Ultimate Spanking

by Miranda Forbes

  With my heart threatening to burst, I dragged my legs from their paralysis and took a step towards her. From out of nowhere a figure cut my vision and suddenly an elderly lady was there between us, addressing my girl. The blood hissed in my ears and muffled the old lady’s question but I was still lurching forward, trying to divert my momentum away from them, too humiliated to stop and wait like a lost sheep and desperate now to just get away with as much dignity as I could muster. I could feel my face burning and as I passed them I felt her gaze still boring into me, tracing my departure.

  I didn’t want to walk away from her but I did. I was such a shaking mess that I had to go. I knew that she was still looking at me but I couldn’t look back, not until I had reached the double doors to the stairs. I turned briefly and saw her speaking softly to the old woman. Then my eyes dropped to witness her round bottom sticking out against her leggings, and I gasped aloud. I needed to stay and absorb the wonderful sight but my foolish legs, unused to hurried flight, had already taken me out of the hall, and the doors were swinging back to close and hide her.

  Her image wouldn’t leave me. It made me so befuddled and lost me so much sleep it was almost a haunting. I spent hours bent over on my bed, my bare bottom reflected all around the room. I saw the curve of my cheeks and the dark split between them and wished my face could be just inches from it, absorbing its scent and beauty. I saw my tiny hole, hidden until I stuck my arse right out, a shy ring like an inward belly button with no trace of pucker, its little jet black opening at the heart. I watched engrossed as my wet finger slid slowly in and out while I longed for my bum to be hers.

  I went back to the gallery every day for a week in the hope that she would be there, my stomach lurching with pangs of panic when it struck me that I had walked out on her and might never see her again. I tried at different times of the day. I made excuses to leave work to see if she might be there mid morning, or late afternoon. Every time I went I stood before beautiful Erato and looked at her gorgeous stone bum and dreamt of it as real flesh, the flesh of the girl I had left in the gallery.

  And then, when my hopes had all but gone, she was there. I was once more forlornly stroking the statue and thinking of what might have been when I saw her from the corner of my eye. She had caught me fondling the inert marble once more and I should have whipped away my hands in embarrassment, but they stayed and continued their light caresses, even as I turned to her and met her gaze, seeing that same expressionless, wonderful face.

  My body fizzed with instant adrenalin but I wasn’t going to lose her this time. I kept my nerve and tried to take back some control, stroking Erato’s backside with nail-tip brushes that would have electrified real skin. I could see her gaze fixed on my hands now. I lightly cupped and gently squeezed at each unyielding stone bun, feeling their coolness at my palms, praying for her warm softness instead. Then I sank to my knees, my face level with the marble bottom, not caring who saw me, as long as she did.

  I held each cheek of the stone posterior as if gently spreading them, and then slowly leant forwards, parting my lips to let my tongue snake out to its fullest extent. The tip alighted at the lowest point of the statue’s rear, where the gown covered her once more, the artists leaving only the tiniest hint of bulging lips between the thighs. I laid the flat of my tongue to this and lapped upwards, slowly and deliberately, tracing a wet line all the way up the cleft of Erato’s peachy buttocks, right to the small of her back.

  My head turned slightly as I licked, so that as my tongue finished its journey and remained stuck out and curled upwards at the tip, I was able to fix my gaze on her. I could see she was engrossed by my lewdness. Her mouth was slightly open and her bottom lip wet. Her eyes had a greater sparkle and seemed even darker brown than before. Her breath was sharp and erratic, and I knew that she was mine. I rose up again and turned to face her, my hands sliding off the statue, leaving poor Erato forgotten. Her expression was still blank but she had lost some of the composure and confidence of before. It was time for me to go in for the kill.

  I gave her the slightest smile and then walked nonchalantly away, feeling her eyes drilling into me once more. As I neared the exit doors I turned, and with one curling finger, beckoned her to follow me. As I left I didn’t look back: I knew she would come, and the gentle swish of the double doors some ten seconds later confirmed this. I heard the soft pad of her flat shoes on the stairs as I descended and made my way out into the street and towards my home, with her tailing some distance behind. I walked with as much composure as I could, having to check my speed to make sure she could trace my route and not lose sight of me.

