“Venus and Mars Are Alright Tonight…”

(Continued from A Halloween Tail…)

He drifted off to the twinkling array of stars splashed across the moonless night above the ridge. The heavy November comforter made for a pleasant weight pressing him gently down into sleepy submission. Tomorrow he would definitely look for his old star chart to see if those three in a row were Orion’s belt or just a dipper handle. Tomorrow. He’d forget of course…it…really…didn’t…matter…as he drifted into dreamless sleep.

When he next cracked open one eye the room was still dark. The stars had scattered as Venus, this month’s morning beacon, had broken above the tree line. She gazed down upon him indifferently; offering neither warmth nor consolation, just a herald of night turning into eventual morning. But still, he found the company somehow comforting in its implacable permanence.

He had almost let his eyelid slide shut when he knew-didn’t feel, but knew-he wasn’t alone in the room. It wasn’t a sound, it wasn’t a smell; it was just that feeling that alerts a solitary person when someone enters his orbit.

He opened his other eye and lifted his head scanning the room until he saw her sitting on the rickety old wooden chair against the far wall away from the windows. She wasn’t moving and-as far as he could see-not breathing. Say what you will about Venus, but she doesn’t throw much light and in that corner of the room the shadows were ground ink.

“Good Morning, Mr. No”, she said, her voice both raspy and young-like a child with a cold. “Because it is morning, after all. The sun just doesn’t know it yet.” There was a general tittering around the bed and the rustling of what sounded like dead leaves on the hardwood though there were no leaves in his room. He cut his eyes to the sounds but saw nothing.

The ever creaky old chair made no sound as she rose and approached the foot of the bed. She appeared small and petite in the gloaming with bright yellow hair this time-as much as he could see of course-because on top of her head was his hat-which he hadn’t seen since that day at the ruins.

“Do you still wear my brand, Mr. No?” she asked. The rustling around his bed swelled and he could almost feel a breeze, or more correctly, many small breezes swirling from all directions.

“Brand?” he asked. Or thought. He wasn’t sure he had spoken. “What brand?”

The tittering got louder as if he were being laughed at and the breezes coalesced into caresses then touches then finally grabs that he couldn’t resist. He struggled against unseen hands pulling and pressing until, with a wrench and a yank, he was flipped onto his stomach. The cool air of the unheated bedroom prickled at his bare skin. The tittering laughter rose again.

He felt the bed shift as she crawled up onto it. “There it is…” she said as he felt her finger trace the outline of the tiny handprint on his ass. “This binds you to me, Mr. No. You realize that don’t you? You wear my mark.”

“Look. I…What do you want?” this time he knew he was talking. He just wasn’t sure what he was saying. He couldn’t move beyond a wriggle. Forces that he could not see pulled his legs apart. She laughed and the bed shifted again.

“No-don’t”, he cried fearing another whipping.

She moved behind him-closing between his legs until he felt her presence on the insides of his thighs.

“No whipping for you tonight, Mr. No”, she said as if reading his mind.

He felt her tiny, cold hands spread his cheeks and her body lean closer.

“No! Don’t do that…Please don’t do that…” he cried.

Her hand slipped between his legs and gripped his hardening cock. “See? Again you say ‘NO’ but this says something else.”

Something touched his asshole and his body jolted fully awake. His wail was cut short by another unseen piece of fabric jammed into his mouth. Was she wearing that scarf again? he wondered-then could only grunt as something pressed-hard, cold and large-against his anus. He cried out soundlessly feeling himself opening wide as he was slowly penetrated. He yelped helplessly as the forces holding him ratcheted tighter and heavier.

He awoke with a start, his trip-hammering heart pounding in his ears. Pink clouds were scudding across the perfect blue sky but he couldn’t see them with his face in the pillows as he vigorously humped his mattress to the screeching disapproval of the old box springs. Coming to consciousness, he quickly rolled onto his side to stop the action and looked down at his engorged cock waving like a mast on a stormy sea.

He put the palm of his hand on the thick head as if he would tamp it down as a child might a jack-in-the-box. Nope, that wasn’t helping and by the pulsing feel of the thing he had caught it not a moment too soon. Remembering, he reached tentatively back to feel his backside-then gently, between his cheeks. Nope. Nothing. What a fucking dream! He sat up carefully. His hard-on, ignored, began to collapse in on itself like a pocket telescope.

He stood and shivered then looked around for his clothes. Then he saw it and froze but not from the cold. His hat was hanging on the back of the chair. He picked it up and caught a whiff of leaves and woods and-for a moment- something sickeningly sweet and rotten. Like old fruit or meat left in the sun. Regardless, he put it onto his head and without adjustment, it fit perfectly.

There, naked but for his hat, he looked out the window at the path that left the yard and wound east where it would eventually meet up with the trail that led to the ruins-then up into the hollow. It’s a walk he would be taking later today, you better bet.

Continuing….Back to the Hollow

Too Fast For Conditions

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“Why are you driving like this?”

“Like what?”

Outside the window other cars-those respecting the conditions-flash by as they passed them. “You don’t drive this fast when it’s NOT raining…”

“Tires are good”, he grunted as they weaved into the right lane to pass someone whose tires evidently weren’t up to snuff.

“Would you slow down please!” She wasn’t asking now.

“I know this road. Driven this road dead drunk in the middle of the night. Rain, snow. Doesn’t matter.”

He was clenching the wheel too tightly and glaring too intently through the windshield. Her fists were clenched as well and she exhaled slowly to loosen them. Her sensei was teaching her to punch the heavy bag while holding a banana. His blows were lethal but the banana remained intact. Easy for him, she thought, but she needed to switch gears.

“How many drinks did you have?” she asked trying for concerned.

“Not enough to worry about.” They flew through a puddle with a wild, thundering splash that blinded them for an instant. She felt the car float just then and her heart fluttered. He didn’t change his expression. Maybe his jaw tensed a bit more.

“That’s the thing though…” she said slowly trying to sound calm-which never worked and only made her sound harsh and hectoring. She heard it too and tried to regroup-lighter with more sweetness. …”The more you have, the less you worry about it. You leave the worrying to us.”

“Then don’t worry”, he grumbled from his chest.

She ticked off the things she might have done to set him off like this but came up empty. Then she tried to remember how many drinks he did have. Did she miss something? Was this partially on her? The car fishtailed slightly as he slammed the brakes the avoid someone who came up short in front of them. “Fucker!” He screamed to the closed window as he whipped into the other lane to pass.

No, she wasn’t going to own any of this. This was his, she decided. She saw the red lights ahead through the rain. He tapped the pedal hard-jolting them once, the twice slowing for the red light. Stay red, she thought…just stay red. It did and as the car stopped she unsnapped her seat belt and stepped out into the rain.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Not riding with you anymore. That’s what I’m doing!” Or not doing? Which should she have said? Didn’t matter. Point made. She slammed the door and stepped up onto the sidewalk as the light turned green. Cars stopped behind began to honk as he wouldn’t move. She was conscious of being part of a “scene” so she turned and stalked up the sidewalk toward the intersection.

Her jean jacket afforded little protection against the cool rain which had let up a tad, but was still soaking. She pulled the collar up. Behind her the cacophony of horns ceased as he saw where she was headed and pulled out of traffic into the side street just ahead of her.

He reached over and opened the passenger side door to her.

“Get in!”

Her auburn ringlets were already matted down onto her head. She bypassed the open door and walked around the front of the car and kept going, not acknowledging him.

“Come on, Karrie….Hey! Where you going?”

“Home!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“It’s four miles….”

She was marching out of shouting range so he slammed the car in gear and pulled through the closed gas station and back out on the road until he caught up with her. He slowed to her pace and the cars behind started blaring again. He rolled down the window.

“Just get in!”

“Put your hazards on!”

He did as she ordered and asked again. “Just get in. You’re soaked already and this isn’t the safest…”

“Safe! You’re going to tell me about safe!?” She had stopped and even in the spattered streetlights and passing headlights he could see her green eyes flashing.

