Becky Spanks Herself (by Al Gore)

I "found" this in Drafts dated from August of last year. Sorry for losing it Al.

I got home early one afternoon, there was a sound, a rhythmic thump, almost like someone was playing a game in the bedroom. My first thought was the cat was doing something weird, funny, or cute, so I tried to be quiet. As I made my way upstairs to our bedroom, I noticed the door was ajar, and the soft, muffled sound grew clearer. It was a steady, rhythmic smack. Curiosity piqued, I tiptoed closer, not wanting to disturb the cat. But when I reached the door, I realized the smacking was definitely not coming from our cat. It was a sound I had heard before, but not exactly like this, and certainly not from Becky. Becky stood in the middle of the room, naked, with a reddened bottom, with my favorite ping pong paddle in her hand. Her eyes were closed and a look of intense concentration on her face.

Becky's hair was wet, plastered to her skin from a recent shower. The damp towel she had wrapped around herself was now discarded on the bed. Her pink ass still glistened with a light sheen of water, and the scent of her freshly washed body filled the room. She brought the paddle down on her cheek again, a smack that echoed in the room. The sound of the paddle on bare ass, wet and firm, followed by a small hop and a guttural moan that sent a shiver down my spine. I had never seen her do this before, and she was so...vocal. The next smack was to her thigh, a little softer, but no less impactful. Her thigh quivered with the sting, and she let out a sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a sigh of satisfaction. I so wished I could record this moment to listen to it later, her moans and squeaks, the smack of the paddle, the symphony of her self-inflicted pleasure.

The rhythm grew faster as Becky's breathing grew heavier. She had always told me she liked it when I spanked her by hand, but her paddling was so much harder than I ever had..  It was fascinating and a little intimidating. I felt a twinge that I had not gone far enough, but it was quickly replaced by admiration for her ability to enjoy such spanking. I had always been careful, mindful of her limits, but here she was, pushing past them with an intensity I had never seen.

Becky did one more quick flurry of smacks, alternating between her cheeks and thigh, building up to a crescendo of moans and sighs. She opened her eyes, and the moment she saw me, a flash of embarrassment crossed her face. Her hand froze mid-air, the paddle hovering over her reddened ass. For a second, we just stared at each other, the silence thick with anticipation. Then she took a deep breath, and her face softened into a smirk. She let out a shaky laugh. "Well," she said, trying to play it cool, "you're just in time for lunch."

Spanked in the Kitchen - Another Day in Paradise

by Al Gore

The belt hung heavy on its hook by the front door, worn leather coiled neatly like a sleeping snake. It had been there so long, but nobody touched it not since the last time, anyway.

Bacall's Belt

Jenna stood in the kitchen, barefoot on cold tiles, stirring a pot of beef stew with more force than necessary. The steam curled around her face, sticking her dark hair to her temples. She tasted a spoonful out of the pot. She hoped that maybe, somehow, simmering anger would've improved the recipe.

The front door creaked open, Jenna didn't turn around. "If you're here to criticize my cooking again, save it," she snapped. The spoon clattered against the pot's rim.

Jenna heard the familiar thud of takeout bags hitting the counter before she felt the heat of him behind her. Calloused fingers circled her throat not squeezing, just resting there like a warning. "Told you last time," his voice rumbled against the back of her neck, "spoon goes clockwise. Counterclockwise means you're stirrin’ up trouble." His thumb brushed her pulse point, and she swallowed hard.

The five-finger necklace. That’s what he called it when she’d arch into his grip instead of pulling away. When her bratty little huffs dissolved into shivers. The belt might’ve gathered dust, but his hands never forgot their way around her defiance.

Jenna's shoulders dropped half an inch just enough for him to notice. A silent plea disguised as surrender. His fingers twitched against her throat in response, that rough palm pressing firmer until her breath hitched deliciously. She arched back against him, hips rolling into the counter’s edge.

"Always gotta push, don’t you?" His chuckle vibrated through her spine as he nudged her forward, bending her over the kitchen island. The takeout bags rustled as he shoved them aside with one hand, the other already working the tie of her sweatpants. Cool air kissed the backs of her thighs when the fabric pooled around her ankles. She clenched her fists in anticipation, forehead pressed to the granite.

