Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  Great, now I was thinking about having sex with him, which would have made so much more sense. Why hadn’t I just told that skanky girl that I wanted to have sex with this bouncer? Then I’d be getting laid right now, instead of squirming over his lap waiting to get my ass beat.

  “I think we both agree that you need a real spanking,” he said, rubbing my ass cheeks.

  “A real spanking?” I sputtered. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  But I knew what it meant, because he’d reached under me to flick open the button of my jeans and work down the zipper.

  “You can’t...seriously...pull my pants down.”

  “Why not? You won’t be able to feel anything through your jeans.”

  “But I can’t be out here with my naked butt in the air!” I struggled off his lap and stood. His big arm was still around me like a hug. “Anyone could see me,” I said, trying to focus on the crisis at hand. “You don’t even have a top on your Jeep.”

  “It’s a private lot.” He gestured around. “It’s fenced in. The only people who are going to see you are people who work at the club, and I’m the only one on break right now.”

  “So that makes it okay to pull down my jeans and spank me right out here in the open?”

  “I think you need it, naughty girl.”

  Oh my God oh my God he’s totally pulling my jeans down. His fingers felt rough and strong against my hips.

  “This is craziness,” I breathed.

  “Hush your mouth.”

  He yanked them down until they rested just below my ass cheeks, then pulled me back over his lap. I sent a wild look around the darkness as he tweaked the back of my itty-bitty thong.

  “I’ll let you leave your panties on,” he said. “How about that?”

  Oh, very funny, Mr. Spanking Fetishist Bouncer. I strained to hear if anyone else was in the parking lot, getting an eyeful of my pale, exposed butt. In the silence that followed, his slab of a hand smacked my ass, and all the air whooshed out of my lungs.

  Holy crap. Shit, shit, shit. I hadn’t expected a spanking to feel quite like this, so hot and hard and wild and owww. I squirmed on his lap, and he put a hand on my back to hold me still. The other hand kept spanking. I gritted my teeth through a second and third blow. By the fourth one I finally marshaled enough outrage to speak.

  “Ouch! That hurts.”

  “Good. That’s what I was going for.”

  “What? Jesus...ouch!” I tried to jerk away, but he held me so I couldn’t move an inch. “You need to spank me more softly, or just stop or something,” I said, kicking my legs. “Seriously, just stop.”

  He didn’t stop. His palm rained slaps of fire one after the other, no breathing time, no pauses to take stock of my situation. I’d fantasized about spanking forever. I just didn’t realize actual spanking would feel so painful and intense.

  “This really hurts,” I said, pounding my fists against the driver’s seat. My fingers slid across the upholstery. “Please, you have to stop.”

  To my surprise, he actually stopped, resting his hand on my ass with a sigh. “You said you wanted me to spank you.”

  “I said it to someone else, who was never supposed to say it to you,” I replied with a pout.

  “But you meant it. You wanted this.”

  Again, I couldn’t tell if he was angry with me, or trying to seduce me. I squirmed in his lap and then went still, suddenly aware of a huge, erect cock against my hip. Miraculous, that his Levi’s managed to contain it. So much for compensating...

  “Do you like how it feels?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Wow. I’m pretty impressed with what you’re packing,” I said, brushing against his girth again.

  “Not that, naughty girl. I was talking about the spanking. Do you like how it feels?”

  I swallowed hard and considered his question. Now that his hand was still, I could process the warmth, the tingling where he’d spanked me. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was really kind of exciting. I shifted and noted the hardness of his thighs, and the hardness of his... Wow.

  “It’s good, I guess,” I finally answered. “And you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I’m having a fucking blast.”

  “Why?” I turned in his lap so I could take in his expression. He looked pleased and super virile, and a little condescending in a fucking awesome way. “Why do you like this?” I asked.

  “The same reason you like it.”

  Holy shit, I liked it so much. I lay very still, because otherwise I feared I’d leap up and start dry humping his erection, right here in the private parking lot that was still very public.

  “Is that it?” I asked. “Is the spanking over?”

