The Art of Erotic Spanking

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

The Connoisseurs: A Woman Of Substance

True connoisseurs will approve of this quote by a fellow-enthusiast who shares the appreciation of those objects of our affections: “Oh what a spectacle of the anatomy! Depending on our personal predilections, we spank it, screw it, kiss it—or perform other activities that almost defy belief.”

- William E. Stroupe, What is this Thing Called, Love.

“Knowing our good friend Claire as I do, I’m sure, my Dear, that you’re well aware of our plans for this afternoon?” The question seemed a bit disingenuous, almost coy, Higgins thought, with a twinge of mild distaste. Still, it was Pickering’s interview to conduct. That they had been agreed upon; Pickering would take the lead in executing today’s plan.

He eyed up the woman who sat before them. A handsome woman, 35 or so; well groomed, impeccably dressed. She sat with lovely legs that were nonchalantly crossed under a dress that had ridden up just a few inches. As Higgins watched, she moved her top foot, letting a polished pump skip down to dangle from her toes in an indolent manner. Higgins was delighted when she first came through the door, and now that she settled in on the divan, he found himself quite taken with the girl. She was magnificent! Poised and composed, she sat regally ensconced in the very center of Higgin’s large crushed velvet divan, that very divan that had witnessed so many of their adventures.

Gratia watched the two men over the top of her cradled drink; a slightly bemused smile playing across brightly painted lips. Although her dress had ridden well up over her knee, but she made no move to righten the errant hemline; just let it lie draped to expose the rounded prominence of the top knee along with an enticing length of sleek nyloned thigh. She studied her clients with a large expressive eyes, seductive eyes that held a dark gleam of s****l interest.

“Yes, I think I understand.” Her voice was low, well-modulated; the voice of a confident, assured lady who moved easily among men. Higgins, who had an ear for such things, was sure he detected just the trace of a southern drawl.

“You’d like to spank me.” It was tossed off casually — a simple statement of fact. But the words cut through the two connoisseurs like an erotic knife.

“Quite so, my dear. I presume that’s agreeable, since Claire led me to believe that it would not be a novel experience for you. I understand you’ve done this sort of thing before,…with other, uh, clients of yours?”

“A few times, yes.”

“You’ve been spanked before?”

Gratia’s eyes were sparkling with merriment, as she smiled; slowly and silently nodded her rich mane. Higgins was struck by the beauty of her hair, thick lustrous waves that fell to her shoulders in glorious disarray.

“Yes, well, I trust it wasn’t too unpleasant for you?”

The experienced call girl seemed amused by his choice of words. She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I didn’t mind.”

Pickering cleared his throat; leaned forward in his chair. “My colleague and I would like to know about those other times. It would be helpful if you could describe your previous experience for us, in detail please.” He glanced at his companion who had stiffened expectantly, and now sat alertly on the edge of his chair. Higgins looked back at him, and nodded meaningfully. Pickering caught the silent reminder.

“Ah, yes, …before you begin, my Dear, we’d like you to see your breasts.”

Gratia nodded several times. A sly smile curled her painted lips into a cat-like grin. With her eyes directly on Pickering, her hands went to the flattened collar at the front of the dress. Following the instructions she had received, Gratia had donned a plain linen A-line, a pale beige dress which buttoned down the front. Claire, as usual, had clearly specified the type of dress she was to wear, and emphasized that it must have a front opening — that detail she had insisted upon. Gratia now understood why. The one she selected was a simple, yet stylish dress: short sleeved, with a wide plastic belt circling her trim waist. The pleated skirt was loose and full, with a hemline that normally rode just below the knee. Her patent leather pumps matched the gleaming black belt and the row of small buttons down the front of the dress, buttons that Gratia’s fingers were now systematically attacking.

The men watched with rapt interest, while the call girl proceeded to undo the front of the dress, following the buttons down the bodice, one after the other, while the gap that widened in the trail of her working fingers laid bare first her neck and shoulders, and the top of her chest and a sexy black lace brassiere snugly cradling her substantial breasts. When she reached the last button just above the belt buckle, she paused to look up at them.

“Ah, yes. Very nice. Now just lower your dress. Just take it down…in front.”

Gratia obediently slipped the short sleeves down over her shoulders, and pulled her arms out from the sagging dress which collapsed to form a folded heap in her lap.

“Go on,” Pickering encouraged in a voice that was slightly strained.

The dark-haired woman lowered her head, leaned forward and reached up her back to unhook her brassiere. Suddenly loosened, the bra sprang free; dangled uselessly from her shoulders. She slipped it off, gathered it up, and placed it on the coffee table before them, leaning over as she did so that her newly-liberated breasts swayed liquidly beneath her.

As she straightened up, her freed bosom settled in with a shimmying wobble before the eager eyes of the keenly observant males. The breasts Gratia so openly offered to her admirers were generous, although not overly large; sloping, softly rounded mounds capped with brash n*****s that jutted out with a certain impudence. She noted the appreciation in Pickering’s widening eyes. That look brought a little smile to play over her lips.