“Come on….” He said suddenly nervous seeing her rage.

“I’m driving!” She yelled-water dripping off the end of her nose.

He struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Fine! Fuck! I don’t care. Drive.”

He stepped out of the car and walked around the back to get into the passenger side. The chill rain didn’t register. She went around the front and got in behind the wheel before he reached the door.

When he finally got in and settled into the seat she turned and lifted herself onto her hip and punched him, hard, but glancing high off his cheekbone. His head spun forward and spittle washed the inside of the windshield. Her green painted fingernails dug into her palm-she would have mashed that fucking banana. He pivoted in his seat and she relaxed-ready to evade his blow. He balled his fist and delivered a left hook to the dashboard and glared back at her. She hadn’t winced, hadn’t twitched.

“You know what’s going to happen when we get home don’t you?”

He punched the dashboard again with the side of his fist. She could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.

“Hey!” she yelled at him now, cajoling over. “Stop that!” He was going to break his fool hand, or worse, the car. “Look here!” He turned to her just in time to absorb another slap, this time open handed and from her left as she rose up in the seat. He grunted in surprise and lifted the back of his hand to his mouth. There was a spat of blood. She had caught his lip.

“Don’t make this worse than it already is…”

After a beat he threw himself back into the seat like a 220 pound eight year old and glared sullenly out the window. She calmly, precisely, put the car in gear and merged gently into the flow of traffic.

Tomorrow they would discuss this, work through this. But now, she let the anger rise in her chest and boil there. It would serve her well over the next couple of hours.

“Deal!”

(Continued from A Second Chance)

What could have been a softball sized knot in her stomach melted like butter and flowed to her crotch. She instinctively tightened her legs as the heat felt like it was already running down her legs, warming her. “Uhhh”, she said. “Of course”, as if that was her plan all along. Her hands were vibrating again.

His were too as he handed her the paddle from the hook and stood before her where she sat on the bed. Head down, hair falling over his eyes, he fumbled with his belt “C’mere”, she reached and he stepped toward her. “Is the door locked?” he asked quietly.

“It’s like yours dummy. Locks automatically.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah…”

She pulled his belt open and unsnapped his jeans. Seemingly absorbed in the task she pulled down the zipper and needed only to release them to send them sliding to the floor. Expecting to see a pair of underwear she was startled to see Tim’s semi-erect penis rising below his T-shirt.

“Timmy! No undies?”

“I was in a hurry…didn’t think…”

“Its OK. You don’t need them now anyway.”

They were both speaking in a strange stilted way. As if disavowing their own words, maybe their own personalities, to hide in their roles. She touched his cock with a finger and it nodded slightly-raising its chin to her. She said nothing thinking of her own swelling button between her legs. With her hands on his hips she guided him to her side and down over her lap. He lifted once to situate his cock then settled back.

“You have a sweet bum, Timmy”, she said. Was he supposed to say ‘Thanks’? He was up on his hands looking back over his shoulder. “Down, Timmy, down.” She pushed on his back and he lay all the way down. “That’s the good boy”, she said breathlessly.

He reached and pulled her pillow into his face smelling her in the cool softness of it. He wriggled once, opening a little then settled back. And waited. Nothing was happening. Chelsea had of course seen boys’ backsides before but usually in passing or quickly as they moved from the bed to the door-or the bathroom or into pants. She had never had one before offered to her like this. For her to do with as she pleased. She liked this. She liked it a lot.

“I feel bad about this Timmy, but you must be punished”, she recited from the script in her head

“Yes Ma’am” he said into her pillow delighting her with his acquiescence.

She patted him once then raised the paddle bringing it down with a loud SMACK! that echoed off the concrete walls. He jumped and screamed loudly into the pillow. Chelsea, startled, jumped back and broke character. “Oh! Sorry! Was that too hard? I’m sorry-I’m sorry”. She patted the reddening bloom and rubbed it-even blowing on it. “Sorry!”

“It’s OK”, he said. “It just hurt like hell.” He relaxed back down.

“It’s supposed to hurt Timmy”, she said coming back into character but she noticed that his cock-stuck between them as it was-had contracted a bit. She lifted the paddle again, but not as high and brought it down again-but not as hard. The cracks of the paddle still bounced off the walls but not as loudly. The swats that were full-on his cheeks cracked loudly and those across the middle echoed into the void between.

His ass was a bright red all over with maroon dollops here and there. And still, here he was, taking it and judging from the thick hard hose trapped across her bare thigh enjoying it. In truth, his butt had pretty much gone numb and he was reacting more to the buzz and vibration that each swat brought to his engorged sack and pulsing cock. His individual and singular yelps had melding into a generalized whimper and the jumps that followed each swat into a rhythmic rolling that seemed to push his tortured bottom upward-looking to meet the wood sooner.

She flopped the paddle onto the bed. “I think that’s good. You’ve been punished enough.”

“Jesus, yes! You killed my ass!”

“Aw, poor you”, she cooed patting his bottom and pulling back from the heat. Ouch, she thought, that had to hurt. “Follow the rules next time.” She kept her hand there for a moment kneading lightly. His rolling-his subtle back and forth movement-hadn’t stopped. She had to get this kid out of her room so she could rub one off. Now. She was feeling the weight of a coming orgasm sitting low in her belly breathing hard and clawing to get out. I’ll come in and get you girl, she thought. I’ll be done here in a moment.

“Alright. Up!” she said with a final little slap.

He pushed himself up reluctantly reacting not at all as his dick vibrated strong and purple like some kind of meaty tuning fork.

“Jesus Timmy. Looks like someone had some fun…”

“How about you?” he asked, rubbing his hot bottom and looking into her flushed face and the thin sheen of perspiration on her forehead as she stared at his erect penis. She tried to meet his gaze but her eyes kept zipping back to his prick as if magnetized.

“Look, Chelsea. Why don’t you let me fuck you?”

“What? You?” She coughed an unconvincing laugh. “No. I don’t think so…” she said unable to pull her eyes from the organ in front of her.

“Come on, what are you going to do as soon as I leave here?” He touched her shoulder. “I will too, as soon as I get to my room.”

“I have a boyfriend” she said weakening.

“I know you have a boyfriend-but let’s just….come on…”

She reached around to feel his burning butt again and saw his dick jump. “I figured you were a virgin, Tim Moffet from Des Moines”, her mouth was dry.

“Not quite. I have some moves”.

“Moves!” She snorted.

“Come on”, he pleaded. “Your hand on my butt’s going to make me cum. Come on…”

She was weakening…she needed to get something between her legs now. “I’m gross-OK….I can go jump in the shower…”

“You are not gross…I want this right now…”

“OK-Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Come on…”

“Take everything off”, he said.

She giggled-sixteen again in her basement at home. She struggled with her uniform and the sports bra. He helped pull it over her head, rushing. Her body was full and lush.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

“No.”

She turned and reached into the drawer her backside turned to him. He reached out and put his hands on the thick milky pillows…She sucked air and allowed him to minister a moment back her breath fluttering when he kissed her left cheek. She sat and helped him into the rubber then flopped onto her back impatient for release.

He slipped easily into her sopping pussy and she moaned “Yess…..” she groaned opening her mouth into a circle and pulling her knees up to her chest. “In and out…” she said joking. “In and out…” He followed her instructions and they built into a pulsing, driving rhythm that didn’t foretell a long lovemaking session. They had opted for the straight track sprint over the leisurely Sunday drive.

As they built speed he arched slightly and slid his knees backward to tighten the fit of his ribbed rubbered cock against the spot where she could feel it most. “Oh! Oh!” she yipped and slid backward stopping only when he wrapped her shoulders and pulled her further toward him. Her mouth opened to his and her general gasping and moaning coalesced into a rumble in her chest as her tongue wrestled his.

And he knew then-right then-that this was the best sex he would ever have. Not the best sex that he had ever had-that number was still depressingly finite. But this wild, red-assed, teeth jarring, spit sharing, sweat-splashed, bucking coupling with a grimy Chelsea Fisher fresh from the playing fields would be the standard against which every lover to come would be measured and surely be found wanting.

