Big Book of Spanking II

Another Time-1

Another Time

“Dear Lauren, It’s been a long time. I’ll be in town next week, give me a call if you’re interested. Will”

My heart skipped a beat as I read the handwritten note, Will in town, wanting to see me after ten years. What a wonderfully terrifying thought!

But why after all this time was he contacting me? Was he single again? I was divorced myself, just over a year. My husband Craig had been a very sweet man but he was also very wrong for me.

During all those years I was married to Craig, Will’s face had kept a determined vigil in my mind. The memory of that scoundrel surfacing with his roguish laugh and teasing brown eyes was a haunting recollection of a time I should never have left. At twenty-two years old, I was scared of the way he’d gotten inside me, the way his good humor would disappear and his eyes would glow darkly, and a scowl would play across his face. I was scared that I’d lose myself and my identity in his dominating personality, when like a cruel despot he’d demand my submission to him. I was too strong-willed to yield completely, even if there was part of me that wanted that more than anything. The last time we were together, when he ordered me front and center, I panicked and walked away.

Every day since, for the last ten years, a little piece of me has regretted my hasty decision. I told myself over and over again that I could never live with Will and his conditions; but in spite of what I told myself, my heart said something different. Even marriage to a terrific guy didn’t quell the remorse. Something was definitely missing in my life, and it seemed to be exactly what I was scared of most!

Since being on my own, the marriage finally winding down like a wind up toy, when no one turns the key anymore, I’d been thinking of Will a lot, even though the whole mental activity of imagining him seemed a little silly. I didn’t know until this letter, where he was or what he was doing. But when his message came right out of the blue, it sent my heart soaring like it hadn’t since the last time it soared for him. I felt as if I was floating on a cloud.

After reading the note for the hundredth time, I put it down and rummaged through my desk, pulling out a half dozen dog-eared photographs of Will and me in outdated clothes, playfully posing for the camera. One hilariously outrageous picture drew my eye in particular. Will had me poised over his lap, his hand raised as if he was going to spank me.

I recalled the day it was taken, we were having a party at the lake cabin we shared. Several of our friends were there and we were all drinking beer and kicking back, relaxing for an afternoon. Will and I were trading barbs as we usually did, about something really inconsequential, when he suddenly grabbed me and pulled me over his lap, slapping my bottom with a dozen vigorous smacks. I blushed as red as a rose. It was all meant to be a joke, with our friend Mark snapping pictures of us, we were all in a fit of laughter when it was over. Yet, in the back of my mind, I wondered if the others had any idea how real it was for me to be laying across Will’s lap, submitting to an energetic spanking.

Will spanked me for the first time on our third date, after an impassioned argument. I can’t even remember what it was about.

“I won’t put up with a headstrong brat!” he charged, after he flung me over his lap and whacked my rear a few dozen times with the palm of his hand.

I was shocked and completely humiliated. Afterwards, I pretended to be hurt and pouted for an entire hour afterwards. But the truth was, the whole thing intrigued me. Not to mention the fact that it was one wild erotic rush. I’d never felt anything like it before.

A month and several lighthearted spankings later, I was moving into Will’s cozy lake cabin. I was so much in love, even though our relationship was sometimes very mysterious to me. Will was handsome, fun, sexy and spontaneous; but he was also volatile and domineering, a fact that scared me as much as it turned me on. Usually, he was pretty casual about things, but at other times, he seemed to rule our little domicile with an iron fist, insisting that his rules were law. Those rules were pretty simple things, like keeping the place clean, and food in the kitchen and dinner at a certain hour. But if something wasn’t to his liking, he showed his displeasure with little restraint, and he didn’t like one word of back talk. All my childish antics, like pouting, whining and stomping my feet only made my sessions over his knee all the more painful.

Usually he spanked me with the palm of his hand, a quick, brusque activity that vented his anger against my bottom and produced hardly more than a wince from me. But when he was particularly miffed and decided to wallop me good, he’d remove a leather belt that was hanging on the wall—just for such occasions—and doubling it in his hand, he’d order me over the arm of his overstuffed chair. After a stern lecture, he’d haul off with a dozen furious whacks across my fanny, and the pain would be intense. Sometimes, if I really pissed him off, he’d raise my skirt or take down my jeans and panties, and my naked rear would have to endure the stinging blows.

No matter how he chose to punish me, at those moments, his temper played out across my exposed rear end until he was spent, and all his anger was gone, and he figured I’d paid for my errors. By then, I was spent too, and sobbing like a baby.

One day I remember well, when we were building a tool shed behind the cabin, he gave me the very worst punishment I’d ever had. It was bitter cold outside and my frustration with waiting for Will to make up his mind, got the better of me. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood either. I finally lashed out about the dictatorial way he was ordering me around. That turned out to be an unfortunate mistake!

“You going to do this or not?” he demanded of me, after I’d told him I was cold and didn’t want to work any more.