The granite chilled her cheek as she exhaled, body taut like a bowstring. His palm pressed flat between her shoulder blades not restraining, just *present* and the weight of that single touch unraveled something knotted deep in her ribs. Jenna didn’t want gentle. Gentle was for people who hadn’t memorized the way leather sounded when it slipped free of belt loops.

His fingers trailed down her spine, slow enough to make her squirm. "This what you been itching for, girl?" The tease in his voice prickled her skin. She hated when he made her ask. Hated how her thighs wanted to open for him. The first smack cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot, sharp enough to startle a gasp from her lips before the burn bloomed across her backside. Jenna sighed, Just Another Day in Paradise.

School Daze Fantasy

From the warped mind of loyal reader Al Gore

Somers Point, NJ, was a town where the whispers of the ocean were a backdrop to the rigid rhythms of Catholic school life. Sister Agatha, a towering figure with raven hair and a stern gaze, cast a shadow over the hallowed halls of St. Joseph's High School. Her presence was felt in every corner, a silent sentinel of discipline and order. The students spoke of her in hushed tones, and not a single soul dared to cross her path without a second thought.

For one unfortunate senior, the monthly seating chart had delivered a cruel twist of fate. The desk at the forefront of the middle row was notorious for the impending doom it brought. Sister Agatha had a peculiar fondness for the ritual of spanking, her eyes gleaming with a dark spark whenever she'd lay her hand upon a misbehaving student's behind. The boy, a newcomer to her class, was about to learn this lesson the hard way.

The classroom buzzed with the nervous energy that always accompanied Sister Agatha's lessons. The walls, adorned with images of saints and stern reminders of divine judgment, seemed to close in as the nun's voice sliced through the air, demanding an answer to a question that had been posed. The boy, lost in his thoughts, had missed the question entirely. He sat, pencil frozen over paper, as the room grew quiet, each student's gaze shifting to the back row where a girl had whispered a clever remark. The boy's chuckle escaped before he could stifle it, a single note of mirth in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

Sister Agatha's eyes narrowed, and she swiveled her head to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. Her gaze locked onto the boy, and with a swiftness that belied her size, she was upon him, her hand shooting out to grip his arm. She yanked him from his chair and, without a word of warning, bent him over the desk that had claimed so many others before him. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as she pulled his pants and underwear down to expose his bare skin, the cold wooden surface pressing against his thighs. The girl in the back row, whose wit had sparked his laughter, watched with a mix of horror and fascination.

The classroom held its collective breath as Sister Agatha's hand hovered over the boy's upturned bottom, the anticipation palpable. Then, with a sharp crack, the first blow landed, echoing off the walls. The boy's cheeks bloomed crimson, and a gasp of pain slipped from his lips. Sister Agatha's sadistic smile grew wider with each subsequent smack, her hand coming down with a force that left a clear imprint of her hand on his tender flesh. The boy's eyes watered, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk for dear life.

The girl in the back row couldn't tear her gaze away. She felt a strange mix of pity and excitement, her heart pounding in her chest. Sister Agatha's hand, a blur of motion, painted a vivid picture of pain on the boy's backside. Each strike was met with a yelp, and the room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the punishment. The tension grew, a silent crescendo of anticipation for the moment when it would end. The other students squirmed in their seats, some trying to look anywhere but at the unfolding scene, while others watched with a morbid fascination.

Then the spanking was over. 'Pull up your pants, James, and go to your desk,' said Sister Agatha.

As James took his seat, the imprint of Sister Agatha's hand remained stark against the redness of his skin. He sat gingerly, the sting of her discipline a constant reminder of his mistake. The rest of the class stared, a few with sympathy, others with a hint of relief that it wasn't them. Sister Agatha, seemingly unfazed, resumed her lecture, her eyes sweeping the room to ensure no further missteps would occur. After class, Cynthia, the girl who made him laugh, came to him. I am so sorry I made you laugh.

I should be spanked too, maybe we should do something about that, he said with a smile.

Her eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. Maybe we could talk to Sister Agatha after school, she suggested. James felt his stomach flip, a strange mix of dread and excitement coursing through him. He had always had a crush on Cynthia, and the thought of sharing a private moment with her, even under these circumstances, was tantalizing.

The rest of the day dragged on, the memory of his spanking a constant throb in his mind. The whispers of his classmates, the occasional sympathetic pat on the back, all served to amplify his discomfort. But when the final bell rang, he found Cynthia waiting for him outside the classroom door, a sly smile playing on her lips. She led him to the empty hallway, her eyes flickering with an unspoken challenge.

