Saturday Spanks: Spank-O-Gram -- #RomanticKink #Humor #SaturdaySpanks

Happy Saturday!

I’ve got a fun Saturday Spanks excerpt for you, from my short story collection Hearts & Handcuffs: Romantic Kink. This is from a humorous tale entitled “Spank-O-Gram”.

“Vell then.” She seated herself on the couch, back straight. Her taut skirt rode up, exposing her meaty thighs. “On my lap. I do not have time to vaste.” I noticed that her eyes were light, a grayish blue the color of Siberian ice. “Unless you vant to lean over a chair...”

“No—um—your lap is fine. But...” I marveled at my daring. “Maybe I could spank you instead?”

“No, no, that is spankee-gram! Much more expensive. Not that this service is cheap, of course. I am the best spanker on the vest coast. Your friend requested me especially. On the Internet.”

'But who...?” I began, though I had some suspicions.

“Anonymous gift.” She cut me short. “Now, get in position. Or do I have to wrestle you down? I vas Commonwealth of Independent States vomen's champion four years in a row...”

I believed her. Would she really force me to take a birthday spanking? I wasn't sure I liked the idea, but my cock did.

“You have ten seconds,” she told me. She arched one eyebrow. “If you're not ready by then, I vill leave.”

“No, no, don't leave!” Awkward and embarrassed by the lump in my shorts, I struggled to arrange myself across her lap. With my chest on the sofa and my pelvis cradled by her warm, well-muscled thighs, my knees didn't quite reach the floor.

Professional that she was, she saw my problem immediately. She tossed a pillow onto the carpet. “Here. Ve don't want any rug burn. No, only your ass should be red.” She laughed at her own pleasantry, a short bark that sent chills up my spine.

I squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable. My cock stretched crosswise across her legs and pressed against my belly. It was sweet torture.

Slowly and deliberately, she pulled my shorts down to expose my butt. I felt myself blush like some kid. My erection throbbed, separated from her firm flesh by nothing but a layer of thin nylon. 

“Let me varn you,” she said. “I do not want your nasty gunk on my suit. If you come on me, I vill really punish you. I have a selection of canes in my car. Do you understand?”

“Yes—um, yes, ma’am,” I mumbled. The mention of the cane only made me harder. I folded my arms under my head, breathed deeply and tried to relax.

“Are you ready, Mr. Sandberg? The contract specifies fifty strokes.” She gave one of my buttocks a light squeeze, as though testing its resiliency.

“Fifty?” Could I take that much? But after all, she was just a woman...

“You can refuse,” she added, as though reading my mind. “Othervise, sign the consent form.”

Without dislodging me from her lap, she reached over to retrieve her clipboard and shoved it in my face.

I didn't bother to read the fine print. I just scrawled my signature at the bottom.

“Good. Let's begin. If you vant me to stop, you must say the vord ‘purple’. Understand?”

I just nodded. Every second she delayed made it worse—both the fear and the lust.

Her first slap landed on my right cheek. The sound of flesh on flesh drowned out the TV. My ass stung though I'd been pricked by a hundred needles. Heat flowed out from the point of contact, across my bare skin, waking every nerve.

“One. I vill count,” she added. “So you can concentrate.”

Smack! Her palm landed on my other cheek. “Two.” I reveled in the dual burn. Slam! “Three.” She aimed for the same spot as her first spank and I felt the difference, a throbbing ache under the raw sting. “Four.” I groaned as she returned to my left. “Five. Six.” The balance between pleasure and pain shifted from second to second. “Seven. Eight. Nine.” When she made contact, my ass screamed in protest. Then trails of delicious fire skittered away from the spot she'd hit. I twisted and writhed, trying to get away from her inexorable hand, succeeding only in amplifying the sensations.

My cock rubbed against the slippery nylon, so swollen I was sure I'd burst any second.

“Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.” She was as regular as a metronome. I knew exactly when she'd strike. That did not make it any easier to bear. She picked up the tempo as she reached twenty, and also increased the force. Maybe she thought I was getting used to it. Fat chance. I gasped and groaned, my butt pulsing with heat under her skilled palm.

“Twenty nine. Thirty.” She paused. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I discovered that I was shaking.

She peered down into my face. “Do you vant me to stop? Your ass is red as the flag on Lenin's tomb.”

“Um—no, no ... go on. The full fifty...”

“One moment. My hand is getting sore.” I felt her shift underneath me, then I caught the rich smell of tanned leather. My cock leaped. “Good think I brought my gloves. Twenty one!”