  “Have you had enough?”

  I hid my face in my hands and gave a little sob because I hadn’t had enough. I was horny as hell, and my cheeks were warm and throbby, and I realized that I very much wanted him to keep spanking me.

  He didn’t make me admit it. He only started up again, harder this time. The blows fell one after the other, like cracking gunshots in the night. I could hear the club music, a faint accompaniment in the background. I kicked my legs as the pain intensified, but I didn’t say anything else, because I was afraid of what I’d say. You’re awesome and terrifying. Please don’t stop. Oh, it feels so good. God, it feels so bad.

  I didn’t cry, and I didn’t feel any remorse for my earlier lies that earned me this spanking. It was more a sense of unreality, that he was actually spanking me, and that it wasn’t so much pleasurable as really intense.

  “This is batshit,” I sighed. “You’re crazy.”

  But I meant that I was crazy, and that I wasn’t sure what all of this meant, or how I felt about it.

  Ow, shit. Okay, he was finally slowing down, but the spanks still hurt like hell.

  “I’m going to finish you off with five good ones,” he said. “I want you to count them.”

  Five good ones? That didn’t sound good at all. It sounded scary. “Don’t hurt me,” I whined.

  He chuckled, and then whap!

  I thought my ass was stinging before, but that was a fucking stinger. I jerked in his lap and completely forgot everyone and everything in the world for a moment.

  “Count,” he reminded me. “One...”

  “Oh. One.” My voice sounded really strained, because I was already bracing for the next one. He didn’t keep me waiting, but delivered it with another resonating slap. “Oww! Two.”

  “Good girl.”

  The “good girl” settled right in my pussy. But then he spanked me again and I cried out, wondering if anyone could hear this. How could they not hear it? “Three,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Two more to go. I jerked again at “Four,” and then braced for the last shot. After that, the spanking would be over. I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad. His huge hand walloped my ass cheeks one last time, hard enough and big enough to sting both of them at once.

  “Five,” I said, half triumphant and half breathless with relief. I wanted to reach down and yank my jeans back up, but I didn’t think he’d allow it. He was holding me motionless, stroking my aching cheeks.

  “Nice and red, the way you deserve,” he said cheerily. He helped me stand, and stood smirking as I gingerly eased my tight jeans up over my tender, spanked ass.

  “Was that your first one?” he asked.

  I made a face at him. “Yes. Do you think I run around getting spanked all the time?”

  “You don’t have to get defensive.” He pulled me back into his lap—sitting this time—and looked down at me in the dim light. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be spanked now and again. It feels good, right? Exciting?”

  Yes. That was exactly how it felt. I tried to relax, tried to stop fighting my feelings even as I squirmed on my throbbing butt. “Does it feel the same to you?” I asked.

  “Yes. You have a beautiful ass, curvy and feminine and heart-shaped...” He stopped with the words and made a sug
gestive sound instead, squeezing my sore posterior. “Add in the struggling and complaining, and the obvious signs of arousal, and it’s pretty much spectacular on this end.”

  “I guess you spank women all the time.”

  He arched a brow. “You sound jealous.”

  Fuck yeah, I was jealous. I was spitting jealous at every woman he’d ever spanked besides me. Had I turned him on more or less than them? Was my ass rounder or flatter? Was I prettier? Uglier?

  No, this was what was upsetting me: Was he going to walk back into that club and never talk to me after today?

  “I want you to spank me again,” I said, and I didn’t sound jealous this time. I sounded needy and horny.

  “I can’t,” he said. “My break’s over.”

  “I don’t mean now. Some other time.”

  “Oh. Well, you want to take my number?”

  “Yeah. If you want... I mean...maybe next time...”

  Ugh, why did I suddenly feel so shy? Like I was going to fucking die of shyness? I couldn’t even look him in the face.

  “Next time?” he prompted in his deep voice.

  “Maybe next time you can spank me somewhere other than your Jeep. And maybe you can...” I finally managed to meet his eyes. “You know...”