Before he could consider whether summiting his sexual Everest at eighteen was glorious or depressing, Chelsea’s moans switched to a loud hiss and she reached down and squeezed his hot cheeks evidently trying to pull him deeper inside of her. “I’m cumming!!!” she gasped and Tim-working hard now-did what he could to increase speed and friction.

Her keening rose in his ears until all sound faded and the lights dimmed just before stars exploded all around him and he came.

Every paltry orgasm he had had to this point was a trickle. A tear coursing down the face of a statue. This was a cataract- a raging rapid that started in some unnamable place within him and, had it not been caught, confined, contained by what had to be the strongest latex condom on earth he knew his cum would have blown Chelsea off the bed-would have blown the door off its hinges-indeed would have washed down Neville Avenue piling parked cars atop one another and washing confused joggers and dog-walkers into the shrubbery.

But not. It was contained. His engorged cock, collapsed to dick size by the torrent, popped out of her as he collapsed on top, both quivering in the final spasms and twitches of their orgasms. They lay in a pile until their breathing returned and synced. Then he slid off to the side.

“What was THAT?” she asked.

“That was my move.”

She laughed a true hearty laugh. “Your move?”

“I only got one”, he laughed with her.

“It is a good one Timmy. You’ll want to keep that one.”

He rolled up on his elbow and smiled; the laughter still covering her face. The eyeblack was smeared on her cheek and he rubbed it with his thumb.

“You got some on you,” she said touching his cheek.

“Figured.”

They lay quietly facing each other neither in a hurry to move content to let the sexual echoes recede.

“We should do this more often”, Tim said.

She flashed an amused smile. “Really? You and me? Together?” she laughed at the thought.

“No, not like that-you already have a boyfriend. Everybody knows it’s you and the football dick.”

“He’s not that bad…”

“Whatever. But we could just do…this. Every once in a while. We live four doors away. It would be convenient.”

“It would be that”, she said still smiling.

“And nobody would know…who would suspect-me and you?” he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Freshmen are needy. You’ll be here every day.”

“I’m a Bio major Chelsea. I won’t have time to be here every day.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Every time we do it, it has to be like today.”

“You all dirty and gross?”

She punched him on the arm. “No. The spanking. Before we do it, you get spanked.”

“That paddle hurts, Chel. I’m still sore.”

“OK-maybe not that paddle. Not all the time. Maybe my hand…maybe a ruler…I don’t know…we’ll make it up. But anytime we have sex, you have a red ass.”

He had to make a show of not loving the idea but not too much of one.

“And you’ll still be the RA, right? Keeping me in line…”

“Oh yeah…”

“Deal”, he said.

It wasn’t lost on him that they were lounging and lingering after what was supposed to be a convenient hook-up. He let his hand slide from her cheek to her firm breasts. She closed her eyes and, if anything, turned a little his way as he dipped his mouth, tasting the salt and noticing a bit of softball field between them. Her nipple hardened in his mouth and she sighed deeply and contentedly.

A Second Chance

behind-the-tops

(Takes place same day, across campus from The Intervention)

He was pulling his door closed behind him and didn’t even see her coming. “You’re in trouble there, Timmy”, she said brightly.

He jumped-startled. Chelsea Fisher, backlit by the glass door to the street looked almost bigger than life coming back onto the hall from a softball game.  She, as was typical, carried some of the field with her-dirt on her bare thigh and up the side of her tight shorts, grass stain on her other hip. The eye black that she wore on each cheekbone was smeared and glistening with perspiration. She enjoyed being an athlete and having an excuse to carry off the swagger that she came by naturally.

“Did we win?” he asked trying to move the conversation in a different direction. No dice.

“Found a half case of empties in your room this morning when you were in the shower.”

“What were you doing in my room?”

“You’re a two-time offender sonny. As the RA on this floor it’s my job to conduct searches when there are suspicions of the presence of alcohol. Freshmen! You guys weren’t even quiet last night!” She said this with a bit of a grin but held up her finger before Tim could defend himself. “And…I said not a word last week when that kid-the redhead…what’s his name…?”

“Randall. Randy Johnson….”

“Right! I said nothing when he stumbled down the hall from your room puffs of weed trailing behind. Let it slide…But last night. Again?” She leaned close enough that he could smell the peppermint gum before she poked him in the chest lightly with her finger. “I get the feeling that you don’t respect my authority”. The grin was still there but there was something else in her eyes. He had to look up a little to meet them and his breath was coming in small gulps. “So come on down to the room so I can write you up.”

“Dammit!” he said almost in a whine.

“Come on”. When she turned he saw that the grass stain on her hip bloomed across her strong bottom where his eyes fell. He followed behind like what he was-an errant schoolboy-happy that she wasn’t dragging him by the ear. But something in his mien felt right as he followed her, dragging his feet.

Chelsea slowed her pace but didn’t look back. She could hear him there, slinking behind. Good. He was following her. She never knew how far she could push the “authority” thing. That he had slid in obediently behind was a good sign. She lightened her step a bit.

They stopped in front of her door at the end of the hall. “Here”, she said tossing him her fielder’s glove so she could pull her key over her head where it hung on a shoestring. Hanging the key around her neck was retro as hell but it worked for her. Indeed, she had caught enough guys-and more than a few girls-staring at it nestled in her cleavage that she made it part of her wardrobe-changing shoestrings to match her clothes.

“Yes, by the way”, she said opening the door.

“Yes, what?”

“We won. Seven to three.”

“What did you do?” he said following her inside.

“Three hits-sliding catch in right. That’s where this grass came from” she rubbed her hip and slid her hand unselfconsciously over her backside. Tim’s heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What about that?” he asked pointing at the dirt on her thigh.

“That’s because I’m a klutz. Stumbled rounding first and had to scramble back. Totally embarrassing. Sit”, she pointed to a couch that took the place of a second bed in a room that should have been a double. Perk of being a Resident Assistant.

She took off her cap and shook out her blonde hair vigorously before pulling it into a loose pony tail. “Look at this mess” she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and rubbed at the dirt on her leg. “Just dust but…what a klutz!” She shook her head seemingly smiling at the memory and turning, bent to pull out the lower desk drawer.

Tim watched every move with the rapt attention that only raging hormones could engender. He knew she was giving him a show and she knew that he knew-but it didn’t matter. By the time she sat at her desk with the infraction form he was beginning to thicken and sat back to try to get a little control of himself.

“Unfortunately, I know your name and home address by heart…” she said writing.

“This is going to be my third one…”

“Yes it will.”

“And my parents will find out?”

Diligently printing in the blocks on the form she didn’t even look up. “Oh, a lot of things happen. A letter on the Dean’s stationary to your parents. The letter in your official file. The implied threat of expulsion or suspension…”

“Jesus…”

“Serious stuff.”

“Chelsea. Please.”

She didn’t look up from her writing. He found he was gazing at her thigh then shook his head quickly to snap back to the business at hand.

“Come on…” he said again-more of a plea this time.

“What? What am I supposed to do? You’ve been so blatant about what you were doing. Some kids sneak stuff-we know that. But you are right out front.”

“Come on Chel. I thought we had an understanding”, he said more of a wishful thought than anything.

“What understanding? I caught you, I wrote you up. I caught you again…”

“Classes are killing me. I’m just trying to bust loose a little. This…isn’t who I am, Chelsea. It was just….I don’t know. First time being on my own…Trying to see where I’d fit in….

“Isn’t this the same speech you gave me three weeks ago? Are you going to tell me about your parents mortgaging the house or something to get you in here? No-I’m finished with your rap.”

His face was pleading and his eyes were bright. Now it was her heart that was pumping a little harder. For the first time she thought this really could happen and it brought a tickle down below. Of course her arousal was edged with the fear of not knowing how he would react, but the uncertainty of the path she had laid out was a big part of the fun.

“Please Chelsea. I…I don’t know you really but…”

“Hopefully you’ll be around next semester to get to know me better.”

