Ultimate Spanking

by Miranda Forbes

  ‘What is it? Six of the best?’

  He took his right hand away from the ladder, and placed it on his cock; beginning to wank.

  ‘Hand away, now.’ Her voice was firm. This wasn’t allowed. She went over to her desk, opened a drawer and took out three pieces of black silk. Two ties and a blindfold. He shrugged as she approached. She held his arms above his head, attaching them to upper rungs of the ladder. Now he couldn’t reach his cock. Then she placed the blindfold around his eyes, knotting it carefully behind his head, tugging it back slightly as she finished.

  ‘That will teach you to play with your cock.’

  ‘Will you play with it for me, then?’

  ‘Silence. Otherwise you will be gagged too. And be still.’

  She raised the crop and slapped him. Harder this time, imagining how his arse cheeks would throb, stinging with well-deserved pain. The tiny knots had begun to leave their mark. His skin was now covered with tiny red lines. Sophia couldn’t resist dropping the crop to her side, licking her finger and tracing it along the lines. He winced. And moaned, throwing his head back, his mouth open, his tongue flicking across his cherry-red lips. She slapped him again, making new marks. She felt intensely euphoric. The power she was wielding over a beautiful man was making her cunt drip with desire. Knickerless today, her juices begin to run down her thighs. It was all she could to do prevent herself hitching her skirt and pulling the crop between her thighs, soaking up her juices, caressing her clit until she came. Quickly and hard. But then she would be powerless, no longer in charge of his destiny. And that was what she was trying to demonstrate. That she could suppress her own desires, despite extreme provocation. She stepped back, dizzy with desire.

  ‘You still there?’

  His voice was calm. He was made of strong stuff. She admired him for showing no fear. Enjoying himself, in fact. His cock was hard again. Bobbing in front of him each time she slapped him. She moved up close to him, and knelt behind him.

  ‘So you are still there.’ She was sure she could detect a smile in his voice.

  ‘I am. You’ve done well.’

  She reached forward and licked the stripes she’d inflicted. He sighed. His skin tasted sweet. She pushed the fingers of her left hand between his arse cheeks, accepting that he had earned the right to be pleasured. She reached for his cock with her right hand, and began to stroke him, slowly but firmly. Her index finger pushed its way into his arse. He gasped. She licked, sucked and bit his arse cheeks, adding more marks to those already there. She soon sensed his balls tensing, his orgasm close.

  ‘Faster, please.’

  Now she was willing to obey his request. She untied his restraints, turned him round and took his cock in her mouth. Her lips caressed him, sucking and licking.

  ‘Fuck, you’re good,’ he groaned. His come spurted into her mouth, and she swallowed with pleasure. Once his climax was complete she pulled his boxers and jeans up over his still firm cock.

  ‘Go now.’

  ‘But you haven’t …’

  His voice trailed away as he watched her take the crop again. He knew what she was about to do, and he hesitated. She wasn’t going to allow him to watch, or be involved. He couldn’t see her release, her pleasure. That might demonstrate weakness, a lack of control. And re-living the last hour would ensure she and the crop would be able to give her the orgasm of a lifetime.

  ‘Good to see you again.’

  Sophia started as a strong male voice broke into her reverie. Re-living the memory of the beautiful blond had ensured her second climax of her lunch break. A man stood to one side of her chair, deep in the shadows. She recognized him, despite the fact six years had passed. His hair still flopped over his forehead, but he was dressed less casually this time: open-necked shirt, jacket, dark jeans. He looked every inch the businessman. Sophia still had her fingers buried in her cunt, when he walked, uninvited, into her room. Her private space. She refused to remove it just for him. She was relishing the final few spasms of her orgasm.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ At last she pulled her fingers out, and licked them.

  ‘The front door was open. Rather lax of you. Don’t worry I locked it behind me. Anyone could have come in and ransacked the place.’

  ‘A minor slip. No more,’ she replied.

  She spun her chair around to face him. It was the first time he’d seen her pussy of course. Last time their intimacy had been of a different nature entirely. She wondered if he liked what he saw. Smooth, plump and moist. She could feel a familiar tingle build up again.

