The Spanked Into Submission Collection

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Spanked Into Submission

Bruce arrived at noon sharp to see a sawhorse planted firmly in the sand in front of the bar and about seventy onlookers. Nancy had borrowed the sawhorse from a supply of barricades stored by beach maintenance. Bruce smiled as he allowed Nancy to tie his hands behind him and bowed to the crowd when they laughed, hooted, and then began chanting, “Bad boy, bad boy, bad boy Bruce. Bad boy, bad boy, bad boy Bruce.” With his hands tied behind him, his chest and slim waist were accented, and he looked handsome in a heroic sense. Nancy marched him to the sawhorse and bent him over it so that his feet were planted in the sand, his butt up in the air, and his head twelve inches above the sand. Bruce lost some of his swagger as Nancy tied his waist to the sawhorse, completely immobilizing him. Now he was a bad boy completely at the mercy of an offended female. Nancy pulled his canvas swimsuit out at the waist and discovered another swimsuit underneath. This was a bikini style nylon Speedo that Bruce figured would give some added protection.

Nancy pulled the heavier swimsuit down and off saying, “The contract says you are to wear only a swimsuit and a means one.” When he protested, she held the contract in front of his face. There was laughter from the crowd and a loud comment.

“Now we are getting down to the bare essentials.”

Bruce now felt exposed and was helpless to do anything about it. You rarely saw this style swimsuit except in competitive swimming anymore. Laughter from the crowd did not fit with his idea of an enhanced reputation as Bad Bruce.

Nancy then held up a ping-pong paddle and asked the crowd, “Who would like to take the first swat?” An ex-girl friend immediately stepped forward, and Bruce protested that Nancy was supposed to do the spanking. Nancy again held the contract in his face and pointed out the contract didn’t specify who would do the spanking. Bruce was silent and began to sweat. Rather than a bad boy, he was feeling more like a stupid boy. The young woman examined the paddle, turned it to the side with a rough surface, and held it under Bruce’s face.

“Tell me my name, and I’ll go easy on you.”

He couldn’t, made three guesses, and the woman got angrier at each attempt. She then tussled his hair, went back to his raised butt, and snapped the swimsuit.

“Are you ready?”

His response was to make another wrong guess. The woman then leapt straight up into the air and came down smashing the paddle across his butt with her full body weight adding to the follow-through. Bruce screamed in pain as the crowd roared its astonished approval. Sharp pain seared through his body, and Bruce tried to compose himself and hide his facial expression of agony. The crowd turned its focus of attention from the woman’s performance to Bruce’s public display of suffering. Many in the crowd gave a sympathetic, “Ooooou” and Bruce turned red with embarrassment. The woman came forward and pulled his head up by the hair so that he was looking straight out and admonished him.

“You could at least have enough respect to know the names of your conquests.” Bruce was silently shaking the tears from his eyes, and Nancy came forward, saying Bad Boy was going to learn even more respect than that. Onlookers, including many locals in street clothes, moved in to inspect Bruce’s scarlet butt and frayed Speedo. They began betting on how many swats he would be able to take. Bruce looked back to see himself being inspected and discussed. He was to be humiliated by angry women in front of friends and strangers alike. As he was dealing with these thoughts and feelings, he heard more bad news.

Nancy announced to the crowd, “The next swat will be administered at 12:30 p.m. and every half-hour thereafter.”

Bruce said, “You can’t do this to me. I agreed to be spanked ten times, meaning all at once.”

Nancy held out the contract again, saying, “Where does it say ten swats in a row?”

Bruce went into a rage, squirming against his bonds, trying to stand, trying to move the sawhorse, all to no avail. He stopped when he became aware of people staring at his enraged helplessness. “Alex, where are you?” Alex was standing behind him, not wanting to get involved.

“Alex, do something,” he said in a pleading tone.

“I can untie you, but then you would owe Nancy two grand.”

“The contract is invalid. Anyone would assume the swats would be all at once.”

“She tricked you. Out-smarted you.”

Bruce could only shake the sweat from his face, causing more black hair locks to fall down his sweaty forehead. Finally, the half-hour was up, and people drifted back from swimming or drinking.

A muscular woman stepped up, volunteering to take the next swat. She said she didn’t know Bruce, but she worked with abused women and would be happy to contribute to Bruce’s re-education. Nancy motioned ‘go ahead’ with a flick of her hand, and the woman pulled Bruce’s chin up and asked, “Well, Bad Boy, are you ready for another reminder of what happens when you mistreat women?”

Bruce closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, determined to minimize the public display of his suffering. This was wishful thinking, however. His butt was still red from the first blow and starting to burn from the sun. He had a dark complexion and a good tan from all of his outdoor activities but not on his butt. His butt was also damp with sweat and his Speedo, frayed and thin. The swat came and was every bit as hard as the first. It stung so bad he screamed out in agony, ending in a low moan and tears. The crowd cheered and jeered. Seeing a woman punishing a man in public and seeing him suffer resulted in their astonished, voyeuristic amusement. They eventually drifted away, except for some young women who were waiting on the sidelines. They decided to explore his body, reaching under to squeeze his large, wet n*****s and balls. Telling them to go away only made them laugh, and he tried to protest to Nancy, but she was at the bar with Alex and others discussing how to permanently correct Bruce’s attitude and behavior.

After the third swat by another vengeful female, Bruce began to wonder how much more he could take. He was now unabashedly moaning long after the swat, and the onlookers were mumbling things like, “He’ll never make it; he’s not even half-way there.” It was 1 p.m., the sun was beating down relentlessly; he was sweating profusely, and his butt felt like it was on fire. The last blow stung so bad he was glad to wait a half-hour before enduring another one. He was loath to admit publicly that he couldn’t take it and, of course, couldn’t pay off his bet with Nancy. Bruce lasted for two more swats (2 p.m.) and, after the fifth swat, began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Let me go. I can’t take anymore.”

There was laughing, clapping, and jeering. The woman had just had the man beaten into slobbering submission.