“I can’t get…You can’t do this.” He said dejected. “You can’t.”

“Watch”, she said-continuing to write moving in for the kill.

He stopped and sighed. “Look. I’ll do whatever you say that doesn’t involve a letter or a report.”

The words fit cleanly into tumblers in her head and turned. Just like that, she knew that she had won her second game today. “Alright. Enough.”

“Enough?” he asked.

“My closet”, she said nodding toward it.

“What?”

“Go open the closet.”

He stood uncertainly and went to the closet. “Open it”, she said again.

She pretended to be finishing up the form and heard the door open.

“What?” he asked. She looked up and saw two blouses hanging on a hook. “Idiot!” She said to herself, then aloud “Behind the tops.”

He pulled them back to see a paddle hanging on a hook. That’s exactly what it was-wasn’t a bath brush, not a hairbrush-nothing that could be mistaken for anything else. Not the long decorative ones he had seen Greek pledges carrying around either. A sturdy round nasty piece of wood with a rubber gripped handle.

“No way”, he said still staring at it.

“What?”

“No fucking way….”

She shrugged and went back to the form.

“Chelsea! Come on….” She continued writing.

“I’ll need your signature on this.” She looked at him clear-eyed and held out the pen as if the other conversation wasn’t going on.

His belly went cold remembering his last spanking-which was also the first one he could remember. He was much too old for it-thirteen and in the seventh grade. His parents were on a cruise and had his aunt-his mother’s younger sister-staying over to “keep an eye on him.” Aunt Karen was only about ten years older than he was and had just started teaching at a high school one town over. He guessed he was testing her and stayed out two hours past curfew. When he finally got home she was waiting for him in the living room with a hairbrush and no amount of pleading could convince her not to use it.

Chelsea was saying nothing but he felt her staring. “You just can’t”, he started then stopped. “I can’t just let you paddle me.” He sounded completely deflated. Like he was sickened by the idea.

Dammit! she thought she had him. She felt a trickle of sweat on her back. The more people she came to with this proposition who turned her down, the more the chance she’d get busted. That someone would tell. So far she had spanked two girls on the hall-this was her first time trying a boy. She squeezed the pen so he wouldn’t see her hand starting to shake.

Even at thirteen he had been bigger than Aunt Karen and could have refused her; strong enough that she couldn’t have forced him. But he didn’t. And for a while he wondered why he hadn’t. He blamed it on the anger in her eyes, but there was something else there that he couldn’t unravel then. But he did remember clearly laying over her lap on the big living room chair and feeling the sting of the paddle through his jeans. All through it she never stopped scolding him; how he scared her, he was her responsibility, he had to respect her…on and on. He had the feeling then and later that she was just saying whatever came into her head to justify what she was doing.

He couldn’t remember how badly it hurt when it was happening but he did remember wishing, face down and hands on the floor, that she had made him take his pants down. That was all he could think about as she kept whacking him and lecturing him. He even thought about stopping her-calling a time out-and volunteering to take them down. For years he wondered how she might have reacted-what might have happened then. She must have seen something in his eyes when she let him up-more likely felt something through his pants-that made her look away from him. Her face had been flushed and her forehead glistened when she told him to go to bed.

Hard to imagine she couldn’t figure out what he did when he got to his bedroom-when he finally got his pants down to rub is burning ass. Then it hurt-she had packed a wallop. But only his left hand was on his butt as he lay there in the darkness. The right was otherwise engaged.

The next morning Aunt Karen was gone to work when he came downstairs but had left the cereal out and a note that she would be back that afternoon. And when she came home she said nothing about the night before. Nor did he-then or ever. Through countless family dinners, holidays and birthdays, it was never mentioned again.

Chelsea suffered a little in the silence between them. She was about to laugh it off; that had always been her backup plan to pretend it was a joke. She had opened her mouth when Tim beat her to it.

“OK”, he said, almost whispering then coughed. He had forgotten to breathe. “Anything, as long as you’re not writing…me up…”

She put down the pen.

“One thing though”, he said.

“No conditions.”

“It has to be on the bare. I have to take my pants down and lay over your lap”, he said in that same half whisper.

Continuing…“Deal!”

Graduation

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He would have looked absolutely adorable if she wasn’t so pissed at him. Long dark bangs cut across thick eyelashes above dark brown eyes that almost glistened. He was an engaging kid-if you could call a man five months eighteen a kid. Maybe that’s what it was about him; he was older than most of his classmates by almost a year. And not that much younger really than she was. To say those were the reasons she was attracted to him though would have been a bit of a lie. The first attraction was clearly physical.

This football player had darkened her doorway last semester wanting to take her Intro to Art Class. She had seen him in the halls and knew who he was in the way that everyone “knows” the football hero but hadn’t really spoken to him until that day. Arms bulging against his shirt, shoulders seemingly as wide as the door that V’d down into a tight waist. She had worked her share of models in figure drawing but nothing that her eyes wanted to linger over like him.

The first thought that had popped into her head when he tapped on her door jamb that day was “Uh Oh”. Right off she knew that he was the kind of student that her senior advisor warned her against back when she was student teaching. Of course, she might have paid the warnings more heed had they not come in bed while he was suckling at her titties like a balding, middle-aged kitten. Poor near-sighted Stephen, with his little pot belly and bandy legs-that was the kind of guy she typically ended up with. Not this ruddy Adonis across the desk.

“You can’t blow off all of my classes Dixon!  You are seriously taking advantage of our friendship here you know that? That is not cool.”

Everything was in place for Dixon. He had already accepted the scholarship to play football at State in the fall so most of his time was spent in the weight room and on the fields getting ready for summer workouts. So he wasn’t paying the strictest of attention to his classes or schoolwork still on his plate. Which meant he wasn’t going to the ones he didn’t “have time for.” It didn’t matter to most teachers. To this one it did.

“…and you know” she continued sternly, “this is an elective art class so even if I failed you-which I wouldn’t-it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t mess with your plans. It was just a shitty thing to do. I thought we were beyond this.”

His apologies were profuse and heartfelt. He knew that he had betrayed a friendship and felt horrible about it but all he could do was apologize. And she accepted it-she knew he was beating himself up over it-but she had to keep teaching. Had to make him know what was acceptable and what wasn’t. But that was enough.

She let him up and smirked. Emboldened by his sad puppy look she pushed a little. “I’m sure I could rummage through the closet here and find a board or something suitable that I could use as a paddle. Maybe that’s what I should do to drive home my message. What would you think of that?”

“What?” he thought. Did she just say that? His cheeks burned in a surprising way and he quickly sifted through his memories to see if he had ever hinted to her in class about the things that he dreamed about. No. He wouldn’t have-ever.  But he couldn’t stop himself from saying “OK, but only if its pants down and I can go over your lap.”

The last shred of anger in her eyes shattered in a high pitched titter of laughter. “I don’t guess so. I’d want to punish you-and I think you’d like it too much. Now, get out. Don’t you have a class to go to…?”

“I was going to go look in the closet…”

“Get going….”

“OK, we’ll save that for our first date….”

“Out! Go lift some weights or something you goof ball. And come to class!”

She watched him walk out of the room and couldn’t help but focus on his hard-looking ass wrapped in tight jeans. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered what it might feel like-to touch. To squeeze. And his arms, his shoulders that cascaded down into the strong firm waist. She had stayed away from athletes when she was in school so hard bodies like his weren’t her specialty…but…She shook her head hard. Down girl, she thought smiling.

After commencement, June disappeared. Dixon was off to State for orientation and when he got back, Emily Palmer who spent most of the month playing tennis, was off to the beach for a couple of weeks. Not to say they didn’t stay in touch. She had given him her phone number and told him to stay in touch if he “needed to talk” over the summer. It was sort of a manner of speaking-she didn’t know if she’d hear from him but when he was away-as most young men-he got homesick. So they had talked…and talked…but didn’t see each other again until the Fourth of July Party at Bill Necture’s house.