Sister Agatha's office was a place of legend and fear. The door was always closed, the only sounds that escaped were the occasional muffled cries of regret and the steady tick of a clock that seemed to count down the seconds until the next transgression. Cynthia's hand trembled slightly as she knocked, and the door swung open to reveal the stern-faced nun, her eyes narrowing at the sight of them.

"You wish to speak to me?" Sister Agatha's voice was a low rumble, a thundercloud in human form.

Cynthia stepped forward, her voice a soft murmur. "Sister, it's about James spanking today..."

Sister Agatha's eyebrow arched. "Ah, James. Did my little lesson not make an impact?" Her smile was cold, the kind that sent shivers down spines.

James gulped. "It did, Sister, but... Cynthia feels she should've been punished too. She's the one who made me laugh." He glanced at Cynthia, hoping she wouldn't change her mind.

Sister Agatha's eyes shifted to Cynthia, assessing. "Is this true?"

Cynthia nodded, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "Yes, Sister. It was my fault. I said something that made James laugh. I think it's only fair that I receive the same punishment."

Sister Agatha's smile grew more pronounced, a twinkle in her eye that sent a shiver down James' spine. "Very well," she said, stepping aside to allow them into her office. "You've come to confess your wrongdoing. That shows some responsibility. But actions have consequences, young lady."

The room was small and sparsely furnished, the walls lined with bookshelves and a single, sturdy chair in the center, which Cynthia knew all too well from rumors whispered in the halls. Sister Agatha closed the door with a firm click, and the sudden silence was deafening. James' heart raced as he watched Cynthia approach the chair, her hips swaying with a grace that seemed almost seductive under the circumstances.

"Bend over, my lap Cynthia," Sister Agatha instructed, her tone unyielding.

Cynthia's heart skipped a beat, but she obeyed, her hands shaking as she lay in the sister's lap, her skirt hiked up to expose her pale, unblemished skin. James couldn't help but stare, his eyes drawn to the curve of her hips and the tension in her thighs. Sister Agatha's hand pulled down Cynthia's panties exposing her bare bottom.

"Come stand here," Sister Agatha ordered James, her voice deceptively calm. He moved to where she pointed, right where he had the best view of Cynthia's beautiful face and her upturned butt.

James took his place, his heart racing as he watched Sister Agatha position Cynthia's bottom, aligning it with her hand. Cynthia bit her lower lip, her eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. The first smack landed, and Cynthia's eyes flew open, a gasp escaping her. James felt a strange sensation, a mix of pity and something he couldn't quite identify. Sister Agatha's hand fell again and again, each blow eliciting a louder sound than the last. Cynthia's cheeks began to turn a deep shade of pink, and soon enough, they were as red as the ones James had been nurturing all day. James felt a stirring in his pants at seeing her white cheeks change to pink.

As the spanking continued, Sister Agatha's grin grew more sinister, as if she enjoyed the power she held over them. The smack of her hand against Cynthia's skin was punctuated by the occasional squeak or muffled cry, and James found himself torn between the desire to comfort her and the urge to watch her squirm. James watched intently as his dick grew hard.

When Sister Agatha deemed Cynthia's punishment sufficient, she stood the girl up, her bottom glowing red and her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Now, you can go and think about what you've done," she said, her voice a mix of satisfaction and dismissal. James took her hand and they walked out of the school together with sore bottoms.

As they made their way home, the awkwardness of the situation began to wear off. Cynthia looked at James with a strange blend of sexual excitement and embarrassment. "You know," she began, "I shouldn't  have gotten you into trouble like that." Perhaps you should spank me too.

James' eyes widened, his heart thudding in his chest. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. My parents are both at work late, come home with me and give me a spanking, she pleaded.

Her words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a veil of innocence. James felt his blood rush to his face as the implications of her suggestion dawned on him. They had never been alone together outside of school, and the thought of being the one to spank her filled him with excitement.

"Okay," he managed to say, his voice hoarse. "Let's go to your place."

Cynthia's house was a quaint, two-story house with a white picket fence, the epitome of suburban normalcy that seemed to mock the abnormal turn their day had taken. Inside, the scent of her mother's baking lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the tension that coiled around them. She led him to her room, which was adorned with posters of boy bands and stuffed animals that seemed to watch them with knowing eyes.