“I’d rather go inside,” I said impudently. I leveled a stare at him with my cold flashing eyes, and he returned mine with a terrifying stare of his own.

I could tell by his look that I’d gone too far, but I never expected what happened next.

This time he didn’t bother to go for the belt hanging in the cabin. Instead, he removed the one he was wearing, a thick two inch wide work belt. I looked at him in horror watching him double it as he usually did so it hung menacingly at his side.

Before I had time to let the impact of his intentions sink in, he pushed me over the sawhorse we were using, and pulled down my jeans. “Don’t you dare,” I screamed, but he obviously didn’t care what I had to say as the belt came down hard on my chilled rear end.

“Yikes,” I screamed. I kicked my feet and tried to bolt, but his strong arm came down to bring me back, giving me a firm shove against the unyielding wooden bar. I gave up fighting as I realized how determined he was. Even though the blows were furious, I wasn’t dumb. The punishment would only get worse if I tried to get away again.

With the leather bouncing off my bottom, I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Hanging right out there in the open, it was not only more painful that usual with the striking opposites of hot and cold; but there was the humiliation, lest someone discover the shameful scene. It didn’t matter to me that the possibility was very unlikely, as far away as we were from civilization, it still felt as if I was “baring myself” in a public place.

I howled like crazy, but as usual, my wretched cries were to no avail. Again, I was fortunate that we lived some distance from any neighbors, for we’d certainly have attracted an audience if anyone had heard my shrieks.

“Please, stop, Will, I’m sorry, I really am,” I pleaded, but he continued, not saying a word as he worked my rear. By the way the blows were raining down on me, I was certain that when he finished, my behind would be blistered from top to bottom.

“There,” he said emphatically, when he was finally done. He pulled me roughly from the sawhorse, and steadied me on my wobbling feet. “Pull up your pants,” he ordered. I was sniffing, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “Don’t you get sassy with me again, girl!” he warned, pointing an accusing finger in my face. I snuffed some more, thinking of all kinds of nasty things to say to him.

“I won’t,” I replied reluctantly. There was still a little edge in my voice. His anger may have dissipated, but I wasn’t sure mine had. I rubbed aching my rear through my pants, and eyed him with a petulant glare. It was quite a sensation, the stinging cold and the stinging heat side by side.

“Can I go in?” I asked at last. I was even less in the mood to work than I had been before.

“You can do anything you’d like,” Will said. He was noticeably more congenial, giving me my licks always had that effect on him. And this time, he was looking particularly self satisfied; he must have known the special ache he caused snapping his belt across my freezing cheeks. “Just don’t dirty the house with those,” he warned me, looking down at my mud-caked boots.

I looked down at them too, but I didn’t say another word as I turned and walked away.

An hour later, Will was at my back with his arms around me nuzzling my neck. I was standing at the kitchen sink looking out at the lake. I’d tried to ignore him when he first came in; I was still angry. But I couldn’t really ignore his warm face against mine. His little act of tenderness seemed to wipe away my remaining hurt. “Let me see your behind,” he purred in my ear.

I leaned back against him, “You scoundrel,” I purred back. I reached behind me to the warm spot between his legs where I could feel him getting hard. “Were you out there all this time with your d**k stiff?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “It got that way thinking how nice it was to see your ass end bright as a cherry amid your goose bumps.”

He pulled at my jeans again, but this time so he could fondle my sore cheeks. “Ooo, nice lines,” he said, noting that his belt had left a few tiny welts on my skin. “Is it painful?” he asked, squeezing it roughly.

“Ouch, you ass! Of course it is!” I exploded with a lighthearted protest, while I turned around with my pants dropping to my ankles. For a while I rubbed myself against his swelling jeans, moaning with pleasure as he rubbed back. Finding his zipper, I tugged down, pulling out my favorite plaything. Taking it in my hand I jacked it hard a couple of times, and listened to him moan in return. Pushing me toward the kitchen table, he laid me down against it with my hips hanging at the edge, my legs spread wide waiting for his next move. Knocking at my juicy door, he eased right in, filling me with the most delicious feelings. I squeezed him tight from within, and listened to his moan vibrate through him.

Damn! He pumped me hard, with one long stroke after another. My loins were soon as burning hot as my ass had been. And as for my ass, the banging against the rough hewn kitchen table made it hurt all the more; but by that time, it only added to our lusty f**k.

As he penetrated me, I pushed back against him so he was inside me to the hilt. Then for good measure, he grabbed at my ass cheeks as if he wanted to add insult to my already injured bottom.

“Ah yes, baby, f**k me,” I screamed, succumbing to a flood of searing passion running from my p***y everywhere. “Oh, gawd, yes!” I shouted exploding in orgasm.

About the same time, his own cry lifted into the steamy kitchen air, though I don’t remember much about that, being wrapped up in my own private pleasure. We churned against each other for some time, then I must have drifted off to sleep, at least for a few seconds. The next thing I remember was him gently lifting me from the table and our stumbling into the bedroom where we collapsed on the bed.