  ‘I have a proposition for you.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Sophia began to unbutton her blouse. Her breasts deserved some attention now. They’d been neglected.

  ‘A business proposition.’

  ‘How disappointing.’

  She was encircling each nipple with her fingers, through her satin bra, rubbing the fabric against them, ensuring they were swollen and responsive.

  ‘Stop and listen, Sophia.’

  His voice was sounding irritated; but she still gave him a wry smile. His erection was impossible to hide.

  ‘It’s common knowledge you’re in trouble. I want to help.’

  ‘Are you some kind of Victorian benefactor? Helping damsels in distress?’

  She failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice. There was sure to be some kind of payback required. She tugged her bra down, allowing her breasts to spill over the top. They were full, but firm. Her nipples dark and erect. She twisted them, sending shots of pain and desire through her body.

  ‘It would be a business arrangement. There’s quite a market for printed pornography, still.’ He glanced around the room.

  ‘I can understand that,’ Sophia smiled. ‘There’s nothing I like more than hard copy porn in one hand, the other buried deep in my cunt.’

  He was looking exasperated.

  ‘Liquidize 10% of the books in this room, set up a nice little Internet site to get rid of your surplus stock downstairs, and you would be back in the black.’

  ‘Well, sir, I’m not sure I can be bothered. I am so tempted to let the place go to rack and ruin.’ Her voice was lazy, drawling. She massaged her breasts now. Pummelling them hard. Pinching her skin. She knew she would leave marks, like tiny love bites. She was flaunting them, for his benefit. She tore her blouse apart, sending tiny pearl buttons skittering across the wooden floor; then flicked her front opening bra apart. Her legs were still spread. His eyes darted between her breasts and her pussy.

  ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  He stepped towards her.

  ‘If you allow the contents of this room to remain shut up, not turn a profit for you, you are one stupid bitch. My name is Josh Walker, for the record.’

  ‘Well, Mr Josh Walker. The twenty-first century seems to be passing me by.’

  He grabbed her wrists. It was her turn to raise her eyebrows.

  ‘How masterful.’

  ‘Quiet.’

  In a deft movement he took her by the waist and flipped her over, her legs hanging over the side of the chair, her face buried in the leather seat. She felt his hands push their way up the back of her thighs, hook into her stocking tops and tear them away. Then he dragged her skirt over her hips, ripping the zip apart as he did so. She was naked from the waist down now, but for her high-heeled pumps and her garter belt, her arse exposed to him. She estimated her cunt was just at the right height to match his cock; if that was what he intended. She hoped it was. This felt delicious. She felt completely at his mercy.

  He moved across the room. She knew what he was doing. He was right behind her again in an instant; breathing fast. Angry and turned on. Just how she liked her men. She sensed the crop being raised high and hanging there, momentarily. She held her breath, her eyes tight shut in anticipation. Then she felt it thwack against her skin, the tiny knots she’d so carefully hand-crafted causing her to squirm with the sweetest mix of pain and pleasure she’d ever e
xperienced. She knew this was enhanced by the hand that helped deliver the blow. She reached round to touch her arse cheeks, to intensify the sensation.

  ‘Don’t touch,’ he whispered, delivering another blow just as she’d pulled her hand away. She groaned, lifted her arse higher and spread her legs. Another blow followed soon. She wanted to reach down and touch her cunt, which was aching with desire, but she knew he wouldn’t allow that.

  ‘Learning your lesson?’ He raised his hand to deliver more delicious torment, striking her again. Her buttocks were hot, burning. Her cunt was throbbing, begging for attention. She hoped he wouldn’t ignore that very essence of her. She nodded. She had dreamt of this day for the last six years. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lay the crop on the floor. She hoped it wasn’t over. That he wouldn’t just leave. But then she heard a tiny metallic sound. She was quite certain he was unbuckling his belt. She buried her face into the leather, smiling. Moments later she felt his hands all over her arse, slapping, pummelling the already tender flesh. She writhed against the chair, making contact with her clit. Her capacity for satisfaction was huge today. She felt him part her cheeks, his cock push at her lips, beginning to part them, then pull away slightly, teasing her. She moaned.