And so that exquisite brunette sat with one arm causally laid along the top of that infamous couch, unruffled, perfectly poised, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to sit there bare-breasted and tell these two fascinated men all about the times she had been spanked.

For the next ten minutes she told them of her encounters with other men, men who had engaged her services so that they have the distinctive pleasure of spanking her shapely, mature, well-made and decidedly feminine bottom. As she slipped into these recollections, her voice slid down a register, so the words came out low and silky.

She told them of the one the girls called “The Principal.” He was always neatly dressed in suit and tie and politely addressed her as “young lady,” before pulling her down to sprawl over his lap. First there were a few spanks on her skirted behind. Then her skirt was raised up in back to expose her panties, plain white panties – schoolgirl underpants, he insisted on that. He continued to spank her, lightly but repeatedly, all over the tautly curved seat of her panties, all the while scolding her for being “a naughty girl.” He never took her panties down, and he never wanted s*x, only the playful spanking. It seemed enough. He always left well-satisfied.

She told them of the cold, balding man, strong and stoutly built, who dressed all in black. He never smiled, but gruffly ordered her to strip the minute she came through the door, and then to stretch out, completely naked, beside him while he stayed fully dressed, and seated on the edge of the bed. Silently, with grim determination he pinned her in place with one flattened hand on her lower back, while with the other he proceeded to spank her, unmercifully, whomping her vulnerable behind in cold fury. And it didn’t stop till he had her squirming under his pinning hand, kicking up her heels, and yelping with each breath-taking smack till tears welled up in her eyes. That spanking was hard and long and it hurt; the man in black had no class, but he tipped most generously.

Higgins and Pickering exchanged glances and shook their heads in silent disapproval at the brute’s obvious lack of finesse.

And she told them of the television executive who was into bondage as she found out when she quickly found herself tied down stretched over the back of a heavily padded easy chair so that her upturned bottom was presented in prominent display. Higgins and Pickering were well acquainted with this position, and they approved. But what she revealed next came as a surprise. It seems the TV executive had used a rolled-up newspaper on her behind, and this startling piece of news caused Higgins and Pickering to turn to each other with raised eyebrows — a novel variation, and one the connoisseurs had never before considered. It was mentally filed away for future reference.

When all three stories had been told, the questions began — intimate, probing questions. Her inquisitors were most eager for details — all the details! She was asked to describe how it felt to have her upended bottom warmed by a strong masculine hand, to have her pretty tail swatted by a rolled-up newspaper. She was made to describe the feel of the crisp slap of a flattened hand, straight across her properly presented buttocks.

The girl’s husky account sent a twinge of lust slamming through Higgins leaving him weak-limbed, with his insides turning to mush. He sank back in the chair, gave a tiny inward sigh, ran his hand over his fevered brow, licked his lips nervously. The same words caused Pickering’s already hard erection to stiffen even more so, burgeoning into an obvious bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge he attempted to hide by quickly getting to his feet to find the sherry.

Now Gratia was told to finish undressing, while Pickering went about filling their glasses and Higgins, went off to the bedroom.

She stirred, climbed off the couch, drew herself up to her full height, to undo the belt and quickly ride the displaced dress down her hips and let it drop to the carpeted floor. With the collapsed dress ringing her high heels, the tall woman was left in a pair of slick panties, her shapely legs encased in thigh-high stockings of a shimmering honey colored hue. The thigh-highs were another detail that Claire insisted on for all her girls.

Unlike the hassle of garterbelts, or the inconvenience of pantyhose, this arrangement allowed the panties to be easily removed while the stockings stayed in place. Claire knew there were plenty of men who liked to see their girls prancing around in nothing but a pair of nylons and high heels. Claire well understood men.

“She gave Pickering an inquiring look as her hands went to the waistband of her underpants.

He nodded. “Please continue,” he said over his shoulder, stopping with wineglasses in hands while he turned to watch her bend to slip her panties down and then, delicately, step free of them.

“And these?” He plucked at the elastic band of a stocking.

“Oh, those can stay, by all means. But slip your shoes off, then come here.” He pointed to a sturdy padded bench perhaps 18-inches high that formed a centerpiece between the divan and their two red leather chairs. It resembled a polished rosewood coffeetable with a vinyl-covered cushion laid lengthwise to completely cover the rectangular top.

As Pickering was admiring their guest’s splendid form, Higgins returned with the instruments that had been selected for today’s demonstration. Gratia saw the leather belts he held in his hands, as well as the metal ruler, a bit longer than the standard length, perhaps 15 inches she guessed. The narrow lathe strip was thin and pliable; flexible enough to be bowed ever so slightly. Higgins was now testing the ruler’s resiliency, working it between his hands while stepping around to fully appreciate the attractive call girl’s elegantly-made bottom.

His eyes remained fixed on the object of his affections while he addressed his colleague.

“Oh, yes, Pickering, she will do quite nicely. A most superb behind, first-class indeed!”

Pickering grinned and nodded in sage agreement. “Please bend over, my Dear. Hands on your knees. We’ll need to conduct a closer to examination.”