"So, how do you want me to do it?" James asked, his voice shaking slightly. He had never been in a situation like this before, but Cynthia seemed to know what she wanted. She turned to face him, her cheeks still flushed from the spanking she'd received in Sister Agatha's office.

"Just like Sister Agatha did," she replied, her voice low and sultry. "Bend me over your lap, and use your hand." He sat on her bed and she moved to his side. He felt his palms sweating as he took her by the waist and gently bent her over his knee. Her skirt rode up, revealing panties and hand prints still visible from the nun's earlier punishment. Cynthia's heart raced as she felt James's firm hand on her bottom, his touch both comforting and thrilling.

He raised his hand and brought it down with a gentle smack, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. She yelped, the sting surprisingly potent. He paused, looking at her for a sign of whether to continue. Perhaps you should take my panties down too, she said. James hesitated, his throat dry, but he knew he couldn't back down now. With trembling fingers, he pulled her panties down, revealing her bare bottom. The sight of her reddened bottom made his heart race even faster, and his dick pushed up toward Cynthia. He breathed deeply and took in a view of her he never thought he would see. Her sweet bottom was begging for his hand. He raised it again and brought it down firmly onto her skin. He loved to see her squirm and her cheeks jiggling, and he was getting a peek at the dark hair of her sweet pussy.

James's hand fell in a steady rhythm, each smack sending a jolt of sensation through Cynthia's body. She couldn't help but let out small, stifled moans with each impact, her body reacting in ways she never knew possible. The pain was intense, but it melded with a strange thrill that seemed to pulse through her veins. She felt his hard cock pressing against her side, and she knew he was getting off on this as much as she was. She guided his hand between her thighs, put your thumb inside of me, and rubbed your fingers on my clit. He was nervous but did as he was told, his thumb sliding inside her wet pussy and his index and middle fingers playing with her clit. OOO spank me, James, play with my pussy, she moaned. Her words sent a jolt through James, and he began to spank her with more force, his other hand exploring her wetness from the back between her cheeks. He felt her tense up with each smack, her body responding to the dual sensations of pain and pleasure. He could feel her getting wetter with each stroke, and the realization that he was the one causing this reaction was intoxicating.

Cynthia pushed back against his hand, her hips rocking in time with the spanking. She had never been so aroused in her life, the mix of fear and desire coalescing into an overwhelming need. "Harder," she gasped, her voice strained with passion. "Spank me like Sister Agatha."

Cynthia's words almost triggered James to cum in his pants. He took a few deep breaths, calmed himself down, and brought his hand down with renewed force, the smack of flesh on flesh filling the room. He watched as Cynthia's buttocks jiggled with each blow, her cheeks growing redder by the second. The sight was mesmerizing, and he felt his own pleasure building.

As his hand fell upon her, he could feel her pussy tightening around his thumb. He moved his thumb in and out of her faster, his other fingers playing with her swollen clit. She was so wet, and her moans grew louder, her body betraying her pleasure despite the sting of his hand. It was as if she was begging for more, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Her bottom was now a fiery red, the outline of his hand clearly visible on her soft, tender skin. He couldn't help but admire his handiwork, his dick aching for release. "I'm going to spank you until you cum," he whispered into her ear, his voice thick with lust.

Cynthia's breath hitched, and she nodded, her voice barely audible. "Yes, James spank me." The thrill of his words sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, and she pushed back harder against his hand, eager for the climax she could feel building within her.

Her moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of her surrender. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to sync with the sting of his hand on her skin.  James's grip tightened on her hips, his thumb pumping in and out of her, his fingers working her clit in a delicate dance that had her on the edge. He could feel her body tremble with each smack, her legs shaking with the effort. I am cumming, she moaned.

The moment she climaxed, her body convulsed, and she let out a cry of pure ecstasy. James felt her pussy spasm around his thumb. He stopped spanking, and she collapsed against him, panting and trembling. I think you need a reward for being so brave, she murmured, her voice hoarse with desire. She got up and went to her panty drawer and pulled out a soft pair of satin panties.  She reached for his belt and unbuckled, her hand sliding into his pants to grasp his still-throbbing erection. She wrapped her panties around his penis, the softness of the fabric adding another layer of sensation to his already heightened state.

