Ultimate Spanking

by Miranda Forbes

  The twenty-year-old Filipina was tiny and her taut, tawny-skinned body topped by cupcake breasts jiggled deliciously when she walked. Her face was an almond-coloured oval, lusciously punctuated by plush, red-lipsticked lips and huge, brown, liquid eyes. Her jet-black tresses were pulled back from her pretty face and secured by a red, white, and blue ribbon, and her hair shone under the bright lights, like the velvety skin of her slender legs and arms on display in a short-skirted, dark-blue polka dot dress.

  The girl had taken to all things American, but especially the silver screen, and today was her Joan Crawford in ‘Hollywood Canteen’ look.

  ‘Get me the Tarawa invasion plans!’ Warren barked. He leaned back in the bamboo rocking chair that had somehow survived the hasty and perilous evacuation from Corregidor to Australia, and hooked one tan khaki leg over the other, admiring the view of the Islands.

  She batted her long black lashes and rolled her eyes, said, ‘But, General, the Tarawa invasion was a year ago – don’t you remember?’

  ‘Damn it all, girl, do as I say!’

  Imee shrugged and turned and walked away from the desk in her polished black heels.

  And Warren just about had a conniption. Because the skirt of the girl’s dress was pinned up at the back, exposing her bare, brown, bountiful buttocks. Which were bolstered up even more extravagantly plump and juicy by her pulled-down panties; the panties bunched into a thin, white cotton line just below the bottom of her overflowing butt cheeks. They rippled and shivered and shuddered wickedly as she strolled over to the row of filing cabinets in the corner.

  Watching the cheeky young woman squat down in front of the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet, Warren almost swallowed his tongue.. Her buttocks hung out like sun-ripened, sun-browned melons from the slender vine of her body, supported and buttressed by that tight line of panty.

  He gulped. ‘Wh-wh-what’s th-th-the m-m-meaning of this!?’ He stuttered whenever he got flustered. Staring into those fantastically fleshy orbs, gleaming like copper moons under the office lights. , his face and body flooded with more heat than even the brutal Brisbane summer could generate,. ‘Y-y-you c-c-can’t be d-d-dressed like that! By God, M-M-MacArthur himself might come by any moment!’

  Imee slowly straightened up, lithe as a panther. She turned her head, but not her body. ‘Why, whatever’s the matter, General?’ She placed her hands on her hips and pulled her best Betty Grable pose, times ten.

  ‘By God, I’ll t-t-teach you something about Army discipline, young lady!’ Warren bellowed, untangling his long legs and jumping to his feet.

  He stalked over to the ass-blessed girl, and clapped a hand to her cheek. Then the other one: gripping, squeezing, plying the thick hot firm flesh; his cock tenting his pants like a relocation camp. He smacked the right cheek, the left, watching and feeling the heavy butt flesh reverberate all through his surging body and mind.

  Imee pursed her glossy lips and mewled, ‘Oooh!’ Her brown eyes gleamed. Her bouncy, butt-mounded body tingled all over – especially in the hand-warmed caboose. ‘An army travels on its ass, doesn’t it, General?’ she said, Mae West sarcastically. ‘Especially the brasshats.’

  Warren grunted, clutching the girl’s heated, impudent rump in his sweaty hands, his wire-rimmed glasses fogging up like Manila Bay. Her body shivered through her cheeks into his hands and throughout his wiry frame.

  He reluctantly released her buttocks and grabbed her little hand and dragged her over to the chair. He dropped down into the rocker, then pulled the sassy, assy Filipina over his knobbly knees. He raised his right hand in warning, and she twisted her head around to glare at him, to dare him. And he fired an opening shot, smacking the girl’s gloriously bulging behind.

  ‘Mmmm, I thought you’d never get around to doing that,’ she murmured, a la Barbara Stanwyck in Ball of Fire.

  Warren spanked her again, and again. And again. Smacking her joyfully jumping cheeks over and over, his bony pale hand forming a stunning contrast with her lush, brown hills; e. Each cushiony touch of the succulent flesh sending thrills racing up his arm and into his groin.

  Imee’s quivering buttocks blushed not a bit, easily absorbing the impact of the blows; the sharp whack of burning hand on brimming ass echoing throughout the stifling office. ‘Maybe I should call in the Marines, soldier-boy,’ she taunted, a snarl curling her lips like Ida Lupino’s in ‘High Sierra’.

