So Spank Me
I can't escape, you know. I dance a few steps away, but I always come back. Spanking turns me on like nothing else. Yeah, I'm a voyeur. And an exhibitionist. And, I do like rubber and latex. I've got a thing for older men, and I like to watch girls kiss each other. My list of turn-ons could take us well into next week, and then some. But spanking will always be my first selection if offered a choice from the sex menu.
So what? So spank me. Give me your super-charged spanking erotica in 250 words max. No animals. (Come on. Who would spank an animal?) No incest. No underage. (Why the fuck do I have to say this every time? Because if I don't, I get the creepiest submissions ever.) Please be 18 years old, and human. (No underage dogs related to me may submit.) Paste your anonymous story in the comments on this post. We'll keep the contest going until Friday, then run a poll next weekend.
XXX,
Alison
P.S. Check out Dakota Rebel's delightful confession about what Sommer Marsden did to her on my Trollop Salon. (All right, she made Dakota want to write erotica. What were you thinking? Filthy-minded readers. I swear.)
posted by Alison Tyler at 6:09 AM
8 Comments:
Two Strokes
Just his voice on the phone aroused me. “Imagine that I’m there with you. You are nude, kneeling. Your gaze is straight ahead and down. But out of the corner of your eye…. tell me what you see.”
“Your shoes. Leather, polished. No tassels.” He laughed; I was encouraged.
“What else?”
A sigh. “A strap. Just the end…”
“Describe it. Size, color, texture?”
Eyes closed, body humming-- I saw it perfectly. That lovely strap. “It’s old and worn,” I said dreamily. “Soft and flexible, buttery. A little uneven, bleached, too wide for a belt. Your weight shifts, the strap disappears. But then I feel it, touching my back, my waist, my ass. I wait, floating…. Until that first stroke. Not terribly hard, but the second is harder, and lands on top of the first. It will hurt to sit. And every time I do, my face will flush and my cunt will pulse like a beating heart.”
Drawing a shaky breath, I pause, needing air, needing his voice.
“Well.” That rich voice sounded thickened. “That was… enlightening. Two strokes? Is that all?”
“I don’t-- if you—“
Another chuckle. “Trick question. Shall we meet?”
No hesitation. “Yes. Yes, sir. Please.”
…
He hung up, drank deep from his ice water. Though he considered himself experienced, jaded even… he was sweating. Her silky contralto voice, the fantasy so erotic in its simplicity. He knew she didn’t know exactly where to go from there, but he did.
Two strokes, indeed.
Lesson Plan
He walked toward me and grabbed the pen out of my hand, and took the glasses from my face. Sliding my chair back hard, he pulled me up by my hand and led me towards the bed.
Without a clue what would happen next, my heart was pounding as he pulled me hard across his lap. My pants and panties were down to the floor before a sound could come out of my mouth in protest.
“I told you to be ready when I got here. What were you doing?”
I swallowed hard as I hesitated to answer his question. Before I had formed the words in my throat, I felt it.
The rush of air heading towards my exposed ass. The surge of heat and pain that jolted through me as his hand hit my skin with more force than I had ever experienced. The sound echoed off the walls, the crack slowly dissipating into the cement block that surrounded us.
Before I fully recovered, he spanked me again.
“What were you doing?” His voice was deeper this time, making me shake; not with fear but with anticipation of what was to come.
“Studying. I was studying.” His hand rubbed lightly over my flesh. It felt so hot, alive. I was aware, for the first time, of how wet my cunt was. The lips were rubbing together, slick with the moisture a strike of his hand had caused. But I needed more. I was waiting for more.
Tactile Sensations
The first time he spanked me, it was through a black and white houndstooth skirt, playing naughty secretary. The redness on my ass when I looked later showed the checkered pattern. The next time, it was through a pair of tight pants. “No panty lines?” he asked. “No panties.” I answered. He spanked me until the polyester got hot under his hand. He almost never spanked my bare ass, he loved feeling different fabrics against his hand. Staying at a Bed and Breakfast one weekend, he wrapped me in the brocade curtains and imprinted the ornate, curling pattern into my flesh. I loved buying velvet dresses, velour sweatpants, silk nightgowns, anything so he would run his hands over the big round curve of my ass before bending me over the nearest handy object. Sometimes it would be his warm lap, or our bed, or a smooth lacquered conference room table after hours at his office. My favorite time he spanked me was after we had dinner with some of his colleagues and their wives. I wore a tight black leather skirt with a red blouse. I sat close to him, so our legs touched. When dessert was over, and the bill paid, he walked me out to the car, where he hand me bend over the snow covered hood for my spanking. My hands were freezing and wet, but my ass was hot beneath the leather and his hand.
His Game
...“Gretchen?” What tool am I using that’s making that sound?”
Trying to focus, I squeezed my eyes shut tightly against the darkness of the blindfold. I didn’t know. I would have to guess.
“A ping-pong paddle.” I said with uncertainty.
“No.” He said. “Remove an article of clothing.”
I took a deep breath in and unbuttoned my pants and rolled the zipper down. I lifted my hips up and slid my jeans down to my ankles; kicking the jeans to the floor. I was glad I’d worn a pair of black, lacy-top panties that day.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to win my game, Gretchen.” He said with earnest. “What is the tool I’m using slapping against?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” My mind thought. Why did I know he was going to ask me that? I didn’t know the answer to that question either, so I would have to guess again.
