. She could feel the strength rolling off him.

  A couple of weeks after their initial meeting, and well into the long phone call stage, Jill called Rebecca and invited her out for a drink after work. Rebecca gave her an update and Jill looked almost as excited as Rebecca felt.

  ‘And what’s more, he’s invited me to go and stay for the weekend!’

  ‘On the boat?’

  ‘Yes, on the boat.’

  ‘Wow, you are privileged. I can’t remember the last time he invited a woman onto his boat.’

  After two more drinks and no food, Rebecca was feeling decidedly inebriated, and could almost feel her tongue loosening. Talk returned to the topic of the weekend on the boat.

  ‘Seriously, he seems really into you. He never talked about what happened, but he had a really rough time with his wife. It was a very nasty divorce and I think it’s taken him a while to get over it. Sounds like you might just be the one to put a smile back on his face.’

  Rebecca felt a glow of pride and, in a rush of gratitude, found herself confiding in Jill. She told herself the story of Mark’s divorce, which he’d told her all about, was her information to share, even though as she spoke the words out loud she knew that it wasn’t. The look on Jill’s face told her that she’d made a very big mistake.

  ‘She cheated on him? With Paul, his best friend! Oh my God, how could she do that! I always knew she was a bitch, but God, I never realised. Poor Mark, I can’t believe he never told any of us!’

  ‘He said he felt too ashamed … hardly wanted to admit it to himself. You won’t tell him that I told you will you? I think he only told me because I told him how Steve used to cheat on me, and it kind of came out, he doesn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, I’ll keep quiet for now, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it to myself for ever. You know, you really shouldn’t have told me.’

  Rebecca spent the next hours and days in a terrible state of wired anxiety. She wanted to call Jill and beg her not to say anything, but she sensed that would only make things worse. She thought about confessing to Mark, but the thought terrified her. She both longed for and dreaded his texts and phone calls, wondering if her world would come crashing down at any moment. In the meantime they chatted on the phone as usual and as the end of the week arrived she began to think she had got away with it. Surely, if Jill was going to tell him, she would have done it before she went to stay with him for the weekend?

  She pulled up in the little car park beside the village hall as per Mark’s directions. It was a beautifully sunny, hot day and there seemed to be some kind of fete on. Tourists and young families with buggies were all over the road and the grass verges. She got out of the car and stretched. Her blouse had stuck to her back in the heat and she loosened it to let the air onto her body. She brushed her hair in the car window and checked her make-up in the mirror. She saw a silver car pull up – it was him.

  He got out and walked over to her and picked up her bag without touching her.

  ‘Good journey?’

  ‘Yes thanks.’

  He opened the passenger door of his car for her and closed it behind her. The journey took two minutes and neither of them said a word. He parked on a grassed area, opened the door for her and picked up her bag and started walking, through a gap in the hedge and down on to the towpath. Her skin prickled with fear.

  The canal was pretty, with trees on either side; upon it there were swans and geese and beautiful narrow boats in traditional greens and blues, many with plants growing in pots on their roofs. His boat was beautiful, a faded dark blue. He stepped on first and handed her his arm. She followed him inside to the little living area. It smelled of fresh wood and was lined and panelled with pine. Outside through the little windows she could see the swans and geese on the water. He sat down on one of the bench seats and she did the same. She felt faint with terror. He looked at her.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Silence. He wasn’t even looking at her any more.

  ‘I really am sorry, I shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  There was no answer to that. She didn’t know why she’d done it, so she couldn’t say.

  ‘What can I do to make it up?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Her face burned. She just wanted to get back into her car and drive home. But she couldn’t leave it like this. She almost felt like crying when she thought back to her journey there, the sense of delicious anticipation, not just about the weekend but about the potential relationship ahead. They had talked on the phone about what they liked and he had said in a voice cracked with desire, ‘Oh girl, you and I are going to have so much fun together,’ and she had felt like nothing could be more perfect.

  Why, oh why, had she done it? She was a fool! A fool, an idiot girl who deserved to be punished. Deserved to be punished.

  So maybe, just maybe, there might be a way out of this mess. She didn’t want to leave, and nor had he asked her to, but she couldn’t spend the rest of the weekend there with him angry and not speaking to her, even though she was quite sure he would have no problem keeping it up. He’d left her in no doubt as to whether or not he took shit from anyone. He didn’t

  Anything was worth a try. Anything that might mean she wouldn’t lose him.

  He was looking out of the window as if she wasn’t there. She took a deep breath and went and knelt down on the floor by his feet. She took his hand. It sat lifeless in hers. Oh God.

  ‘Punish me.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Punish me. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t bear that I’ve made you angry. I want you to punish me enough so that you can forgive me.’

  ‘If I punish you enough to make me forgive you, that’s going to have to be one hell of a punishment. You’ve really pissed me off, Rebecca. I’m really fucking disappointed in you.’