  ‘Y-y-you asked for it!’ Warren spluttered. He picked a corncob pipe up off the desk and cracked it across Imee’s brazen bottom.

  The MacArthur mouthpiece was no match for this taut resistance. It broke apart like the Imperial fleet at Midway.

  Warren tossed the stem aside, and picked up a pointer; whapped the rubber-tipped bamboo down on Imee’s bum. Her cheeks and body jumped, and she moaned. He struck her repeatedly, lashing her swollen ass with the slender stick, making some small impression on her butt and one large impression on her twat.

  He raised his arm up to the ceiling fan, crashed the stick down on her bottom. And it splintered apart like the pipe.

  ‘Damn it all!’ Warren thundered, throwing the mortally wounded pointer to the floor. He ran a shaking hand through his shock of blonde hair, desperately thinking. Her over-endowed derriere stared up at him – demanded more.

  Then he snapped his fingers, and leaned over the hard-breathing honey and felt around under the desk. Found the polished, knobbly walking stick and pulled it out. It was the spitting, preening image of the one Mac sometimes used.

  With a righteous glint in his blue eyes, Warren rolled Imee off his knees and pulled her over to the ‘strategy table’, where the big, laminated map of the Pacific theatre was laid out. He positioned the girl’s hands on the edge of the table and her legs slightly apart, so that she was bent forward, her smooth-skinned, spongy bottom showing. Then he pulled back the walking stick and turned it into a whacking stick, letting fly, smacking her plush bum with a resounding splash.

  Miniature aircraft carriers and battleships went sailing, the heavy impact rattling the girl and the table. She bit her lip and whimpered, this stick actually leaving a mark on her seat, and soul.

  Warren whaled her flagrant rear-end, blow after blow whistling in and thudding against ass, scrambling Allied strategy and shivering Imee’s buttocks. She gasped, vibrated, her bloated butt cheeks taking on a life of their own; a trembly anticipation of a blow, then a fleshy embracing of it, sucking in the savage slash. Repeatedly, the knotted wood sunk into her stinging cheek-meat and set it to a gyration, raising a white-hot, red flush that fanned all through the girl’s shimmering body.

  Warren brutally caned her vibrant bottom. Before finally pausing, gasping for breath. He shoved his misted glasses up the slippery slope of his nose, his uniform soaked through with the sweat of exertion, his cock a hard, throbbing thing like the red neon lights in Manila’s hoochie-coochie district. ‘H-h-had enough?’ he rasped.

  Imee jerkily turned her head, her arms and legs and buttocks quivering wildly. Black mascara streaked her face; her brown eyes were shining pools of needful lust. ‘Fuck me, GI!’ she hissed. ‘Now that you’ve warmed me up, fuck me in the ass with your big stick!’ It was all nasty little Imee now, the glitzy Hollywood impersonations gone.

  Warren dropped the knotted maple and his khaki trousers as fast as Zeroes dropped out of the sky during the Battle of the Coral Sea. He pulled his boner out of his skivvies, as Imee reached back and pulled her battered butt cheeks apart.

  Warren glanced from the girl’s tiny auburn pucker to his mushroomed purple hood and pulsing length of vein-ribboned pipe. He licked his lips, and swallowed. This looked tougher than an amphibious landing at night.

  Imee dove a hand in between her legs and rubbed her pussy. Then smeared her bumhole with the hot, slick girl-juice. ‘You do it, too,’ she instructed.

  Warren reached down between her slender, shaking legs and rubbed the damp, springy fur of her pussy. He gasped at the depth of her wetness, the soft, slippery
feel of her private lips. Then he greased up his cock with the heated moisture, her juices on his prick making his knees buckle.

  Gun loaded and lubed – check. Cheeks spread and open – check. Commence invasive action.

  Warren steered his arrow-straight cock towards Imee’s anxiously awaiting bumhole. He groaned when his cap bumped browneye, moaned when he pressed forward and she pressed back and his hood popped through and his shaft sunk home.

  ‘Christ, yeah!’ He plunged deep into Imee’s hot, tight chute.