Events conspired against them and they didn’t get there until around seven when the party was in full swing and they had no real time to catch up. At nine, a dozen unspoken plans began to play out. Coolers were packed, bottles were grabbed and everyone headed for the door. The fireworks wouldn’t start for an hour at least but getting a prime parking place and watching spot was key.

Dixon thought he’d park up the hill a bit-where the woods thickened and the lights of town were left behind. He looked around the room, assuming Ms. Palmer would go with him. He had no real plans-there was no conquest in mind-he was looking forward to continuing a conversation. Where was she though? Had she already left? That would have been a drag.

The house emptied. Directions were shouted from room to room-from the porch back to the kitchen-and glass tinkled and the refrigerator door opened and closed incessantly. Plans for the after-party all revolved around the Club and downtown. Nobody was heading back here.

Damn, had she slipped out? Where the hell was she? He looked around a little too frantically for his taste before he saw her, back to the room, leaning against the wall going through albums. Short skirt, tanned legs, madras shirt-alone in the corner.

“You going to the fireworks?” he asked ready to invite her to his secret spot up on the hill.

“Naw”, she said. “I’m not much of a sky flower girl.”

“Sky flowers?”

She pantomimed two exploding sky rockets with her fingertips. “They all look the same after a while. Smell like smoke and you get covered in ashes. Don’t think so. Plus, Billy has some killer albums”, she said still leafing through them. “I think I’ll sit here, listen, enjoys a few more drinks before I drag myself home.”

Careful not to loom, he reached over her shoulder and began leafing through the albums she’d already seen.

“Beatles or Stones?” he asked.

“Neither really. Stones, though if I have to choose…”

From behind he put his hand on her hip-careful to not extend too far forward or two far backward. Just contacting the hipbone which felt warm and firm under the skirt. He felt a tingle in his crotch as she reacted not at all to his touch. He took that as permission and his next move was going to be sliding the hand down to feel the tight bare skin of her thigh.

“How about this?” She asked holding up a black album cover with silver script.

“Huh”, he said. “I don’t know ‘War’”.

“Sheltered child”, she grinned. “I’ll put this on. Go see if they left us anything in the fridge.”

As he expected, the pickings in the fridge were pretty slim. He grabbed two beers as the funky beat of “Me and Baby Brother” filled the rooms. Ah, he thought. This was War. He knew the music-just not the name.

He came back into the room to find it empty. Good Lord, he thought. Had she moved right to the bedroom? He looked down the hallway and saw light leaking out from below the bathroom door. Ahhh, he thought. In his primitive mind he assumed she was performing some pre-sex ablution that was only going to work out well for him. He talked a good game and really looked the part, but he wasn’t much of a sexual being back then. Only twice removed from virginity and he was sure, if pressed, he’d have to admit that his best sex would have been the wet dream he had on the morning of the Riverside game.

He turned when the bathroom door clicked open. As she came out of the dim hallway he focused on what she was carrying. She came into the living room with the bath brush that had been hanging on the inside of the door. He felt his pulse rise as she approached with a slight smile.

“Look what I found”, she said, patting her off hand with the brush. “I think I owe you something.” The smile widened a bit and her eyes didn’t wink-but he felt like they did. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch looking from her to the brush and back again but not moving-using workout techniques to keep his breathing in check. He didn’t know the next move. She did though.

“We can leave now and still catch the fireworks.” She held up the brush to her eyes regarding it as a swordswoman might her weapon. “Or we can stay here and I’ll make our own.” She let the silence hang between them.

“Let’s…” he coughed as his voice caught. “Let’s stay.”

“Alrighty then.” She moved to the couch-in front of him. “Get up.” It wasn’t a request.

He stood and they traded places. Sitting on the couch, he in front of her now, she was conscious of his size. She reached out and hooked a finger through his belt loop and pulled him toward her-knowing she couldn’t move him unless he wanted to be moved. He took a step forward.

“You did say bare-bottom as I recall…” she said grabbing his belt buckle.

“I…I did…” he stuttered, then hesitated. “But….”

“But what?” she asked looking up feigning innocence.

He looked ready to say something but instead reached down and cupped the side of her face with his strong right hand. She was surprised as much by the gentleness of the touch as by the roughness of his palm-callused from constant weight lifting. Again, she thrilled slightly at the quiet power coiled in every inch of him. “Nothing”, he said finally. “Never mind. Proceed, Ms. Palmer.”

“I was going to tell you to call me Emily, but I kind of like Ms. Palmer, in this context.”

She grinned and without looking away from his eyes unclasped his belt then unsnapped his jeans. He filled them so that they wouldn’t be falling to the floor in a bunch. She unzipped his fly then worked the bleached denim down over one hip, then the other. She peeled them down over the bulging thighs to his knees where they stuck.

Emily ran her hands slowly up Dixon’s thighs with a sculptor’s appreciation but at the moment was more interested in the bulge at eye level. Dixon was wearing black briefs which looked like silk. This brat either had a plan for the evening or he was a snappy under dresser. She ran her hands over the sides of his hips-Damn! They WERE silk-before catching her thumbs in the waist band and pulling them down. She had to pull outward-far outward-to get over the hard-on which sprung free and was perfectly positioned to put an eye out.

“My Oh My”, she said touching the tiny hole in the middle of the pulsing head. “Someone is excited about getting their bum spanked…”

“Oh, yes.”

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“Since you’ve had a spanking.”

“Ever I think.”

“Ever?”

“Look at me. Who’s going to spank me?”

Stroking his cock gently she let her eyes swim over the thickly muscled arms and heavy shoulders and took his point.

“How long have you wanted it?” she asked softly’

“Forever….”

“I think it’s time we fix that.”

“Yes, Ms. Palmer…”

As she spoke she directed him lightly-hands feathering his hips-to her side. She then leaned back opening her lap to him. Looking lustfully down at the tanned thighs he needed no further direction. Shuffling through the pants and briefs that now bound his ankles he knelt one leg on the couch and slowly lowered himself gingerly pinning his engorged cock between himself and her legs.

She enjoyed the view his squirming afforded her. His round muscled bottom thrust skyward even in repose. They both gasped in tandem when she rubbed her right hand over the firm cheeks, squeezing and kneading. “You’re being such a good boy Dixon”, she cooed “It almost makes me regret what I have to do.”

He felt her reaching for the brush on the back of the couch. “Yes, Ms. Palmer”, was all he said but the three words turned the butterflies in Emily Palmer’s stomach into ravens as she patted his butt gently with the brush. He pulled a throw pillow up to his face and waited, tensing.

“Spankings don’t always have to be about pain”, she said as she smacked the brush down hard on is full and firm right cheek.

“OWWWW! Easy for you to say!” he gasped.

“Shhhhh”, she said swatting him again. “How about not only about the pain.”

She smacked him two more times eliciting yelps.

“Too hard?” she cooed and he settled.

“No…Its fine…I mean it hurts. But it hurts….in a good way.”

“See? That’s what I meant.

“Ouch!” he wriggled.

“A pity…all these years fantasizing and never getting it…I’ll try to make up for lost time.”

“…Ahhhh,” he sighed raggedly as she began to pick up the pace and delivered swat after swat on his behind as if testing how far she could take him. He bucked at the hardest swats-pushing up on his knees and tried to burrow through her during a couple of volleys. It must have been forty or fifty smacks delivered….He was all over pink with red splotches in the center of each cheek before she slowed. She set the bath brush aside and cupped his hot bottom. As if given permission he began to slowly and subtly rub is cock between himself and her thigh as if she would wouldn’t notice.

But she did notice and slapped him hard.

“Ow-your hand hurts worse than the brush!”

“Thank you kind sir”, she said smiling widely-which he couldn’t see.

“Have you been punished enough?”

He had no idea how to answer. He didn’t want to move except for the slow back and forth and her hand could rub-which it was now doing-his ass till dawn. “I don’t know….I’ve been really bad…”

She laughed lightly and rubbed his red bottom letting her fingers linger between the cheeks.

“You always have the right answer…but come on get up”-she slapped him again.

“OW!”, as he scrambled to his feet.