  His gaze registered amusement. “No, I don’t know. What?”

  “Maybe next time you can use something...something other than your hand. Do you...” Damn. Shut up, Christine. “Do you ever spank women with other stuff, besides your hand?”

  “Like paddles, belts, straps, that sort of thing?”

  I almost choked to hear him list them so casually, but I managed to hold it together. “Uh...yes,” I said. “That sort of thing.”

  He leaned closer to me, stared right into my eyes. “Am I to understand you want something a little more intense than a hand spanking next time?”

  “If there’s a next time,” I whispered, hanging to my nerve by my fingertips.

  “I think that can be arranged, especially for a naughty girl like you.”

  He took out his phone and called me so I had his number. “Why don’t you tell me when you’re ready for another spanking?” he said, helping me down off his lap. “Call me when you’ve been a bad girl, and I’ll come over and set you straight.”

  My legs weren’t working. My ass still hurt. Had I seriously just signed up for another spanking from Slab Hands? He let me back into the club, and I wandered dazedly to the front as he went back on duty. Holy shit. What had just happened? Ack. I’d never even gotten his name from his goddamned nametag, and I wasn’t going back to ask him now.

  I decided to put him in my phone as “Slab Hands.” Accurate enough.

  Chapter Two: Paddles, Belts, and Straps

  I thought about him, yes. I thought about him all the time, and played the spanking over and over in my mind, but I didn’t text him. I was too embarrassed, too afraid. I hadn’t had the best luck with relationships since I’d left college, and let’s be honest, he was way out of my league.

  But if he were to call me...

  Please, please call me, you hot, scary spankoholic.

  I wished for it every day, but two long, agonizing weeks passed with no contact. Was he waiting for me to call him? I wasn’t brave enough. Didn’t he realize I needed him to engineer this? Then finally, late one Friday night, I got a text from Slab Hands.

  Hello, Christine. Are you being a good girl?

  And I thought, no, I haven’t been a good girl at all. I haven’t texted you, and it’s been two weeks! I didn’t write that, though. I wrote back, I’ve been an angel.

  Ha. Telling lies again.

  And then he wrote, You ought to be punished.

  I put my head in my hands. My pussy started barking orders. He’s hot. Let him spank you again. Whatever it takes to get him inside me. Yes, my pussy was a gay man, and he wanted some Slab Hand cock.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whispered, staring down at his words. It had been a shit week at work. I was in my baggiest pajamas and I didn’t feel pretty or desirable.

  Hello? he texted. Ignoring me?

  Too nervss to tipe rt now.

  It was a joke. Kind of a joke. My fingers were actually shaking.

  You should be nervous, he wrote. You’re the most spankable girl I’ve met in a while.

  All my breath left me. He liked me. That’s what he meant, right, that he liked me? He thought I was spankable, the “most spankable girl” he’d met in a while. He probably used that line with everyone, but I didn’t care. It made me smile and curl my toes and run my hands through my tangled hair.

  I’m a mess, I confessed in the interests of full disclosure.

  I’ll straighten you out, he texted back, and I could practically hear his deep, rumbly voice. Can I come over this weekend? Maybe Sunday night? I’m off work.

  Okay.

  I’ll bring everything we need.

  And I thought paddle, belt, strap... I was sure he remembered what I’d said the last time we were together. Maybe he’d been thinking about it all this time, planning what he was going to use on me while he waited for me to call. I ran to the bathroom to look at my ass in the mirror. Was I spankable, really? I thought I was kind of fat. I heard another text come in and stared down at my phone.

  Sunday at eight?

  Yeah, I texted. I’ll make dinner. Is that okay?

  Sounds amazing. Thanks.

  Oh God, he used manners. He thanked me. He was also going to spank me.

  I’m sorry, I texted. I don’t know your name. Remember, I didn’t have my glasses...?

  Wear your glasses this time, he texted. Or else.

  And my name is Mateo.