  ‘Kristo, si!’ she cried, wallowing in the wicked feel of Warren’s hard cock stuffing full her pulsating ass.

  He gripped her hand-spanning hips and pumped his narrow hips, sliding his iron dong back and forth in her gripping ass. She dug her red-varnished fingernails into Sumatra on one side of the map and the Hawaiian islands on the other. Up on her tip-toes, surging with pleasure with each penetrating thrust of his cock in her chute.

  Warren started churning his hips, really pounding Imee’s big butt with his battering-ram dick. He groaned, and she moaned, the room and body temperatures soaring, sweat flying, the frenzied smack-smack-smack of corded thighs striking cushiony ass, rattling off the picture-laden walls of the sex-funked office. Warren’s knuckles went white on the girl’s glistening brown skin, digging his nails into her soft flesh and pistoning his cock to the flapping balls inside her anus, over and over and over.

  Imee took it and loved it, whimpering, shuddering, Warren pumped her full of a languid, liquid heat that flooded her to the sexual core. She tore a hand off the rocking tabletop and plunged it down and onto her pussy. When her fingertips touched her puffy clit it triggered a chain-reaction, an orgasmic explosion.

  ‘O-Day!’ Warren wailed, going off full-cocked in the girl’s sucking bum. He jerked around on her rippling rear-end like a rutting Sherman tank, blasting off cap after cap of fiery jizz.

  As Imee danced around on the end of his spurting prick, feeling his heated splashes, hot, humid ecstasy washed over her like high tide on an island beach.

  ‘I don’t have time for any air raid preparedness plans right now!’ Brigadier-General Donald McDougall bellowed out in the hallway. ‘Mac’s expecting me for pinochle and brandy in the Officers’ Club at eight!’

  The weary sergeant just shook his head. General MacArthur had returned to the Philippines, as promised, four weeks ago. Slightly in the rear of an invasion force that Brigadier-General McDougall had been deliberately left out of. The tropical heat, apparently, having fried the one-star general’s brain in his steel helmet some time earlier.

  Warren and Imee heard the voices and hastily retreated from their advanced anal positions, Warren just making it into the outer-office in one clothed piece as his boss marched through the door. ‘Evening, General,’ he snapped, saluting the older man.

  ‘At ease, Private Williams,’ the General snorted, briefly eyeing his aide’s damp, beet-red face. He sniffed at the strange scent in the air, then dismissed it as enemy propaganda. ‘Get me the Tokyo Bay weather reports! I’m meeting Mac for whiskey and shuffleboard on the deck of the USS Missouri there in the morning. And I want to know if I should bring my rain slickers.’

  He strode into his inner-office, a broad grin breaking over his sun-weathered face as he spotted Imee bent over the strategy table, straightening things up. He watched the girl’s swaying, undulating rump and licked his chapped lips, his glassy grey eyes beaming. Then he humped up behind her and grabbed onto her plump, squeezable butt cheeks, and squeezed.

  ‘What the hell!?’ he roared, his young secretary’s bum hot to his lecherous touch.

  Imee giggled, as the General hoisted the hem of her dress and took a look, eyeing with astonishment the extent of her and Warren’s brutal lovemaking.

  ‘Wh-what’s happened here!?’ he sputtered, furious that someone had mustered on his parade ground. He’d plied Imee’s ribald cheeks many times before, and had planned on launching his own anal invasion in only a matter of days. And now he’d been left behind on this one, as well. It was too much.

  ‘By God, I’m going to get to the bottom of this!’ he ranted, looking wild-eyed from Imee’s blistered bum to the broken corncob and pointer lying on his desk. ‘Someone’s butt is going to be in a sling over this one!’

  Warren grinned in the outer-office, fingering the General’s recently received transfer orders. The old man was finally, mercifully, being sent home to his wife and his rotary club. Leaving the young Private free to pursue his back-end courtship of the bottom-beautiful Imee Aquino.

  There was only room for one MacArthur in this man’s army, after all.

  Spanked by my own Step-daughter

  by Teresa Joseph

  The moment that I first started falling for Roger, I knew that I’d be living a cliché.

  After all, he was forty-seven years old and I had only just turned twenty-two. So of course, it would be obvious to everyone that he was having a ‘Mid-Life Crisis’, divorcing his wife and shacking up with a Bimbo who was less than half his age. But in reality, however, it was love at first sight, and I know that I will love him until I die.