“I have something else for you…”

He stood before her, his hard-on like a battering ram threatening her forehead. She took it in her right hand and kissed it gently on the head-flicking her tongue below its chin. His moan now was different than the ones from earlier. She ducked and pushed his pants down to the floor and lifted his legs out of them.

“Time to switch places again.” She slipped off the couch and he sat, pleasantly surprised at the harsh tingle that burned across his bottom. “Bum hurt?” she asked wickedly kneeling in front of him.

“Yes”, with his eyes closed.

“Good”, she said and reached under him to pinch at the bottom of his cheeks. His wiggling was less about pain than…other things. She rocked forward and, grasping his hips, opened her mouth just wide enough to accommodate him and swallowed the length of his cock. He sucked air between his teeth as she rocked back withdrawing then sliding back carefully scraping her teeth along his throbbing thickness as her fingers kneaded the heat of his ass cheeks.

His body froze though when her finger touched the locked door of his asshole. She prodded lightly-knocking-and didn’t hear him say ‘no’ or ‘don’t.’

He was green-woefully inexperienced in the sex business-but not stupid. He grew up in locker rooms. He knew the perceptions of someone who “took it up the ass”. Who took anything up the ass. But right now, at this moment, lifting his butt slightly off the couch to give her better access, he wanted nothing more than Emily Palmer inside of him. He gasped slightly as she probed then rimmed his tiny dry hole-teasing. Then teasing some more.

“Do it”, he hissed.

She pulled her mouth from his cock but left her finger where it was.

“Do what?” she asked wickedly.

“Your finger…”

She crawled up his body so that they were cheek to cheek and whispered teasing in his ear. “What about my finger?”

“Put it in my ass!”

Her heart flipped and her clit quivered a bit knowing that he was surrendering something to her that he never had before. He moaned lightly as she pulled her finger away. His eyes were slits as he watched her squat before him and reach between her own legs to find the thick lubrication she needed. She met his gaze for a moment before her own eyes closed in turn as she swirled her finger and let it linger a moment. But only a moment before kneeling close and putting it back wet on his tight hole.

He moaned as the slippery intruder opened the door slightly. He tried to push toward it but it wasn’t necessary. Opening to the gentle but unrelenting pressure as Ms. Palmer finger slipped in to the first knuckle. Then the second. His mouth fell open in a perfect O mirroring his anus stretched to accommodate the new wriggling life form that had found its way up there.

It didn’t hurt exactly, but it did do…something. He had settled into a low moan when her finger found what she was looking for. She rubbed the slick little nut up in there and the moan grew into a roar. She had thought about a second finger but right now she was struggling to hold on as he bucked upwards bridging on this neck and feet. She never lost rhythm-fingering his prostate in and out while pumping his quivering cock up and down.

Then, growling like a bear, with one uncontrollable thick shuddering spasm, he came. Too much, he thought deep in his wiring-it had to be too much cum! He envisioned the back of her head blowing off even as he tensed his 240 pounds into a firm pile of muscle and kept thrusting into her mouth. She milked him as he deflated, swallowing quickly and completely until his body came down to contact the couch again.

With a quiet pop her finger slipped from his backside.

“I thought sure you were going to break my finger”, she gasped, almost giggling.

“You broke my….everything”…he sighed collapsed on the couch.

She kissed him lightly and patted his cheek before heading off to the bathroom.

In the buzzing silence between album tracks he could hear the pop and rumble of distant fireworks.

 

Ellison-an excerpt from “The Agency”

Ellison eyed him from behind the wide varnished desk. This would be the time to invite him to have a seat if she was of a mind. She wasn’t. He was in his mid-twenties, a good decade younger than she, but still built like the athlete he must have been in college. Even six feet-maybe six one-no more than 200 pounds. Solidly muscled across the arms and shoulders with what looked like tight abs and strong legs. His hair was unfashionably long but clean and he had a tan and a smile that she was sure could and had melted coeds at Bryson. The khaki Dockers, moccasins, and light blue crew neck completed the picture.

He met her gaze when he came into the office but was now distracted. Ellison had left a riding crop on the corner of her desk-so far away from her that she couldn’t reach it easily without getting up but directly in his line of vision when he approached her. The crop was tightly wound and supple-with a small leather loop on the business end. The handle was wrapped leather with a wrist strap so that she wouldn’t lose it in action. This is where his attention was focused.

This is the time of the office visit where it becomes crystal clear to the visitor what he is doing there and the small flutter that he felt in his chest coming across the threshold increases to a gentle pounding.

“Take your pants off.”

“Take them down?” he asked hopefully.

“No, off”, she answered. “Course you’ll have to take your shoes off-do what you want with the socks, on or off, I don’t care. And underwear off. Naked from the waist down. Put everything on that chair over there.” Ellison gestured at a wooden chair beside her desk.

His hands wanted to shake a little as he worked at the laces on his shoes, but he kept them in check. Off went the shoes and he took off his socks and slipped them into the shoes. As he unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his trousers he watched Ellison out of the corner of his eye as she arranged the chair in front of her desk.

Ellison busied herself with the chair so she wouldn’t watch him undressing although she wanted to. It was a large overstuffed chair with big rolled arms. She slipped the ottoman from the front of the chair to the side-next to one of the arms. Even now, with his pants around his ankles and his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers he couldn’t stop himself from eyeing Ellison’s slender ass encased in her tight black jeans as she pushed and pulled at the furniture. Even in his current predicament, the sight of her bending over in front of him-it had to be on purpose-brought his cock to semi-erect life. Hopefully she wouldn’t see it. He folded his pants and placed them on the chair with the underwear on top. When he turned back to the chair, Ellison had placed a throw pillow on the seat.

She stood casually next to him-as if they were on a street corner waiting for a bus.

“This is a new set-up for me. You’re the first to try it.”

“Am I honored?”

“Thought it might be better than the old bend over the desk, deal. Especially for this one-since you’ll be getting a pretty strong punishment.”

“Really? Isn’t this my first offense?”

She was standing right next to him. If she moved her hand six inches to the right she would have been able to cup his ass-maybe rub and kneed it just enough to see if his cock would enliven a little more than she’d already noticed. And then what if it did? She felt a little rustle in her own chest as she stole a glance toward the floor to see if he was stiffening. She felt that if he was, she was in danger of putting herself into a serious misconduct situation.

They were all adults here; there was nothing preventing them from doing whatever they wanted off-campus or out of the office. But this situation-where she was required to wield the stick-such as it was-the lines were pretty strongly drawn. Only once or twice in the times she was in this position had Ellison veered into the forbidden zone. And she had regretted it both times. But this guy was tempting to her in a way that he didn’t know and she couldn’t understand. She calmed her voice to ensure there was no quiver when she spoke.

“Your first provable offense. The first you admitted to. I never questioned you about the other three that we discussed. I know you would not lie to me if I asked you, so I haven’t. Do you want me to ask you about those three other nights?”

Even with his eyes down, she could see his face flush crimson. This guy was something special-he was standing next to her smelling of shampoo and expensive aftershave, bare-ass in preparation to get his bottom whipped and he blushed at the thought of telling a lie.

“You don’t have to ask”, he said quietly. “It was me.”

He followed her directions and knelt on the ottoman-laying across the padded chair arm. The cushion on the seat supported his middle but the chair arm was the highest part of the assemblage and thrust his hips and bottom up and out. She watched from behind as he fidgeted to place his manhood, which had shrunken, into a comfortable position. This would be a better position for a woman-who didn’t need to deal finding a spot for the snake to lay. He used his hand to position it up along his belly and Ellison let him settle in actually feeling a little guilty about watching his tight bottom cheeks tense then relax as he slid his knees about shoulder width apart and exposing everything that he had to her.

That’s the way it generally was with men-at least with her. Women would bend over and hold their cheeks so tightly that you couldn’t slip a dime between them. At least in the beginning-until the paddle, or cane or strap or crop made writhing unavoidable-then they would show all in vain attempts to avoid the swats. Guys though-she was treated to the strong backside, the tight hamstrings and the balls hanging free between the legs.

