Subject: "A Lesson in Responsibility"
- M/F, nc, spanking, sex
From: Michele <bookbabe@bigfoot.com>
Date: 1998/01/30
The expression on your face is thunderous. I've never seen you so angry. "You did WHAT to my car?"
"It's just a little ding," I offer weakly, my arms folded defensively across my breasts. "It was an accident," I stress.
"An accident," you repeat, incredulous. "I lend you my car and the first thing you do is get into an accident. I can't believe you were so careless."
"I wasn't careless." My voice is sullen, my lips pursed in a sulky moue. "Your insurance will cover the damages," I remind you.
"Really. What a comfort." The unappeased anger in your voice sends a shiver down my spine.
"Well, what do you want me to do? I've already apologized. It was an accident," I repeat for the third time. "And the damage is minor. What's the big deal?" My own voice has become combative.
Grabbing my arm firmly, you propel me towards the bedroom. "I'll show you what the big deal is."
Still gripping my forearm, you sit down on the bed, roughly pulling me over your knee.
"What do you think you're doing?" I sputter.
You flip up my skirt, exposing my rear, still protected by the thin cotton of my panties. "I'm going to spank you." Your voice is even, matter-of-fact, as your hand simultaneously flashes down on my upturned rear.
I jerk in indignant shock, caught between shame and outrage.
Your hand lands on my bottom again, hard and unrelenting.
"You're such a bad little girl, Michele. You need to be taught a lesson in manners and responsibility."
A muttered oath escapes my lips. How dare you talk to me this way? And yet, I feel my face flush and my sex dampen as your hand lands on my right cheek, further warming my upturned backside.
After ten or twelve firm spanks on each burning cheek, your hand rests on my waist, sliding across my buttocks, to feel the heat radiating from my panty-clad bottom. You massage my tender rear, your palm cupping the curve of my ass, and I arch into your caress, taking pleasure in this pressure against my stinging flesh.
"Stand up," you order abruptly, and I hasten to comply, awkwardly pulling my skirt down as I do so.
"Did I tell you to cover your bottom?" you bark.
"No-no- I'm sorry-" I start to apologize, but you interrupt.
"Take off your skirt and pull down your panties, Michele. Your spanking isn't over, not by a long shot. We're just getting started, sweetheart." Your expression is serious and stern.
My throat works convulsively at your words, and my sex pulses in a mixture of trepidation, shame and anticipation.
Shakily I unzip my skirt, and it puddles at my ankles. My panties soon follow, and I stand before you, naked from the waist down.
"Bend over my knee," you order, and I obey, half-relieved not to have to stand before you so embarrassingly exposed. Settling myself onto your lap I can feel your erection butting against my mons, and I smile to myself, pleased that you're as aroused by my punishment as I am.
But the cruel, punishing force of another slap disturbs my reverie. Your hand flashes down, again and again, and layer upon layer of heat and pain suffuse my bottom. Your chastising hand covers every inch of my upturned backside, from the top of the cleft, across the voluptuous expanse of the cheeks, down to the tender flesh of my thighs. The skin there is particularly sensitive and I wail in dismay, kicking up my legs as I begin to struggle against your punishing hand.
"Wicked . . . disobedient . . . careless . . . bad . . . little . . . girl." Each word of admonishment is punctuated with another spank, each one harder than the previous, and I moan in embarrassment and arousal. Why do I like to be spoken to this way?
I become aware that I'm panting in rhythm with my paddling, rocking against your erection, then arching my backside needily up towards your unrelenting hand, seeking out my punishment. Presenting myself.
Your hand stills again, your fingers trailing down the cleft of my rear to my flushed and weeping sex. "Christ, you're wet, Michele. You need this. Admit it. You need me to bend you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve."
You lightly massage my little bud, sending delicious jolts of pleasure through me.
Mutinously I shake my head at your words, though. I'm not yet ready to surrender to you. "I need this? Not a chance." The words aren't particularly witty, but given my precarious position - punished, aroused and dizzy upside down over your knees- I figure they'll do.
"Still so disrespectful. Still so willful," you sigh, your hand raining down another series of blows upon my abused rear. "I'll see what I can do about that. Get up."
Carefully I lift myself from your lap, hissing in pain. My hands fall to my bottom, touching the aching, tenderized skin cautiously. The heat seems to rise off my rear in waves. I never realized a spanking could hurt so much.
The sound of your belt unbuckling refocuses my attention. I watch, mesmerized, as the long length of leather slips from each loop, making a soft, slithering sound. My throat goes dry as you double over the belt, then smack the folded leather against your palm.
"Lie across the bed, Michele." Your voice is low and firm and brooks no disobedience. And even though I know I should protest or refuse, I find myself obeying you, gracefully lowering my torso across the bed. I shiver in anticipation and bury my head in my hands.
"How many spanks with my belt do you deserve, Michele?" you query.
I hesitate for a moment, searching for the right answer- one which satisfies your need to punish me, but which minimizes further abuse of my already burning ass.
"Two?" I answer hopefully, but a quick, sharp flick of the leather against one raised cheek tells me that my answer does not meet with your approval.
"Ten!" I cry out. "Spank me ten times with your belt, sir."
Sir? Where did that word come from, I wonder, bemused, ashamed and enthralled.
"Good girl," you reply in approval. "Ten spanks with my belt. And you'll count each stroke for me, and thank me for each one, too. Unless you'd like to experience a more . . . . prolonged chastisement."