  ‘I know. I know you are, and I am really, really, so, so sorry.’

  He looked at her and squeezed her hand for a fraction of a second.

  ‘I know you are. But it’s difficult for me to forgive something like that.’

  ‘That’s why I want you to punish me. So that you can.’

  ‘Rebecca, I’d have to really hurt you, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please.’

  He scowled, as if he were struggling with conflicting emotions. She held her breath and prayed. He sighed loudly, and then he stood up and drew the curtains.

  ‘All right. Get up and get undressed.’

  Shaking with a mixture of relief and terror, she undid her blouse, unzipped her jeans and took them off. Then removed her bra and knickers, as quickly and as unceremoniously as if she were getting ready for a swim.

  He picked up an old wooden chair.

  ‘Kneel down and hold on to the seat.’

  She did as she was told, her knees on the hard wood floor of the boat, her forearms resting on the seat of the chair, her hands gripping the uprights at the back. She heard, rather than saw, him taking off his belt.

  There was a loud crack, almost like an explosion, and then her body buckled in shock as he brought the belt down across her buttocks. For a second it was like jumping into cold water, the breath was knocked out of her body, and then a split second
later the pain ripped through her and she screamed. The pain seemed to build in intensity and to be going on for too long, and then just as she thought that he brought the belt down again, layering a new pain on top of the first one. It was too much for her and she screamed and tried to stand. He pushed her roughly back down on to the chair by her shoulders and then with one hand firmly in her shoulder blades he slapped her hard around the side of her face.

  ‘Just shut the fuck up. People can hear you.’

  He let go of her and leaned back, and this time when the belt hit her she pressed her mouth against the seat of the chair and stifled her scream, so that it just came out as a sort of stifled sob. And she managed, somehow, to hold herself still.

  It was a huge effort of will. She did it by reminding herself of how he had looked when she had arrived, and how this was the only way back, the only way to gain his forgiveness.

  Again and again he brought his belt down on her, until it felt as if her whole body had gone into a state of shock. It was almost as if she were having an out of body experience and looking down on herself from the ceiling. Almost, except that she could feel everything: each new blow took a split second to arrive, like thunder after a flash of lightning, and each new burst of pain layered upon and accentuated the pain from previous blows.

  She felt that he was working up and down her buttocks but also layering blows on top of blows, so that the whole area burned and burned with pain. In her mind she imagined what it looked like: red marks, wheals. She wondered if there was blood and how badly it would bruise. In front of her eyes was the back of the chair, and she kept her eyes fixed on the wooden spindles, the pattern of the grain, the faint dusting of sawdust, the little marks and nicks in the wood. Outside she could hear people walking along the towpath, the low voices of adults talking and the sound of children running and laughing. They were only feet away but the sounds seemed to come from another world.

  She was sobbing freely now; she had managed to stop screaming after each blow. Her face and the seat of the chair were wet with tears and her body felt battered and exhausted. She slumped more heavily against the chair, every last bit of resistance gone out of her.

  She felt the tiniest let-up, the tiniest easing in the intensity of the blows. Heard him exhale as if he too was exhausted, and then it stopped. She didn’t quite dare believe it at first; she thought it might just be a longer than usual pause, or a break between whacks, but he had really stopped.

  She heard and felt him straighten up behind her, and stand back. She imagined him surveying his handiwork and she hoped that he was pleased. She also felt the first glimmers of pride. Pride in herself for holding still by will alone when she had not been restrained, pride in herself for containing her screams without the assistance of a gag.

  ‘Sit up.’

  She carefully unfolded her body and sat up on her knees, so that her bottom didn’t touch her heels. She felt raw and tender and bruised. She didn’t dare meet his eye, so her gaze focussed on his thighs, on his work jeans. How she wanted to cling to him, but she didn’t move; she waited. He moved over to the snug and sat down on the low seat that also doubled as a little bed. He rested back on the cushions. He was only four or five feet away from her but it felt like a million miles.

  ‘Come here and suck me off.’ She heard the ragged catch of desire in his voice and her heart leapt. Everything hurt as she crawled over to him, but inside she was overflowing with joy and happiness. She kept her eyes on his jeans and with trembling hands that fumbled and slipped she found the button and undid it and unzipped his jeans. She eased them down along with his underwear; he didn’t move or help her so that she was only able to ease his clothing down just enough to get his cock out.

  It was the first time she had seen it: it was thick and rock hard and surrounded by dark, almost black hair. She took it in her mouth with infinite gentleness and licked her tongue around him, then took him deep into her mouth. She could taste the come on the end of his cock already, and soon he abandoned his nonchalant pose and grabbed hold of her hair and the back of her head and pushed her down harder and further onto him. He pushed his hips up towards her and swore under his breath and she knew then that everything was going to be okay: she had survived.