  I entered my apartment and left the door wide open, turning off in my hall and going straight down the long corridor to my bedroom. Once there, I stood in front of the bed facing back towards the entrance hall and removed my skirt, seeing my knickerless cunt and arse reflected all around the room. My nipples pushed at the thin wool of my black roll-neck jumper, but I kept this on, along with my fishnet stockings and black high-heels. I awaited her arrival with my hands on my hips and wearing the best expression of aloofness that I could muster.

  I heard the soft scrape of her feet on the steps outside and then she was there in the hall, turning to see me and staring at the little slit of my hairless quim. She pushed the door shut and then reached behind her for the zip of her tight mini-skirt, letting it drop to reveal her wide, white thighs and tiny purple lace knickers. Her legs were bare and firm, even in her flat shoes, the calves slightly thick, which is just how I like them. She was breathing hard now, and sliding her panties down to reveal a neat, luscious puss, shaved bare and as smooth as my own.

  She came down the passage towards me, our eyes locked and filled with desire for the combat of our passion. We were like two champions, neither yet defeated, both desperate to impose our will on the other – and one of us was destined to lose. She came to me and we embraced, our mouths open and hungry as they joined, our tongues darting out to dance and spar. We instantly grabbed each other’s arses to hold us in, our bumpy pussy mounds pressing wetly together.

  I couldn’t believe how soft she felt in my hands. I had expected her to have firm cheeks considering their size and shape, but I was wrong. She was pliable enough to grab and squeeze and pinch, just as soft as me and maybe more. I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure as she yielded in my grip. I opened my eyes to see her reflection in the cheval-glass. She was almost as pale as Erato and every bit as flawless, but even bigger and shapelier. The heart of her buttocks where she was largest stuck out and filled my palms, yet even as she curved in towards her tuck I was still able to rummage down and gather handfuls.

  How she did not droop or sag was a mystery, but she didn’t. It was the perfect bottom, beyond even my highest expectations. I could hear my moans, almost like sobs against her lush mouth as I exalted in the sight of her backside. She was mirroring my actions, grabbing and squeezing at my arse and pulling the cheeks apart, making me feel cool air on my wetness. I shifted to the side so that our pussies clamped to each other’s thighs, and I could feel my lips sliding in their own slickness as I ground against her and pressed my aching clit to her leg.

  We rubbed against each other, kissed with wet urgency and fondled each other’s bums. I wanted to take control but I couldn’t bear to break the embrace. I felt her hand tap my arse in her excitement, a tentative slap with only her fingertips rather than her palm. I let it pass without even a sound of warning. Then she smacked me again, still only lightly but this time with her whole hand striking my bottom and creating an audible slap. No-one has ever dared smack me before. I was lost in this girl’s beauty, hotter than ever and dying to either come or eat her up, but still I felt the burn of incredulity at her action.

  I was a domineering figure though not a Domme, and have never used any kind of corporal punishment on any of my conquests, but in this case my reaction was immediate. I drew back my palm and gave her a hard warning smack that jiggled her right cheek and forc
ed a squeal of surprise from her mouth and into mine. In the mirrors I could see my hand’s white imprint in her flesh slowly turning a delicate pink. The thrill of slapping her exposed flesh went straight to my pussy and I leached even more juice onto her thigh.

  I was confident I had tamed her and made her aware of who was in charge, but she was far from beaten yet. Instead of sinking further into me, she rammed her tongue with new vigour into my mouth, drew back her hand and planted a stinging slap onto my right buttock, causing me this time to squeal my shock. Before the pain had really registered I had reacted and sent her another smack, not caring if it hurt her now and glad to feel her bum cheek quivering under my fingers. She sucked in her breath, holding herself hard against me and bucking her hips to rub her clit in order to counter the pain. Then she lashed out again, and my mouth left hers as I yelled.