  Mateo. That was a perfect name for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Spanksome, nice and virile and Italian, but I left him in my phone as Slab Hands. It gave me a secret, shivering thrill to see it at the top of our text stream, and to remember my first spanking under those gargantuan hands. In a couple of days, I was going to get another spanking.

  Oh wow, and I’d asked for it.

  I couldn’t freaking wait.

  *****

  I cleaned up my place, which wasn’t that hard, since it was the size of a shoe box. I also washed my sheets in case we wanted to have sweaty, abandoned sex on them later. I bought new condoms to replace the year-old ones left over from the almost-relationship that never quite developed the Christmas before last. A modern woman had to be prepared, and besides, I didn’t want my grouchy pussy to start lecturing me about safe sex in Steve Buscemi’s voice.

  Once I accomplished that, I started cooking. The culinary arts were my one area of expertise, so when he knocked on my door at eight o’clock on Sunday, I was pretty confident in the chicken pasta dish I’d thrown together from scratch, and the rum-soaked tiramisu I’d made for dessert.

  Sadly, I wasn’t as confident in my appearance. I adjusted my nerdy glasses, checked my teeth for lipstick one last time, then reached under my dress and tugged at my possibly-too-small thong panties before I went to let him in.

  As soon as I opened the door, my insecurities fled, replaced by pure and breathless admiration. No more black jeans and nightclub tee shirt. He was wearing a blue polo shirt that made his eyes look magical, and faded khakis that showed off his legs to perfection. He had a black bag slung over his shoulder, which he dropped on the floor in my living room. He’d also brought...sigh...a bottle of wine.

  Between my casual, printed dress and his polo and khakis, I realized we were kinda dressed for a date, and the wine made everything seem even more date-like.

  “Wow,” I said. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “Yes, I did. God, you look adorable in those glasses.”

  Adorable? He probably meant adorkable, but his smile gave me a warm feeling all the same. I took the wine and shut the door, and blathered a bunch of apologies about how small my place was, and how old my couch was. He cut me off, sniffing the air.

  “Something smells delicious, an
d I’m starved.”

  I led him into the kitchen, which wasn’t big enough to eat in. We made plates and took them back out to the living room with the wine. He started groaning at the first bite. I turned to him in alarm.

  “Do you hate it?”

  “Are you kidding? This is incredible.” His eyes rolled back in his head as he took another bite of chicken and pasta. Okay, he was laying it on a bit thick.

  “Is it really that good?” I asked. “Or are you just being nice?”

  “You don’t realize this is good?” he asked, looking at me in disbelief.

  “I’m just not sure what you usually eat.”

  “I usually eat shitty takeout and bland protein shakes.”

  I eyed his muscles. I guess you had to drink a lot of bland protein shakes to keep those guns blasting.

  “I like cooking,” I said. “I work in a restaurant. I’m only a junior chef now, but I’m learning a lot. I hope to become head chef someday at some schmancy restaurant.”

  “By the taste of this meal, Christine, you’re well on your way.”

  He wolfed down dinner without any self-consciousness, which flattered me and made me happy. Conversation flowed easily. I wasn’t sure why, except that he was really comfortable with himself, and that made me feel comfortable too. From time to time, my gaze strayed to the bag he’d left beside the door. It was about the size of a gym bag. Had he come from the gym...or...?

  “Are you ready?” he asked. “You keep looking at my bag. You know what’s in there, huh?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “So are you ready?”

  Our plates were empty. All that was left to do was carry them to the kitchen and throw them in the dishwasher, which took about thirty seconds. I turned to him, and then lost my nerve and stepped back.

  “There’s still dessert. Tiramisu.”

  “Dessert’s for after your spanking,” he said. “If you’re good girl. If you’re a bad girl...well...”

  “No dessert?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow, those are some high stakes.”

  He grinned at me. Oh yeah, that was an evil grin. “You don’t even know.”

  He led me back into the living room and stood me behind the couch, facing forward. Crap. I wished I’d drunk more wine for courage. Too late now. Without a word, he put a hand between my shoulders and bent me over the back of the couch. He flipped up my dress and tweaked the back of my thong again.