With a gentle tug, she guided him to her bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. She straddled him, her eyes never leaving his as she began to stroke him with the fabric-covered member. Her movements were slow and deliberate, teasing him with every pass. James felt like he was in a dream, his mind reeling with the reality of the situation. I think you need a spanking to go with this, just like I got, she said. On your hands and knees, she commanded.

James complied, his heart racing as he positioned himself on the bed. Cynthia climbed onto the bed behind him. One of her hands caressing his buttocks, and the other holding the panties to his penis. She raised her hand and brought it down with a firm smack. He yelped, the pain mixing with the pleasure of her touch. She began to spank him, each hit sending a shock of sensation through his body. The satin panties were a gentle cushion against his cock, but the sting remained, a delicious excitement that grew with each smack.

Her hand fell rhythmically, her grip on his erection tightening and loosening in sync with the spanking. He could feel her breath against his neck, her own excitement palpable in the air. She whispered in his ear, "Do you like it, James?" His response was a moan of pleasure, and OOO spank me, Cynthia, his body arching with each stroke of her hand.

The room was filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the occasional squeak of the bed, and their ragged breaths. Cynthia's strokes grew harder, her hand leaving a warm, tingling trail across James' bottom. She could feel his cock throb in her hand, and she knew he was close to climaxing. "I want you to cum for me," she urged, her voice a seductive purr.

James felt his orgasm approaching like a freight train, the tension in his body building with every smack. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was cumming in Cynthia's panties. His hips bucked against her hand. "I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice strained.

Cynthia's hand sped up, her grip tightening as she urged him over the edge. With a final, powerful smack, James felt his release explode through him, his body shaking with the force of it. She continued to spank him through his climax, her own excitement building until he collapsed onto the bed, spent and panting, the wet panties wrapped around his cock.

They lay there for a moment, the only sound the heavy thump of their hearts and their ragged breathing. Cynthia leaned over to kiss him, her lips soft and warm against his. It was a kiss filled with the promise of more to come, a secret shared between two consenting teenagers exploring the boundaries of their desires.

School Daze

Damn, I forgot to make a post today. How about a story? It's been forever since I posted one.

This one is by a gal whose caboose I paddled regularly for years.

School Days

It was 4:00 on Friday afternoon and I was anxious to head for home and begin the weekend.  I’d been working on a project in the school library, and most of the students had left half an hour ago.  As I approached the principal’s office, however, a peculiar noise caught my attention.  It sounded like a loud clap – no, more like a slapping noise.  As it came again, I realized what it was – someone was getting the paddle!  Curious, I tiptoed to the door and listened.  Mr. Sawyer, the principal, was really laying down the law to some unfortunate student.  I wondered who it was?  I glanced around but the hallway was empty.  Surely no one would notice if I sneaked a peek.  Temptation got the better of me and I tried the door.  It opened easily and the sounds immediately got louder.   Miss Thompson, the principal’s secretary, was nowhere to be seen, and Mr. Sawyer’s door was ajar.  Heart pounding, I peered into the room.  A boy was bent over the desk, his trousers in a heap around his ankles.  Mr. Sawyer stood behind him, paddle in hand, sternly lecturing him on the evils of smoking.  Thomas Sawyer was a tall, rather handsome man in his early fifties, with dark hair and brown eyes.  He could be stern, but I had always rather liked him.  He had a brilliant sense of humor and often made me laugh.  As I watched, he lifted the paddle and swung it hard – CRACK!  The boy cringed and yelled “OW!” but held his position.  I couldn’t see his face – was he crying?  The paddle cracked down again.  I was totally transfixed at the sight of his bare bottom getting a hard paddling.  What did it feel like, I wondered?  To be totally at someone else’s mercy, helpless, exposed, your bottom burning like fire…

I was so absorbed in the spectacle before me that I didn’t notice Miss Thompson’s return until it was too late.  She propelled me forward into the office, and I stumbled slightly.  “It seems we have a Peeping Tom,” she announced to Mr. Sawyer.  The principal turned abruptly at the interruption.  He looked at me in surprise.  “Why, Rebecca!  You’re the last person I’d have expected to do such a thing!  You ought to be ashamed!”  I blushed crimson, wishing I could melt into the floorboards.  “I’m sorry, sir…” I mumbled, eyes now fixed on the floor.  The boy over the desk made a muffled noise, and Mr. Sawyer redirected his attention to him.  “Nick, you may pull up your trousers and turn around.”  As he turned around to face us, I gave a start as I recognized him.  It was Nick Edwards!  He was a very cute senior I’d had a crush on since the beginning of the school year, though I’d always been too shy to approach him.  Now I was really embarrassed – what must he think of me now?  Mr. Sawyer cleared his throat and for a moment I thought I saw him grin.  Then his features became quite stern and he stepped closer until his face was just inches from mine.  I had to crane my neck to look up at him.  I’d never noticed just how tall he was before, and I suddenly found it quite intimidating.