  As a matter of fact, even Roger’s ex-wife saw how happy we both were together and wished us all the very best for the future. After all, she had only really married him in the first place because he had got her pregnant. So, in many ways, the divorce had been a fresh start for both of them and a real chance to finally be happy.

  However, this cliché that I was living would never really be complete without the presence of a grown-up daughter from Roger’s first marriage, banging on about the fact that her new mother was almost the same age as her. And yes, it turned out that Stacey was only a couple of months younger than I was.

  Far from hating Roger for leaving her real mother though or resenting her new step-mother in any way, I’m pleased to say that Stacey was incredibly devoted to her father. In fact, they both even lived in the same apartment building so that they could spend a little time together each week.

  From the moment that I first moved in with Roger after the wedding, my step-daughter made it absolutely clear: anything that made her dad feel happy would make her happy in turn. And likewise, anything that made him feel un-happy would provoke a swift and proportional response. But although I just smiled and nodded, believing that these were only empty words, I received my first taste of what was to come the next day when Stacey saw me borrowing some cash from Roger’s wallet.

  ‘Did you ask him?’ She demanded as she closed the door behind her.

  I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. I always borrowed money from my husband’s wallet, just as he sometimes borrowed it from my purse.

  The next thing I knew, though, I was sucking air through my teeth as Stacey suddenly smacked me on the thigh. It was a hot summer’s day and I was only wearing a short skirt. But before I even had a chance to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, she smacked me again as she told me off as if I were a naughty little child.

  ‘What if Dad needs that money to pay for something?’ she snapped angrily. ‘What if he gets there and finds that he’s short because you borrowed it without asking?’

  By this point, half a dozen sore, rosy-pink handprints were forming along the sides of my thighs. All I had to do to stop her was to simply walk away, or even just cover myself with my hands. In fact, I knew that I could have eased the pain at any moment, simply by reaching down and rubbing my thighs. But instead, I just stood there with my hands up under my chin, dancing from one foot to the other as I winced with pain and waited for her to smack me again.

  I apologised to her for taking the money and promised that I would never touch her dad’s wallet without asking. Then, after Stacey had left, I pulled my knickers down and started fingering my pussy; actually feeling disappointed that she hadn’t spanked my naked rump.

  I’ve spent much of the last five years trying to understand it. But to this day, I still can’t explain why.

  I actually ge
t off on being spanked by my own step-daughter, and I honestly don’t believe that there’s a real or a tangible reason.

  Out of sheer curiosity, a few weeks later I even visited a visited a woman who spanked Naughty Girls for a living, just to see if she could turn me on as well.

  When I arrived, I paid her for a full hour. But as it turned out though, I left after five minutes because I really wanted to punch her in the face.

  When she smacked my thighs, I pulled away and told her to get off me. And when she started telling me off, and treating me like a child, I knew that I’d have to leave right away because I was practically fuming with rage. But the next day ironically when Stacey demanded to know what I’d been doing, annoyed about the fact that Roger had been really worried about me, my pussy tingled as my step-daughter quickly dragged me down over her knee, pulled off my knickers and began furiously spanking my bare behind.

  It stung like hell, but I didn’t try to resist. I didn’t even try to cover myself.

  Instead, I crossed my ankles as tightly as I could, just to keep myself from kicking or trying to escape.

  I bit my tongue and held my hands together until my knuckles literally turned white. And as Stacey rhythmically spanked my bottom bright pink with the flat of her hand, I felt a wonderful orgasm building deep inside my pussy, being stoked by the burning agony in my rump.

  I held my breath until my face was probably the same colour as my flaming cheeks.

  When Stacey’s hand got sore, I squealed with pleasure as she started using the sole of her flat shoe instead. And obviously mistaking the meaning of my outburst, she told me that I deserved it as she doubled the pace.

  Less than two minutes later, I howled and squealed with pleasure as I climaxed and gold stars flashed in front of my eyes.

  Of course, Stacey must have thought that I’d been keeping quiet because I was trying to be stubborn and defiant, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing me cry out or beg her to stop. So now of course, since I had finally ‘broken down and started bawling,’ she just kept going to make certain that I had learned my lesson once and for all.