  The battle for supremacy was now truly joined. We were panting and snarling at each other, our lips curled and wet. I spanked her hard and then she returned the favour. We pinched and gripped each other’s backsides and then delivered our blows in turn, trying to out-hit the other and force a submission. I have never felt such pain. Each slap exploded across my arse and seared the skin. I could feel tears welling but I would not give up and neither would she.

  I could feel her pressing into me, not just to appease her yearning clitoris but to force me off balance. I stood my ground and pushed back, and then on her next lunge I turned her as her weight came through and used her momentum to send her backwards to crash against my dressing table, sitting her against it momentarily. She was up quickly but not before I had seen and grabbed my flat-backed silver antique hairbrush. She snarled and grinned as she spanked my arse once more, feeling me jam into her with the pain, but I absorbed it, and then retaliated.

  My blow was the hardest yet, courtesy of the added weight of the metal brush. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open to let out a high-pitched yell. She trembled as the hurt coursed through her, running up her body and as if trying to burst from her head, which in a form it did. With flaming eyes she gathered her fury and let it go in a shower of spit, right into my open mouth. She used my shock to impel me back across the floor towards the bed, a last-gasp attempt to get me over, but I regained my footing and stood firm. She had missed her chance so I took it, slapping her hard once more with the flat of the brush and spitting back into her mouth when it sprang open to let loose its cry.

  I knew she was beaten now, I could feel her wilt, still desperately trying to calm the fire on her bum by rubbing her soaking fanny up and down my thigh. Even as she crushed my arse in her tight grip and pushed her spit-wet tongue back into my mouth I knew she was crying, and as she kissed me her tears ran onto my face. One more spank would have sealed her as mine and she knew it. She concentrated her dwindling energy on one final effort to force me over. My eyes were on her bum as her reflection danced from mirror to mirror. I felt her desperate slaps and saw my own spanked bottom in the glass. And that’s when I flinched and allowed her to grab her chance.

  The reddening of her pearly skin was acceptable and even turned me on, but it was the thickening of it that I couldn’t countenance. I could feel my own growing thicker under the weight of her slaps, the skin almost shrinking as it pinked. I could bear it on my own bottom, but not on hers. Her bum had to be perfect. I wanted it soft and pale, to be squashed and spread on my face, to be worshipped and lapped and squeezed, not beaten and desecrated. So I simply gave up, and in a flash she was sitting on the edge of the bed with me pinned down over her knees.

  She took off her flat shoe and beat me with it, all over my cheeks and thighs, down the backs of my legs and even on the soles of my feet, the slaps bursting all over me. I wriggled and screamed but let her hold me down throughout the blitz of torment. My bum cheeks were jumping apart and I knew that she would be able to see the wetness smeared up my crack and oozing onto her thighs. I didn’t know whether to beg for mercy or scream out that I loved her. In the end I did neither, my eyes and nose running uncontrollably and my mouth too thick with saliva to do anything but moan.

  Then the hurt stopped, and a new feeling spread through me, a blissful endorphin sea that lapped my entire body and made me crave her smacks, although they were barely discernable now. I climaxed over and over, my clit pressing against her leg as her shoe came down and crashed into me. I tried to open my legs, praying that the shoe would trace a path between my open buttocks and slap headlong into my dripping cunt. I felt the occasional sting on my lips but my big bum was too protective, and I knew that she would have to flip me over in order to give my pussy the spanking it needed.

  She didn’t oblige me, but I had come too many times now to care. She let me slide off her, leaving a trail of slickness down her legs as I collapsed at her feet. I was allowed almost no time to recover. She spread her legs wide, grabbed me by the hair and pushed my face into her delicious split. I lapped inside her for all I was worth, hoping she would be satisfied enough to want me there again. I spread her lips against my cheeks and coated my face in her sweet slick. I went to suck at her swollen button but she pushed me back down to suck her out, and put her fingers there instead, rubbing away beneath my nose.