“Well, Miss Rebecca.  What shall we do with you?  I think the punishment should fit the crime, don’t you?  Since you got to watch Nick receive his swats, I think it only fair that he should watch you get the same.  What do you think, Nick?”  Nick smiled and said “Yes, sir!” just a trifle too enthusiastically.  Was that a leer I could see forming on his face?  Damn him, he was going to enjoy this!

Mr. Sawyer dismissed Miss Thompson and closed the office door.  “All right, Rebecca.  I never thought I’d have to do this, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.  I want you to lift up your skirt and bend over the desk, just as you saw Nick do a few minutes ago.”  I was absolutely mortified!  And I was blushing again.  “But Mr. Sawyer, you can’t be serious!  Girls don’t get paddled, do they?”   “A few do, my dear.  Now do as I say.”  I really didn’t have much choice, did I?

With a glance at Nick, I turned and followed the principal’s instructions.  I was about to find out just exactly how it felt to be paddled!  I was embarrassed and scared, but something else, too.  Excitement, was that it?  Surely I didn’t think I was going to enjoy this – that was just ridiculous!  It felt kind of weird to bend over the desk that way.  Then I felt a tug as Mr. Sawyer pulled my panties down to my knees.  Oh my God!  My bottom was completely bare, and in front of Nick!  I felt so embarrassed, and so terribly exposed.

“Rebecca, I’m going to give you six swats.  Please try to hold your position.”   I waited for the first swat for what seemed an eternity.  What was he waiting for?  I was just about to turn and ask him when the first swat exploded across my bottom.  “OW!”  I didn’t expect it to hurt so much – I thought he’d go easy on me since I was a girl.  “Please bend back over, Rebecca.  If I have to tell you again there will be penalty strokes.”  I hadn’t even realized I had raised up.  I bent over again and waited.  The second and third swats came hard and fast, one on each cheek.  I could feel tears beginning to form.  I gripped the desk and blinked back the tears.  Number four came square across the middle and burned like fire.  Almost done, hang in there, girl.  The last two swats were lower down and encompassed part of my thighs – they hurt the worst yet.  By the time he told me to pull up my panties, the tears were flowing down my cheeks.   And yet, I felt almost sorry that it was all over so quickly.

“You took your punishment very well, Rebecca.  I hope you learned your lesson.  And I hope that satisfied your curiosity, young lady.”  Mr. Sawyer looked at me kindly as he handed me a tissue.  I saw the ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth.  “Yes, sir.  I promise never to eavesdrop like that again.”  I dabbed at my eyes and blew my nose.  “May I go now, sir?”  “Yes, you may go.  And try to stay out of trouble!”  I hurried away, not daring to look at Nick.  How could I ever face him again?

My mind was a whirl of confusion all weekend.  I kept playing those two scenes over and over again in my mind – Nick bent over the desk getting a paddling, and myself bent over getting the same.  Thinking about it was making me awfully horny – now, why was that?  I’d never been so embarrassed, and it had hurt like blue blazes, and yet something about it turned me on.  I couldn’t explain it, and I was dreading having to face Nick on Monday.  I just knew he must hate me for watching him like that, and he would probably tell all his friends about watching me get paddled.  I would be taunted and teased mercilessly!  It was too awful to even think about.

Monday morning came all too quickly.  I thought about staying home sick, but then decided I may as well get it over with.  I saw Nick in the hall and he waved at me.  I pretended I didn’t see him, but he cornered me at my locker.  “Uh, oh, here it comes,” I thought.  “Why did you disappear so quickly Friday?  I wanted to talk to you.  Are you OK?”  Nick actually looked concerned.  What was that about?  I muttered some excuse about needing to get home.   “Look, I really want to talk to you.  Meet me after school?”  We agreed to meet at the bleachers by the athletic field at 3:30.  I spent the rest of the day on pins and needles, wondering what Nick wanted to talk to me about.

