These are stories about spanking! Which are, um, about spanking… Really! So please don’t look if that isn’t your thing… but thank you if you do!

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BEGGING YOU
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One of the first times you spanked me was because I begged you too. And then I dared you to as well.

The begging bit I kind of liked, and I think maybe you did too.

We were at home, watching TV, kind of groping each other and stuff while we watched something, but I can’t remember what. Maybe something sexy, but maybe just TV. I think we’d already talked a little about what I like, because we were getting serious-ish, but we hadn’t actually done very much of it yet. Mostly, just being a bit rougher than is probably normal, and you holding me down while we fuck.

I was kind of horny that night, I think, and specifically horny for that. Because I hadn’t a while, I suppose, because of starting out with you. And just being in a kinky kind of mood, too. Anyways, for some reason I start begging you to spank me. And I’m kind of half being silly, but half-not. Like actually begging. As in, I slide onto the floor and kneel there and hold onto your hand, and kind of go, “Please please please spank me.”

You say you aren’t sure.

“You’re just scared of a sore hand,” I say. And then please please some more.

“I’m not,” you say.

“I dare you,” I say, which even then I knew was probably going to work.

You look annoyed. Probably because you know it will too.

“Go on,” I say.

You pull me up and spank me. I think I had shorts on. You pull whatever it was down, anyway, and spank my bare ass really hard. Like really hard. I think people who haven’t done much spanking before are sometimes a bit rougher than they mean to be. Like they have no kind of perspective, or idea of what to expect, so they’re sometimes either way too gentle or way too hard.

You’re way too hard.

It really hurts, which is what I want.

You spank me until I’m basically mostly sore with a tiny bit actual pussy-sensation-smacking turned-on-ness. But mostly actually sore.

I’m bruised. I can feel it, and check later and I am.

I’m bruised and sore and crying despite myself, and Maltepe Escort you hit me anyway. And I’m glad. I want this terribly.

I lie there, being hit, and kind of grinding against the bit of your leg I’m lying on. You see that, or feel it, and start fingering me too, as well as hitting me. I think because I’d already said I liked that.

You do that for a bit., and seem to be getting into it. Then you get so into it you kind of pull your jeans open, and twist me around so you can pull my mouth against yourself. Which is tricky, because jeans on and a girl, so I’m being half-smothered by clothes, and can’t reach properly, but I do my best. I get my hand in against you, and lick you too, and you keep hitting me really hard as I do.

I like it. I want this. You’re suddenly all sexy and in charge and wonderful. You hit me, and hold me against yourself too, kind of making me lick you, and I lie on my hand and touch myself while I lick you out.

You hit me, and I lick you until you come.

You stop spanking me when you do, so I kind of turn over and pull you on top of myself to keep going with the sex. Like into a messy, tangled-up sixty-nine, with clothes and arms and hair everywhere in the way, but we manage. We lick each other out.

Later, I remember, you’re apologetic and almost guilty. Later you say sorry, but also that you kind of liked it. Later I lie across you and you kiss my ass all tenderly and say sorry.

Later you apologise and try and kiss me better, but I tell you not to be silly. That it was wonderful. That it was exactly what I wanted you to do. And that a little bit of me fell for a little bit of you a little bit more as you did.

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PING-PONG BATS

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Once we were at a party, and we’d sneaked away to make out, and there was a games room and a ping pong table, and you spanked me with one of the ping pong bats.

And it was good. I mean, it wasn’t good exactly, it hurt heaps. But it hurt good, and it turned me on. So that.

It hurt more than a hand, but in a different way to a whip or cane or something. So like a hand is, all spread out rather than a sparky sharp line of Maltepe Escort Maltepe pain. But also bigger than a hand, or at least, bigger than your hand. And harder, too, I think. So when it hits me it doesn’t give and I do and somehow that makes it hurt more?

And the way it gets more sore over time, as you hit me, that’s more than a hand, too. As if perhaps, when you spank me with your hand, you go slower or gentler at the end because your hand gets sore? Maybe? But with the bat you don’t?

Anyways, it hurts. It hurts breathtakingly sexy good, and it makes a nice sound, too. Like a louder whack sound. And so do I, make a nice sound, for you, because of how it hurts, so I’m gasping, and doing kind of choky little sobs, trying to keep quiet, and you hit me more because you like when I do that. I think.

And we’re at a party, doing this. I’m lying face down on a table and you’re doing this where anyone might hear us. That’s pretty sexy too.

You hit me until I’m about to cry, which I don’t want to do because makeup. You hit me until I’m reaching around with my arms, behind my back, and kind of twitching my fingers, reaching towards you, almost trying to stop you hitting me. Which apparently I do when it’s almost too much to stand any more, and which apparently you think is sexy because you’ve told me so a lot.

So you stop, and we make out, and you get me off with your hand and then we go back to the party.

And my ass hurts, a lot. Embarrassingly a lot. Like I can’t sit down very comfortably. So I wander, and stand up, and talk to people, and think about you.

Every time I move I think about you, and what you just did to me, and get quietly excited again.

And later, when we get home, you kiss me better, and that’s nice too.

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LUNCHTIME

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There was a guy I was sleeping with for a while, but not really a boyfriend, who had an apartment in the middle of town. It was close to his work, and to mine, and pretty convenient, so we met there quite often for lunch.

Um, lunch. If you see what I mean.

Sometimes it was quickies, and that was fun. Like just going around there, Escort Maltepe and fucking for five minutes, half-dressed, and then having a quick shower, or not, and going back to work.

Sometimes he spanked me, too.

I don’t know why, but there was something really exciting about doing that at lunchtime. Like going there in my serious work clothes, with my serious work hair, and probably my serious work face, and taking off my trousers or skirt, and lying over his lap, and being spanked.

Like tingly wrongful warmth all through my tummy, all of that, but also a bigger wrongness too. Like I’m a serious professional woman who’s good at her job, and I’m having this done to me.

I don’t know why, but I liked that a lot.

So he’d spank me, but not so hard I actually cried because that was just a nuisance if liner ran, and then he’d usually finger me, because I like that and he seemed to as well, like slapping me and then slipping his fingertip wetly into me, then smacking me again.

So he’d do that, and I’d wriggle and gasp and come on his knee, and then usually I’d just suck him off quickly because by then we were both running late, and then I’d go back to work with a kind of squidgy wetness and a warm bottom and think about him all day.

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SPANKING FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON

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One day I was in the kitchen, cooking or something, and for absolutely no reason you slap my ass.

No reason other than its fun, I suppose, and you like to do that. And I like you to. So why not.

You smack me, and I kind of go, “Ow, dude, fuck.” Because I didn’t expect it, that’s all.

You do it again, and I say not to unless you really mean it, so you kind of pin me against the counter and smack me a few more times.

Then you grab a wooden spoon from the utensil holder thingy we keep them in, and hit me with that too.

I’m wriggling, and laughing, and trying to push you away, so you’re not as accurate as you maybe could be. You hit my ass and leg, but also the bony bit of my hip and my hand, too, both of which kind of hurt in a bad way.

“Ow fuck,” I go, and sort of suck my hand. It’s my knuckle and really sore.

You grab me, and pull against the wall, and fuck me there with us both standing up.

Then, afterwards, you go, “Sorry.”

I shrug. I don’t care any more. It didn’t hurt that much and I just came. So I kiss you instead of complaining.

Then we kiss some more.

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