“Are you hitting a soft piece of furniture, like a couch maybe? Or another chair?” I answered. It was literally a shot in the dark. I wanted to be right this time. Knowing what was coming if I was wrong.
“No.” His voice seared into me.
The slapping sound grew louder.
“Gretchen, you’ve been a bad girl. You’ve only gotten one out of all the questions I’ve asked correct. You will have to be punished. I want you to stand up and turn around and then I want you to bend over the chair.”
I did as I was told....
Postcard
It seared across my mind’s eye all of a sudden, and sat me bolt upright in bed. A picture, so clear, so classic.
In this picture, the guy I had a crush on at the time is sitting in a messy, student’s room, littered with clothes and bits, posters on the wall. He’s sitting in the bed, and his blond girlfriend is lying across his lap. She’s got his blue silk shirt on, and his right hand rests on the small of her back. She’s got a blond ponytail, but I can’t see her face. I can see his though. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth, and he’s doing that thing, that classic thing, of taking a no hands drag on it, through a grin, neck muscles taught as he stretches up and to the left a little. He’s full of easy humour and delight. Her ass is smooth and firm and he loves it, he loves this, he owns her.
Where did this perfect moment come from? It was strange the way it flashed into my mind, and through my cunt, I jumped as if someone had stuck a pin in me. And my first thought was to wonder, is it real, is it happening right now?
And what I love best about it is that it leaves you to wonder what next? To see him push the silk further up, and drop his hand on to that lovely ass cheek, hear the sound, see it blush and redden. You can see her wriggling, can’t you? See her put her hands over her face, maybe hear his playful ‘ah-ah-ah’. Or maybe see her after on her knees between his legs, so malleable and grateful. Or maybe you want more, you want to hear the slaps ring out, hear her little breathy cries, see him push her legs apart a little, test for wetness, and laugh to himself.
So many possibilities. But I only got the still. I’d buy the movie, I really would.
Brand Spanking New
Hard to believe I was about to do this. Slowly, she lifted her skirt, turned and bent herself over my anxious lap. Her bare ass mesmerized me. Spanking had never held any attraction for me before. My parents had only raised their hands at us in anger and it seemed rather odd to me that anybody would find it erotic. But Janie, my new girlfriend was about to change all that. For her it was a turn-on like no other.
Her: “You need to know – umm - I like to be spanked – yes, spanked – I love the sting of a bare-handed smack on my ass – hard enough to heat the skin – then have fingernails gently trail across the redness before sliding between my legs.”
Me: Speechless. Not really shocked, but disconcerted. Mouth gone dry. Unexpectedly getting hard. Wow.
When I admitted my ambivalence she’d lent me one of her collections of stories. Obviously in hopes of sparking my interest. I did find them arousing. More so than I cared to admit. But she could tell. So here we were, her luscious rump waiting, her breath quickening, my heart beating faster. I raised my hand.
Sign On Delivery
I worry, as I go down to the package room in the basement, to pick up the package of new, sexy, lacy underwear I ordered, that the package guy, a tall, handsome, young man, has figured out what's in the little bag I'm retrieving. He holds the bag, just out of reach, and tells me I can't have it until I model the cutest pair. He’ll open the package, examine the skimpy underwear, and exclaim, "My, how naughty of you, you slutty little girl, to be buying such underwear. Good girls don't wear this kind of underwear."
I blush, and try to hide from his piercing gaze, as he picks out the smallest pair in the bunch for me to show him. I strip from the waist down, and put on the cream-colored panties. He makes a hand motion- circle around- and I turn slowly, enjoying his eyes on me, my pussy getting wetter by the minute.
"Okay then. Come here."
I walk over to him, and suddenly find myself pushed over the counter of the package room, on the receiving end of some hard smacks to my ass. "Naughty girls like you need a little punishment sometimes, don't they?"
I figure that is a rhetorical question, and remain quiet. A few minutes later, he's done. He hands me the rest of my package, and my ass is warm as I slip my jeans back on. From now on, I'm sending my room mate to go get all our mail.
Pre-Dawn At the Bakery
“You skipped them again,” Milos said. His dark face frustrated. The way the words, accented heavily in Greek, rolled off his tongue messed with me.
A blush heated my cheeks. “Sorry. I’ll do them now.”
He followed me to the cramped back room. Last night’s baking sheets sat accusingly in the sink. “You boggle me. You need this job. Only nineteen, school bills to pay.” Each word followed by the sweep of his palm over my ass.
Hipbones banged the sink lip. I smelled bleach and powdered sugar. The delivery man would come soon. The old women, too. Lining up for bear claws and honey glazed. “I know. Sorry.”
I wasn’t.
His touch grew heavier and a steady beat started between my legs. I shut my eyes for a moment. “How many then?” He said it right in my ear. My skin stippled. My nipples spiked.
“Five.” I said it without hesitation. Almost pleaded.
“Five per baking sheet?”
I nodded. Sometimes he upped the ante, sometimes he shorted me. I waited, breath frozen, eyes tearing.
“Go on,” he grunted.
I bent, soapy water on my forearms as he peeled my pants down. One through five landed. I was gushing. On to the next pan. Something was baking. Baklava, maybe? Five more and I was sobbing. He managed two more, dropped to his knees. His goatee rasped the satin skin of my inner thigh. Tongue hot on my clit. Sucking me, licking me.
“Lazy girl,” he chided. “Needs a lesson.”
Amen.
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