My last class finished early, so I arrived at the bleachers at 3:15.  It was a beautiful spring day and the sun felt warm on my skin.  There was no one around, so I sat down in the grass and closed my eyes, just soaking up the sun.  I started thinking about Friday, and I started getting turned on again.  What was it about that spanking that made me feel that way?

I was startled when Nick suddenly spoke – I hadn’t heard him approach.  I looked up and saw him smiling down at me.  He was tall and tan with light brown hair that he wore a little long.  He had the most striking green eyes that seemed to look right into your soul.  It was a little disconcerting, like being undressed and exposed.  He sat down in the grass beside me.  “I loved watching you get paddled, Rebecca.  You have the most beautiful ass, and seeing it jiggle under that paddle was an incredible turn-on.  Am I making you uncomfortable?”  I was blushing furiously, but I was secretly pleased.  He felt the same way!  I said, “Yes you are, but please don’t stop now!”  He started stroking my leg as he talked, and I felt myself responding to his touch.  I felt mesmerized by his eyes, and after a while he kissed me.  I’d never felt so attracted to anyone before, and I had the impression the feeling was mutual.  “Would you mind if I spanked you?” he asked with a grin.  “No, I think I’d like it!” I answered dreamily.  He pulled me down across his lap and began to caress and stroke my bottom – it felt wonderful.  He pulled my dress up and began to spank me over my panties.  It was a light sting, nothing like the paddle.  I was actually willing him to spank me harder.  I was disappointed when he stopped, but it was only to take my panties down.  Now the spanking began in earnest and he covered my bottom with sharp spanks that made me squirm.

A sudden shadow made Nick stop and look up.  It was Mr. Sawyer, grinning widely.  “She will need a lot of that, I’m afraid, Nick.  Carry on, carry on.”  He sauntered off with a wicked smile.

Lady Hawke 4/02

Spanked in the Kitchen, Another Day in Paradise

by Al Gore

The belt hung heavy on its hook by the front door, worn leather coiled neatly like a sleeping snake. It had been there so long, but nobody touched it not since the last time, anyway.

Jenna stood in the kitchen, barefoot on cold tiles, stirring a pot of beef stew with more force than necessary. The steam curled around her face, sticking her dark hair to her temples. She tasted a spoonful out of the pot. She hoped that maybe, somehow, simmering anger would've improved the recipe.

The front door creaked open, Jenna didn't turn around. "If you're here to criticize my cooking again, save it," she snapped. The spoon clattered against the pot's rim.

Jenna heard the familiar thud of takeout bags hitting the counter before she felt the heat of him behind her. Calloused fingers circled her throat not squeezing, just resting there like a warning. "Told you last time," his voice rumbled against the back of her neck, "spoon goes clockwise. Counterclockwise means you're stirrin’ up trouble." His thumb brushed her pulse point, and she swallowed hard.

The five-finger necklace. That’s what he called it when she’d arch into his grip instead of pulling away. When her bratty little huffs dissolved into shivers. The belt might’ve gathered dust, but his hands never forgot their way around her defiance.

Jenna's shoulders dropped half an inch just enough for him to notice. A silent plea disguised as surrender. His fingers twitched against her throat in response, that rough palm pressing firmer until her breath hitched deliciously. She arched back against him, hips rolling into the counter’s edge.

"Always gotta push, don’t you?" His chuckle vibrated through her spine as he nudged her forward, bending her over the kitchen island. The takeout bags rustled as he shoved them aside with one hand, the other already working the tie of her sweatpants. Cool air kissed the backs of her thighs when the fabric pooled around her ankles. She clenched her fists in anticipation, forehead pressed to the granite.

The granite chilled her cheek as she exhaled, body taut like a bowstring. His palm pressed flat between her shoulder blades not restraining, just *present* and the weight of that single touch unraveled something knotted deep in her ribs. Jenna didn’t want gentle. Gentle was for people who hadn’t memorized the way leather sounded when it slipped free of belt loops.

His fingers trailed down her spine, slow enough to make her squirm. "This what you been itching for, girl?" The tease in his voice prickled her skin. She hated when he made her ask. Hated how her thighs wanted to open for him. The first smack cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot, sharp enough to startle a gasp from her lips before the burn bloomed across her backside. Jenna sighed, Just Another Day in Paradise.