Without a word, the leggy brunette took up the mandated position, leaning forward from the hips with hands braced on her thighs sticking her naked rearend back most provocatively right into the faces of the two smiling connoisseurs.

The two men silently studied the beautiful ass now being presented to them, their expert eyes adoring the sculpted contours: of a slightly pear-shaped bottom, with sloping undercurves, that were softly rounded and met in a darkened cove. High up between her legs a fuzzy tuft of pubic hair peeked out at them. They noted with approval the symmetry of the richly curved domes, the narrowness of the tight crack. This was indeed a generous bottom, a fine, full-fleshed, womanly ass.

The two conspirators looked at each other and smiled in mutual satisfaction, well pleased with the carefully selected present that Claire had sent to them.

With the preliminaries over, both men were now eager to get on with the main event. Gratia was asked to kneel on the carpet at one end of the table, then urged to lay herself down over the padded top, stretched out with arms at her sides, so that her body from shoulders to knees was supported on the table

The wide leather straps were now laid in place, one encircling her at the lower back; the other looped around the upper thighs, both drawn snugly and cinched tight.

Once the girl was secured to the bench, Higgins, the ruler tucked under one arm, worked his fingers into a pair of thin leather gloves, while Pickering retreated to his favorite wing-backed chair and his waiting glass of sherry. Once seated, he had a perfect view as his colleague knelt down next to the bench, and slid back to sit on his heels with the proffered bottom placed conveniently at his side.

Higgins was intoxicated at the heavenly prospect before him, all a-tingle with excitement; he couldn’t resist reaching out to caress the sleek countered lines of the laid-out woman. Placing a gloved hand on Gratia’s bare back, he followed down the smooth slope, over the 6” wide belt, and finally up the abrupt swells to attain the summit of those choice, delectable twin mounds. Grabbing an overflowing handful of a fleshy cheek, he jiggled it, squeezed experimentally once or twice, before giving up the wobbly mound. The cupped hand slid down the slope and beyond to the back of a thigh where he began a light stroking. He might have been reassuring a prized mare.

Kneeling on legs that were folded under him, Higgins now settled back onto his heels, eyeing up the tempting target as he fingered the shiny metal ruler he held in his right hand. Gripping it firmly between thumb and forefinger, he raised it a few inches, and swiftly brought the metal ruler down with a crisp slap, punctuated by a snap of the wrist.

The wicked metal ruler was slapped smartly, straight across the twin domes, splattering the fleshy mounds, and imparting a searing, one-inch wide sting that brought a yelp of shocked surprise from the pinioned victim. It was a tiny, high pitched yelp — a little girl’s squeak.

The crisp staccato continued, each precise whack eliciting its own tiny yelp. These whippy smacks were not terribly severe, not much more than a rapid series of hard taps. But they quickly became a steady drumbeat, and the repeated sting they engendered in the call girl’s substantial behind soon had the bound woman squirming in helpless agitation. By making an effort she managed to bring her initial squeals under control so that only tight-lipped grunts were emitted that as Gratia tensed up, her buttocks tightening down, the crack narrowing into a thin slit as she tried to steel herself against the repeated slaps.

Higgins smiled to see those buttocks clenching under the quick flutter of the ruler; he just kept at it. One he had a pattern established, the grinning disciplinarian continued on the task at hand, laying on a systematic set of strokes, first concentrating on the right cheek, then administering an equal number to its twin on the left, before alternating and peppering the writhing rump from top to bottom. Under this unrelenting assault the hardened muscles uncoiled once again, slackened into loose mounds that soon were simply absorbing the rhythmic punishment being meted out. Higgins was totally absorbed in his task, lips tightly pressed together, and a maniacal gleam in his eye, as he kept on slapping the softened butt as though he were whipping butter.

His tied-down victim had lost all control. She was crying out, gyrating under the restraining straps, kicking up her heels in agitated fury. Stockinged legs flailed the air as the sharp smacks continued to rain down, methodically covering every inch of those curving surfaces till Gratia’s wobbling bottom took on an overall rosy glow.

By now, the dark-haired girl was jerking up, arching back, flinging back her hair, and openly shrieking with each stinging slap:

A high, single cry of distress, each more shrill than the last, punctuated each precisely laid on-slap of the thin, whippy ruler.

After several minutes of this pleasing diversion, Higgins paused; letting his victim recover a bit, smiling to see her furiously wiggling her ass as though trying to shake off the deep-seated sting. He looked up to his seated colleague to find him leaning forward in this chair, holding the camera before his eyes, and snapping rapidly away. It was gratifying to consider that pictures of Gratia’s lovely, well-chastised bottom would be archived to take an honored place along with those from other memorable performances carried out in this very same room.

Having softened up his target, the consummate connoisseur extended the pause, looked up at the camera and smiled. He let his weapon fall to the carpet, raised his gloved hand, took a deep breath and… brought it slamming down with determined authority, to begin merrily spanking lovely Gratia’s soft yet delightfully firm, bouncily resilient: - a splendid womanly ass.