“Simple rules, now that you’re situated. I will whip you until I’m done. You will take what I dish out. No reaching back, no covering, no getting up when you are in position-which you now are. You understand?”

“Yes”, he said, muffled, talking into the pillow.

Time to get started. She touched his right cheek with the leather tipped end of the crop and watched him jump a bit. It was just a twitch, but she smiled. It was always the way. With a quick draw and a snapping forehand she brought the crop down on the exact spot she had just touched; just above center on the right cheek. He gasped and dug into the arm of the chair. The second stroke was a little stronger, hitting the same cheek-about an inch lower. He didn’t jump but Ellison saw his back tensing as he tried to redirect the pain into his shoulders and back. She swung the third stroke short to catch the left-nearest cheek-dead center. He grunted loudly and spread his legs a little wider so he could push off his knees to further dissipate the pain.

That movement proved to be his undoing as he moved after Ellison had already begun her next stroke. She swung full strength meaning to strike hard in the crease of the left cheek-where the leg met the bottom-hoping to raise the first welt of the session. His slight movement opened his legs a little wider and the crop’s leather tip bit hard into the soft puckered skin of his backward peeking scrotum.

The pain registered like nothing had to this point-like nothing ever would. He thought sure that she had poked him with a cattle prod-or dropped a hot coal back there. He bucked backward off the chair and a gasp escaped his clenched teeth. Tears welled in his eyes as he slammed his legs shut kicking his feet from the knees. “Jesus!” he hissed.

She stepped back startled. It had happened so quickly that as she saw the crop dig deeply into his most sensitive skin she felt powerless to stop it. His buttocks were clenched tightly and his legs seemed carved out of stone. His back raised and lowered as he recovered normal breathing. Ellison put the crop in her off hand and patted his bottom-one cheek then the other.

“I’m sorry”, she said gently. “That’s why I need you to stay still, understand?” He nodded quickly as she moved slowly from patting to rubbing. There was one mark on his butt so far-not much to show-but she had to relax him before she could get back to it. “Don’t tense now-loosen up a little. It will be worse if you keep your bottom hard”. She stroked until his cheeks softened and his breath settled. Then she did something she had never done before. “Here-open up“ she fairly whispered as she put her hand between his legs. He slid his knees apart a little and, when she patted the inside of his thigh, a little more. Gently-almost clinically-she reached between and took his scrotum in her hand. He lifted a little to give himself a little freedom. She rubbed the small purple bruise with her thumb feeling the rustle in her chest increase to a roar. She always enjoyed the feeling of power being in this position gave her but this was something more.

She controlled her hand and her voice as she released him. “You’re OK. A little bruised-but fine. I’m going to give you another dozen or so then we’ll see where we are. They’ll be pretty hard, but can’t imagine they’ll hurt you worse than the last one. You OK with that?” She waited for it…”Yes M’am”, he said quietly as she smiled.

She took aim at the lower right cheek and let fly into the soft skin at the top of the thigh. He jumped. Then another in the same spot followed by a loud yelp. Three more whipping strokes dug deeply as he lost all inhibition about crying out. Each “thwack!” was followed by an “OWW!” or “Ouch!” each louder than the previous. When he first laid across this chair arm he was determined to suffer his punishment in silence. He especially didn’t want the girl in the outer office-to know what was happening in here. Of course she knew-but he imagined himself the strong silent type.

Ellison moved up the bum to the top-landing four hard strokes-“OW!” “WHIP!-AHHH!” across the top of both cheeks. The two on the right raised welts immediately-one hot pink and another tomato-red. She had the power to bring out deep purple weals-she had drawn blood in her day-but was doing enough for now. The next stroke bit deeply into the middle of his right cheek. “OWWWW!” he cried out and straightened his legs-thrusting his butt firmly into the air. Ellison obliged what looked like an invitation and stroked hard into the left moon. His cry was more of a grunt as he gritted his teeth and further tensed his body so that nothing was touching the chair but his chest and elbows.

She would normally pause here to let the subject relax and reset himself but that just dragged it out. She wanted to be as merciful as she could and at this point and she figured the easiest way to do that was to get it over with. She reached high and stroked hard into the center of his board-hard butt. He wailed like a bee-stung child and collapsed back on the chair arm and twisted. She hoped he wouldn’t cry-not so much for her but for him.

“One more”, Ellison said softly as he flattened back into place. “OK”, he breathed. His butt was criss-crossed with stripes and a few small red blisters where the end had bit deeply. Those coupled with the unplanned shot to his balls had made for a more unpleasant day for him than she had planned. She pulled back and stroked into the nearest cheek, if not gently, certainly not as hard as the others. He didn’t even jump-just relaxed and exhaled quickly. “Thank you”, he coughed, realizing that she had eased up on him. “It’s OK”, she said placing the crop on the desk, “you did well. Now stay put.”

He relaxed a bit and lifted his hips to reposition his cock which had begun to thicken as he struggled against the leather of the chair arm. Funny how fifteen minutes ago he was mortified at the thought of this woman maybe seeing his bare ass but now he could feel her eyes on him as she moved behind the desk and she was seeing more of him than anyone ever had.

He heard a drawer open and she walked back to stand to his left. He looked back over his shoulder to see what she was doing. “Worried?” she asked with a smile in her voice. “Curious”, he answered. She held up a small plastic bottle. “Aloe and vitamin E mostly”, she said as she squeezed a dollop into her right hand. “Relax now.” He put his head back down on the pillow as her fingers with the cooling gel touched his hot, tight skin. “ahhh…” he sighed. She applied the lotion liberally to all of the welts and bruises then generally rubbed it over his whole backside. “Better?” “Oh, God yes!” he answered. “Almost makes it worth it, huh?” she joked. “I wouldn’t go that far”, he said smiling into the pillow.

He felt her hand part his legs and he pushed backward to give her access but also to relieve the pressure of his growing erection which was pushing against the chair arm. Ellison’s fingers found his bruised scrotum and rubbed the cooling lotion onto what was becoming a very taut little bag indeed. When he moaned this time, it was less about the pain and more about the stimulation she was providing.

“Get up”, she said with a gentle pat on the rump. He pushed back to his knees revealing everything as he stood straddling the ottoman.

“You do not want to argue with me right now, buster!”

He was crossing from the bathroom into the spare bedroom where he had taken up residence after the fight yesterday. They tried to follow the “don’t go to bed angry” maxim that nobody he knew could follow either, but when it didn’t work sometime staying out of each other’s way was the best plan. At least until time calmed the waters.

Sharon’s voice barked hoarsely at him from the bedroom. “Don’t even think about going in there and getting dressed.” He stopped short, surprised. He didn’t even know she was up here. “Get in here-and take that stupid towel off!” He had put a towel around his waist leaving the bathroom but quickly peeled it off and hung it over the doorknob.

His wife was in their bedroom dressed in jeans and a black concert T-shirt looking positively girlish but he knew by the look on her face she wasn’t feeling girlish. Her eyes were still slightly puffy from crying and her forehead was crumped with angry furrows. He figured that she had been up most of the night going over every shitty thing he had said under the influence of a half of bottle of Rye and a miserable business trip that had gone wrong in every way.

He thought she had pulled him in here to continue the argument. To go through a series of “What did you mean by this? What did you mean when you said that?” kind of questions and it was going to feel weird doing that stark naked. He came up short though when he glanced at the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and saw some of his least favorite things…thick wooden bath brush that had never made it into the shower and two plastic rods that she had taken off of the blinds in the room. His heart flipped a little knowing she had two because she expected to break one. They didn’t break easily.

“Get your ass over the bed”, she ordered.

“Honey…Sharon-wait a minute…”

She covered the distance to him in three quick strides but was in his face fast enough for him to feel she leaped there-or materialized in front of him. Her dark hair was tied in a tight pony tail and, in her bare feet, she barely came up to his shoulder. “You do not want to argue with me right now, buster”, she seethed, her finger in his face. No he didn’t.