"Yes sir." Damn. There's that word again, slipping unbidden from my lips. But perhaps you have noticed my humbled demeanor and will be merciful.
The first wicked lash of the belt puts that misconception to rest. It seems to burn through me and I yelp in pain, my hands scrabbling against the comforter.
"Count the stroke and thank me for it," you remind me, "unless you'd like me to deliver it all over again. And straighten those legs," you warn.
"One!" I quickly shout. "Thank you."
"Thank you for spanking me, Sir," you suggest.
"Thank you for spanking me so hard with your leather belt, Sir," I elaborate, hoping to earn some leniency.
"That's my girl," you compliment me. "Ask nicely for the next stroke."
"Please sir, spank my willful rear with your belt."
Again the belt whistles down, and a surge of pain shot through with pleasure surges through my bottom and sex. "Two! Thank you for punishing me so thoroughly, sir," I call out, desperate to avoid extra strokes.
The next four strokes rain down at a steady, measured pace. You are in no hurry, and you take careful, deliberate aim at my reddened, swollen cheeks, striping them evenly. Amid the ever-increasing waves of pain and arousal I am quick to count out each stroke and obediently thank you for them. I can feel the welts rising, and I imagine how my bottom has coloured from pink to darkest crimson, the welts purple stripes on the canvas of my backside.
"Time for spank number seven," you announce, and I moan in despair, unsure that I will be able to withstand the pain.
"No more, please no more," I beg. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll never be careless with your car again-" I've started to babble frantically, hoping that you'll be merciful and end my punishment.
No such luck. You ignore my plea and wonder aloud, "where should I place stroke number seven? Across the left cheek or the right? You can choose, Michele."
I let out a shuddering sigh. Some choice. "The left please, sir."
The belt descends with a leathery splat, leaving yet another welt that aches and throbs. "Christ! Seven!" I cry out, my bottom weaving, my legs kicking frantically.
"And?" you remind me.
"Thank you sir. Thank you for spanking my bad, careless bottom."
Only three more strokes to go. All I can think about now is what comes after my punishment. Will you fuck me? Finger me? I hope so. There must be some reward for my fortitude.
Number eight licks the underside of my bottom, where cheek meets thigh, and I emit a soft screech, dismayed at so intense a pain in such a tender area. "That was eight . . . . ahhhh . . . . thank you, sir. Thank you for chastising me so firmly." My voice is high and strained. Speaking is an effort, now.
Number nine quickly follows, leaving a band of heat across my other thigh. "Aaargh! Nine! Thank you!"
One more to go. Almost home.
"Before the final lick, Michele, there are some things I need to hear from you," you advise me. "And you'd better be appropriately penitent."
"Say you've been bad," you prompt, sliding the belt menacingly across my punished, throbbing ass.
Not a chance in hell, I think, but the words that slip past my lips belie my resolve: "Oooooh. I've been bad, sir. So bad to be so careless with your car. To get into an accident." I bury my head in my arms, and arch my bottom beckoningly toward you, eager for the final whack of your belt and a lusty shafting.
I'm rewarded instead with a punishing lick of the belt. "That's extra," you inform me. "I'll chastise you more thoroughly later for that sluttish gesture."
"Continue with your confession," you demand, obviously dissatisfied with my previous admission.
"I've been so rude, sarcastic and disrespectful, and I deserved this punishment. Thank you for spanking me so hard." Hopefully the conclusion of my shameful confession meets with your approval.
Your softly murmured, "good girl," warms me.
"The final stroke must be the strictest of all," you announce, and my body tenses as I wonder what you have in mind. "The one that serves as a stinging reminder of your bad behavior. Reach behind and spread your cheeks." Your voice is firm, any protest apt to be rewarded with more punishment.
Even as I make muted sounds of protest my hands obey your command, separating the globes of my bottom, baring the deep cleft and my anus. Even though I am afraid, I am also curious to know how it feels to be punished in such a private, sensitive place.
The belt licks down one final time, but lightly, almost caressingly, like a stinging kiss against the puckered mouth of my anus. With a loud cry I start to rub my pussy against the bedspread, desperate to climax.
I hear your jeans unzip and my heart skips crazily. At last.
"Get your backside in the air," you order, and I arch my reddened cheeks invitingly toward you.
I hiss in pain as you grip the punished globes of my ass. Your glans nudges against my slit, teasing the puffy, juicy lips, then eases inside. I arch toward you, trying to take more of your shaft inside my needy sex.
"You need this, sweetheart," you whisper, smoothly thrusting the rest of your cock into my waiting pussy until I can feel your pubes scratching against the flaming skin of my bottom. I groan in pleasure, aroused and shamed by your words.
Your hands stroke lightly across my ass, but your cock is still. I sob, impatient for you to fuck me.
You begin to move inside me, stroking smoothly in and out, and my fingers search out my clitty, rubbing and tapping.
"Harder, babe," I plead, and your hips pound against me, each thrust seeming to vibrate through my body. Faster and faster you shaft me, fucking me like I need to be fucked.
"oh oh oh-" my climax surges through me, and with one last powerful thrust you bury your dick deep in my pussy, flooding it with your spunk. I milk your cock greedily, my pussy's muscles contracting around it.
As your erection softens and slips from my pussy, we collapse on the bed. I'm careful to lie on my stomach, unsure whether or not I'll be able to sit down for a day or two.