  My tongue was tired through kissing but I pressed on, plunging it inside her, desperate to be indispensable to her now and for ever. She started shaking. Her cries of pleasure broke into a silent scream and she came, squirting her velvet cream in a hot rush like urine into my mouth, filling me and making me swallow over and over. I was shaking still, and I loved her, totally. She spoke for the first time, in the accented English of an eastern European. She said:

  ‘That is the only time you will ever spank me. If you ever want to see me again you must come to me as my slave. You are my bitch now. What are you?’

  ‘A bitch,’ I whispered. ‘Your bitch.’

  And so I am. And so I trail to the gallery day after day, hoping beyond hope that she will be there to take me, to let me surrender everything that I am and be hers completely. To let me feel again the exquisite thrill of hurt and humiliation and to worship her bottom in return. Nothing now matters in this world but her.

  Paying For It

  by Justine Elyot

  He makes a living from spanking girls. Can you believe that? I told him it was money for old rope, but he said, ‘Nah, I do spanking, not bondage.’ Then told me to get out the strap for making such a disrespectful suggestion.

  ‘What you don’t understand, Kat,’ he said, plying the leather and ignoring my gasps while I gripped the iron bedstead for dear life, ‘is that spanking is not easy. It isn’t just a case of throwing the lady over the lap and whaling away. There is finesse involved. Psychology.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Sensibility.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Sensitivity.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Good judgement.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Aesthetic refinement.’

  ‘OUCH!’

  ‘And maybe a soupçon of sadistic intent.’

  The final stroke caught me at the top of my thighs and my resolve, along with my knees, buckled beneath it.

  ‘OK, I’m sorry,’ I panted, doubled over on the carpet. ‘It’s not easy. But please don’t tell me it hurts you more than it hurts me.’

  He chuckled softly behind me. ‘No, I wouldn’t go that far. Back up, Kat. Bending over the bed now, please.’

  I pouted and made an authentic-sounding sob.

  ‘It doesn’t hurt me,’ he said, once my upper body was pressed to the quilted eiderdown while my bottom, tight with the heat of the strapping, faced him at a jaunty angle. ‘But I do maintain the requisite muscular strength. In my right arm in particular.’

  I expected a smack just then, but I got something else: cold lubricant in that intimate pucker, and then he was easing one of his bigger-sized plugs into me, and I knew he was going to fuck me next, and I sighed, eyelids lowering in pleasurable anticipation.

&nb
sp; But instead – and this was what convinced me that no ordinarily-wired man could do his job – he asked me if I’d ever been paddled with a plug in before.

  Oh, the despair; the sweet, dizzying, dismaying, rapturous cruelty of it all.

  The fucking came later, but I must make it clear that he rarely fucks the girls he spanks. Only, he tells me, the very naughtiest ones. The ones that really need it. Such as me.

  ‘Do you ever get … you know … emotionally involved with your … clients?’ I asked him afterwards, staring limply at his digital alarm clock, knowing he would probably have another girl to punish in about an hour.

  ‘Of course,’ he said seriously, then he reached over to ruffle my hair. ‘With all of them. In a way.’

  ‘Right.’

  I showered and dressed and caught the bus home, grateful that there was standing room only, still feeling some of the residual heat my tights held into my thighs and bottom. I wished that the heat could last for ever.

  We have been meeting regularly for six months now. I had split up with a boyfriend in a nasty way – all my fault – and had no heart for the dating game. I felt guilty and unworthy of all the nice men out there, who surely deserved a correspondingly nice girl. I was not nice. I had dark shadows inside me that kept escaping into my daily interactions. It was not fair to inflict that on anyone.

  But I felt so guilty. I could not stop thinking about the way I treated my ex, and I could not stop fantasising about spanking, and somewhere in the middle, the two obsessions collided and I found myself staring at a website advertising the services of ‘Professor Strict’:

  I know your secret need for punishment, and I will cater to it, with all the necessary rigour.