  ‘Something you want, Sophia?’

  She shook her head slightly; quite sure if she nodded he wouldn’t give her what she knew they both wanted. Then she felt his cock, so hard and thick, push further into her this time. She felt herself spasm around him; wanting to draw him right into her, for him to impale her, fuck her completely senseless. But he moved slowly, his passage eased by her copious juices. She felt his hands on her hips as his desire began to overcome his willingness to torment her, and he began to thrust harder. She reached down and parted her lips, bringing her clit into immediate contact with the leather. She felt his right hand on her arse again, and smiled; hoping she knew what was coming next. He parted her arse cheeks, and encircled her arsehole with a finger, before insinuating his way in. She gasped with pleasure; feeling satisfyingly full, her climax building to a peak as he thudded into her cunt and arse. The lines left by the crop stung each time his body made contact; the sweetest of stings. Moments later she relinquished herself to her orgasm, tightening and squeezing round his cock, as he shot his come deep inside her. Her third orgasm of the day was by far the most intense. He soon pulled out of her, and she stood to face him.

  ‘So, Mr Josh Walker, satisfied?’

  He nodded. Sophia knew, despite his apparent mastery of her; that she was still in complete control. That she was tormenting him; had pushed him to this. She had known from that day six years ago that he would be back. That he was promising to be her saviour came as a surprise. But Sophia would accept his offer. Although she suspected it might be like making a pact with the devil.

  Spanker’s Justice

  by Aishling Morgan

  Olivia Fielding risked a glance to one side. Five young ladies stood to attention, each in her neat khaki uniform, the peaks of their caps and the points of their polished black shoes making two straight lines towards a blank magnolia-painted wall. Slightly to one side a window opened onto the straight paths and green-painted Nissan huts of Rushmoor Camp. The sky was clear, with a light breeze making the flag flutter and sending golden brown leaves tumbling along the ground. Olivia knew what had to be done, but found herself wishing that she was outside instead of lined up with her fellow ATS educational officers.

  She didn’t feel like an officer, but very small and very guilty like a suspect; the others looked as if they felt the same.

  Each girl, blonde or brunette, had her hair bound up into a tight bun beneath her service cap and her eyes fixed at a point in space just above the head of the single, very different woman who faced them. This was Senior Commander Buchanan, whose harsh features and elongated, bony body had earned her the nickname of “the Hatchet”. The name also suited her character, and her voice, which was both hard and sharp.

  ‘Your purpose in being here,’ she was saying, ‘is to make up for those regrettable shortcomings in basic education that are so common among our troops, notably those conscripted and now ready for demobilization. Reading, writing and arithmetic, Ladies, not going to the cinema, not visiting public houses and most definitely not this.’

  She stopped abruptly, and as she did so she pushed at an object on her desk, not with her finger but with a pen. The object was a small, square box of thin cardboard, once red and white, now smeared with mud but not so dirty that Olivia was unable to read the legend printed in bold, flowing letters “Lucky Dips” and below that two words that explained Major Buchanan’s disgust, “Prophylactic Condoms”.

  ‘American,’ the Hatchet continued, as if that in itself were enough to condemn whoever had brought the packet onto the base. ‘An empty packet. Originally it contained three items, which would seem to imply that one of you, or just possibly more, has … eyes front, Subaltern Fielding!’

  Olivia snapped back to full attention, the blood rushing to her face in a hot flush that spread slowly down to her chest and belly, leaving her stomach in a tight knot and her fingers trembling. There were rumours about Senior Commander Buchanan, nasty rumours. Two girls had been transferred abroad, suddenly and without explanation; both Chief Volunteers and both exceptionally pretty. Then there had been Susan Pirbright, a Volunteer from Cheltenham so shy she barely seemed able to lift her eyes from the ground, also very pretty, with exceptionally long legs and a bottom as round as a ball. Susan had been hauled up in front of the Senior Commander for no apparent reason, and she’d been very reluctant to make use of the bathhouse that evening too. But when ordered, in no uncertain terms, to get stripped off, she’d revealed rear cheeks with a distinctly pink flush. Later, Olivia had spoken to Susan.

