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!”