  ‘Jesus, Rebecca, you’re going to drive me fucking crazy, you know that,’ he murmured. And with a groan that almost sounded like he was in physical pain, he came into her mouth. She swallowed his come and then half lay, half sat, resting her head beside him until he moved over and made room and pulled her up onto the seat beside him, where he wrapped his arms around her and they slept.

  She was still wet when she woke up. She had been in too much pain and then been so grateful and relieved about sucking his cock that she hadn’t really noticed how aroused she had been. But between her legs, she was sticky and soaking wet. Her bottom still stung, but it only really hurt if she moved.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, and she was relieved beyond belief to see that he looked at her with desire and affection, not disappointment and disgust. He drew her to him and kissed her deeply. She felt her entire being melting in a pool of love and submission.

  He pulled back and looked at her seriously. ‘I don’t ever want to have to do that again, do you understand? I want to be with a woman who’s not going to piss me off in the first place. This isn’t a game, you know. Although …’ he shifted slightly and looked down at her bottom, ‘you took that really well, and I have to say, there’s nothing sexier than a woman with a well-spanked arse.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘But seriously, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. I’m not into loads of drama. I want an easy life. A woman who’ll do what she’s told, when she’s told, and I’m used to getting my own way.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it won’t ever happen again.’

  ‘Good girl. You’re forgiven.’

  He kissed her again, and this time his hands stroked her shoulders and back, unlocking tiny tensions in her muscles so that her body relaxed into him. His hands travelled down and onto her bottom. She winced slightly as he caressed her bruises. And then her body relaxed once more as his fingers slipped between her legs, into the wetness. He gave a satisfied grunt as he pushed his fingers inside her, where she was burning. Her body told him how much his punishment had affected her.

  ‘Mind you,’ he said, as his fingers stroked upwards over her clit and she gasped, ‘I didn’t know you’d enjoy it quite so much.’

  Perversion Process

  by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Oliver is the one who turned me into a pervert, or, at least, that’s what I like to say. Before I met him, I was definitely more on the vanilla side. I might have gotten a light spanking or two, had ice cubes shoved up my pussy, had a lover hold me down while he slammed his cock in and out of me, but Oliver took all of that to a new level. He meant business, and he showed me that in the backseat of his car after our first date. It had been a blind date, a set-up by my friend Christine.

  ‘But what is it about him that I’ll like?’ I’d pestered her for the umpteenth time over margaritas, my voice sounding whinier as the night and the drinks went on. She’d shown me his photo and all but handed me his resume and, while he was cute, I couldn’t really tell why she was so gung ho for me to meet him. Sometimes, though, I guess our friends know us better than we know ourselves, or maybe it was a lucky guess. I certainly hadn’t confessed my kinky fantasies to her, or anyone else.

  And I wasn’t expecting Oliver to do more than try to cop a feel, maybe get up my skirt, so I agreed to come in for a nightcap. He brewed us both strong cups of tea, but, instead of placing them at his dining room table, he brought them both over to a large chair, rested them on the small table next to it, and told me to come sit on his lap. ‘Like Santa?’ I joked.

  ‘Even better,’ he said. So I did. I sat on his lap, even though my just-above-the-knee-length skirt meant my thighs would be bared to him. I shifted so I was straddling one of his legs, already feeling myself get wet.
‘Here’s your tea,’ he said, handing me the glass. It was awkward, sitting like that and not acknowledging it. His whole body was so solid and firm beneath me, but I just politely twisted my head around and asked him more about running his own car dealership and his travels, while he asked me about being a fundraiser for a non-profit.

  Then all of a sudden, he made me spill my tea. Well, maybe he didn’t make me, but I wasn’t expecting him to ask, ‘How do you feel about spanking?’

  ‘You mean, parents and kids?’ I asked, stalling for time, not wanting to let on that the word had instantly conjured up images of my bottom bared for him, of my ankles and wrists bound, of him thrashing me with all kinds of implements, of him spanking me all over.

  He took my hand and pressed deeply into my palm before pinching the skin there. My tea forgotten, he looked intently into my eyes and said, ‘Serena, you know that’s not the kind of spanking I’m talking about. Don’t be coy; it doesn’t suit you. I’m asking you how you’re going to like it when I take you naked across my knee and spank that sweet ass of yours until you scream?’ He stopped playing with my hand, letting it simply rest against his.

  I swallowed hard, my face turning beet-red – I could feel it.

  ‘I’d like that, Oliver. I’d like that a lot,’ I said, unexpected tears rushing to my eyes. He wasn’t talking about a playful, fun kind of spanking. He wasn’t talking about playing bongos on my butt and then whipping out his cock, or giving me a good squeeze and slap while I writhed on top of him. Oliver was dead serious, like spanking was the only topic that mattered – and suddenly, it was.