He crawled onto the bed on his hands and knees feeling exposed with Sharon behind him. He was trying to remember the last time she had flat-out paddled him that wasn’t foreplay or birthday related. There had been a few…but not recently.

“Lay flat-this way”, she indicated north-south; he buried his head in the pillows. “Move over here-so I can stand.” He slid over feeling a slight tingle where the bed spread rubbed his dick.

“Sharon”, he looked over his shoulder toward her-but couldn’t see her. She was at the cedar chest, arming herself.

“I’m giving you one hundred.”

He rolled his ass away from her onto his side feeling very naked as his limpness just hung there.  “A hundred? Jesus Sherri…that’s a lot. Look-I’ll take a punishment. I will…but that’s…”

She reached out and grabbed his ear. “I’m not asking for permission to beat your ass. I’m telling you what you are getting.” She yanked his head toward her, forcing him back onto his belly.

“What if I don’t let you?” he said quietly, on shaky ground. “I can just say no and just get up now.” Staring at the swirls on the spread he listened to the silence in the room. He knew as soon as he said it, that it was the wrong thing at the wrong time. That was apparenly a pattern this weekend. He held his breath hoping that would stop him from saying anything else.”

“Then, my dear husband, you can go to The Keys next week by yourself.”

“Oh come on! It’s been booked for months! It’s too late to cancel.”

“You don’t have to cancel, go yourself. Take someone else…I don’t care.”

“You love The Keys”, he almost whined. “It’s as much your trip as mine.”

“Yes, I love The Keys, and would love the trip. Just not with you.”

“That’s great to hear!” he mumbled.

She reached high into the air and smacked him hard on the ass with her hand.

“Ouch!” he was surprised by the smack and it stung.

“Why would you want to go with me after all you said yesterday? Huh? You weren’t taking to me yesterday like to wanted to take any kind of trip.” He said nothing. “Quiet now, huh? Just as well, because I’m fucking done talking. You want to leave now, leave. And go to the Keys yourself next week. Or take what you deserve, then we’ll talk.”

“Jesus, alright!” he said miserably reflexively squeezing his cheeks together.

“Fine. One hundred. And I’m done talking like I said. Anything you say-any word that isn’t a cry of pain or the answer to a direct question will add five more. Got it?”

“Yes”, he mumbled tensely into the pillow. He’d never gotten this many swats before-certainly never as a punishment. Maybe in the course of a slap and tickle evening when you counted all the hand smacks and pats, but that was nothing like what was coming. He flashed back to 24 swats she had given him with a paddle that she broke last year. He would have done anything to stop that onslaught. He had to focus-to work through this.

He felt her firm hand on the small of his back-steadying the target. Felt her moving, knew she was reaching up with the paddle, then SWAT! It landed with full force on his right cheek.

“Uggg!” was all he could say as he bit down on the pillow. He thought there might be some warm-ups but apparently-SWAT!-another on the same spot-not! He grabbed a pillow with both hands and buried his face into it-alternately biting and yelping. He could have tried to tough it out through a couple of swats but false bravado was useless here. Maybe if he let her know how much it hurt-SWAT! “OWWW!”-she’d cut him a break.

She kept her left hand hard on his back feeling him rise and buck with each swat she gave him. She liked to feel she was pushing him back down when he wanted up. That she was directing him-controlling him and clearly, punishing him. “Quit tensing”, she ordered. “I want it soft.”

“I’m trying…I’ll try” he gasped through gritted teeth spreading his arms to grasp the corners of the mattress.  She watched his lats and shoulders tighten as the cheeks of his bottom relaxed.  A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his back.

She shortened her stroke slightly and went back to work delivering two quick smacks to the middle of his ass covering equal slices of both cheeks. He howled and she swung again and again. His butt had blown past pink to red and was starting to glow an angry brick color. He dug into the bed with his right foot pushing his knee out as if to climb away. She took advantage of the spot that he exposed at the bottom of his bottom; right at the bottom of his cheek where he was so far remarkably unmarked. She swatted it hard and he bucked throwing his leg back where it was.

She patted his ass with the paddle. “Take a break”, she said. “That’s fifty-you’re halfway home.”

“Can I rub?” he asked.

“Knock yourself out.”

He reached back and rubbed his cheeks gently. The skin felt paper thin and he felt ridiculous. Sharon liked to rub him with oil after a spanking-even relatively gentle maintenance spankings. It was part of the ritual that made spankings such a welcome diversion in the house. He could really use some of the aloe that she used right now, but she obviously wasn’t in the soothing mood.

“Alright”, she said from behind him. “Let’s get on with it.”

He brought his hands back and went back to hugging the pillow. She tapped his tortured flesh with a rod. “I want you to lift now-stick it back here.” He pushed his hips up, raising his bottom toward her. There were two taps with the rod then the hot pain exploded on his right cheek like splashing lava. He bucked forward almost bashing into the headboard as she struck with another. And again. He yelled and tried to roll but she pushed him roughly back into position.

The next burning stroke bit deeply into the soft flesh at the top of his thigh and he screamed again.

“Sharon!…Wait. Please honey-PLEASE….OWWW!” he cried out as the rod bit deeply again in the middle of his left cheek. She paused to take in the effect of the lattice work of angry raising welts.

“That’s five words as I count them…Are you asking for 25 extra?”

“Oh God no! Please not. You don’t understand-I can’t take it. Jesus, honey-I’ll do anything”.

She almost smiled at the quaver that she heard in his voice. He wouldn’t look back and she was speaking to the back of his head with the tip of the rod tickling his burning ass ready to resume its torture. “Anything?”

He spoke quickly, seeing hope. “You name it. Wherever you want to go-whatever you want to do. Whatever you want to do to me. Anything-just name it.”

“You don’t get it.”

“What, tell me what I don’t get.”

She raised the rod grimly and brought it down with a slash.

“OWWW!, Please, Sharon. What don’t I get? What do you want?”

“How about an apology?”

“An apology?”

“Is that so foreign? Is that so ridiculous? The things you said yesterday were beyond hurtful to me. Beyond anything you’re feeling now.”

“I know…I was stupid. I was drunk..”

“And still no apology.” She raised the rod again.

“NO! DON’T. I’M SORRY. I’m sorry for what I said. I was sorry the moment I said it…I wish I never said it. I deserve this…I know…I know I do. I’m taking it…it’s just so bad….honey…it-hurts-so-bad…”

Her heart opened a little. She had worked out her anger about 30 swats ago-the rest of this had been sending the message. As he lay there, literally and physically beaten, she thought the message had been received. He had never begged for a punishment to end, but then, looking at his bottom she knew he had never been punished like this. Damn shame guys had such a tough time crying-that would complete the picture. She watched his back rising and falling as he controlled his breathing.

“Well, finally, that is good to hear. You made me work for it, but it’s good to hear. But like my mother said, an apology is good, but it’s an acknowledgment that you did something wrong. And we still have some unfinished business here.”

“Awww, Sharon….”

“Twenty five more.” He turned his head to face the other wall then back to the middle burying his face in the damp pillow. “And I expect you to take them-so stick up your bum now. I want your pert little bum reaching out to me…”

He did as he was told and opened his burning bottom to his wife for more punishment. He held his breath and clamped his eyelids together. Sharon patted his butt with the rod and lifted it about two inches and brought it down lightly, careful to avoid the purple tracks already there. Then another, lightly across the top of his thighs.

He breathed and relaxed but was careful to keep his ass offered back to his wife who was now criss-crossing his bottom with light caresses. He began to moan for affect and move his hips back and forth with the soft strokes. As he did, his shaft began to thicken.

“That’s 100, big boy. You’re done…”

He collapsed onto the bed as she disappeared from beside him for a moment, returning with a tube of aloe. He felt the cool drops on his backside and continued to moan lightly as she rubbed it in all over letting her fingers slide between his cheeks and low. He continued to moan lightly and even whimper as he undulated back and forth into her finally soothing touch.

She kissed his hot bottom. “You can be such a pain in the ass”, she said.

His hard on raged against the chenille.