  ‘… gross irresponsibility from persons who should be setting an example,’ the Hatchet was saying. ‘Whoever is responsible will therefore step forward, this moment.’

  The knot in Olivia’s stomach tightened. Dizzy, her heart pounding and her cheeks burning, hardly knowing what she was doing, she took a step to the front. The girl to her left gave a faint gasp; maybe from shock but maybe from amusement. Then there was silence. Olivia stood stock still, her gaze fixed firmly to the front, but already hazy with the tears gathering in her eyes. She knew what the other girls were thinking, their disbelief compounded with disgust, but perhaps there was also a little envy and certainly a secret delight in Olivia’s downfall. Not that it mattered. What mattered was the reaction of Senior Commander Buchanan, who made no effort to conceal the doubt in her voice as she went on.

  ‘You, Subaltern Fielding?’

  Olivia managed to speak. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The sound of her own voice, so weak, so pathetic, released the first of the heavy tears that had been building in the corners of her eyes. She blinked, desperate to conceal the fact that she was crying. But it did no good, merely nudging a second tear free so that two moist streaks decorated her cheeks as the sharp voice continued.

  ‘I am astonished. Very well, the rest of you may leave.’

  The other girls filed out. Olivia stood rigidly to attention, trying desperately not to snivel, but the tears now rolled freely down her cheeks. Even as the door closed behind the last of the girls, Senior Commander Buchanan began to speak once more. ‘Yes, I am astonished. In fact, amazed might be the more suitable word. And yet they do say it’s often the quiet ones. So, what is to be done with you?’

  She stopped, her hand moving to the point of her chin as she regarded Olivia, who had given up trying not to cry. Her make-up now ran in black lines down her face, and her nose wrinkled as she struggled to avoid adding the shame of a snotty nose to her already agonised feelings. It was getting hard to breathe as well, her chest heaving and her uniform suddenly tight across her breasts, while for some hideously embarrassing reason her nipples had begun to grow stiff. The Hatchet sat back, making a steeple of her fingers as she carried on.

  ‘A la
rge fine? Pointless. Your dear daddy would simply pay. Demotion? Why bother, when you’ll be demobbed in a few months anyway. A spell in the glasshouse? I dare say that would teach you a lesson, but still … perhaps we should just shave your head? I believe that’s traditional for little sluts who can’t keep their drawers up for five minutes at a time.’

  The Hatchet smiled, as if she had made a joke. Olivia found her mouth twitching into a smile, a smile forced by the Senior Commander’s strength of will and her own inability to resist. Again there was a pause and Olivia found herself imagining how it would be to have her head shaved. It would be public, outdoors, with a ring of grinning squaddies and sneering girls watching her. They’d probably have a couple of beefy corporals to hold her in case she struggled. But she wouldn’t. She’d sit in meek acceptance of her fate, as the barber scraped away the pretty blonde curls she’d been so proud of all her life, leaving her as bald as an egg, her disgrace on show to the world. Senior Commander Buchanan was still smiling, but her hawk face now expressed more cruelty than amusement, as if she were able to read Olivia’s mind. She nodded.

  ‘Yes. That would be suitable, but perhaps there is another way, an unofficial way. Perhaps, Subaltern Fielding … Olivia, we should take into account the fact of your behaviour and punish you accordingly. Do you think it suitable for an officer in the Auxiliary Territorial Service to be consorting with other ranks in such a disgusting fashion?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Olivia managed, her voice a barely audible croak.

  The Hatchet lifted her chin a trifle. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Olivia repeated as the hot tears once more began to course down her cheeks.

  ‘No,’ the Hatchet echoed. ‘It is not suitable behaviour for an officer, nor for a young lady, especially a young lady of such high birth. Indeed, I believe you are, technically, Lady Olivia Fielding?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’