Spank Erotica

I’ve just finished brushing my teeth when he walks into the bathroom.  I glance up, my eyes meeting his in the bathroom mirror.

“What’s up?” I ask lightly.

He doesn’t answer.  Slowly, I become aware of the coolness in his eyes, and the careful set of his jaw.  He raises his arm and I catch sight of my ratty old flip-flops dangling from his finger.

Uh-oh…

I turn to face him.  “I forgot! I’m sorry I completely forgot!”

“Yes,” he says, “You forgot. I almost broke my neck tripping over them in the hallway.”

I bite my lip and shake my head apologetically.  “I’m so sorry James.”

He lowers his arm and lets one of the sandals fall to the floor.  But his hand closes around the other one and he uses it to gesture toward the sink.

“Turn around and bend over,” he says coolly.

“James…” I start to plead.

But he cuts me off with an impatient shake of his head.  “Turn around and bend over the sink, Amy.  I’m going to spank you with your own shoe.  Maybe that way you’ll remember not to leave them lying around.”

My heart sinks.  Spanked with my own shoe…

Reluctantly I turn back to the sink and bend over at the waist.  I place my forearms on the sink before me and take a slow, deep breath.

“Lift up your nightgown,” he commands.

I stifle a little whimper as I gingerly reach down and gather the hem of my nightgown in shaking fingers.  I lift it high above my waist, baring my bottom for what’s about to come.  Then I resume my position and wait.

“Panties down,” James barks.

Damn it!

I marshal my courage, and then slowly reach back and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties.  I pull them down below the curve of my cheeks.  When I’m done, I rest my forearms back on the cool porcelain before me and close my eyes.

“Open your eyes Amy,” James says, “Look at yourself in the mirror.”

My pulse begins to race.  I don’t want to look.  I open my eyes, but my gaze goes immediately to his reflection, avoiding my own.  He meets my gaze in the mirror and holds it.  Slowly, deliberately, he comes around and stands beside me.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” he repeats.  I obey with a quiet sigh.  My eyes move reluctantly over my reflection, and I’m humiliated by what I see – a grown woman awaiting her spanking, fear and anticipation in her eyes, nightgown bunched at her waist as she tightly grips the sink before her.  Tears threaten as James places his free hand on the curve of my hip.

“Do you see what you look like?” he asks, “Do you see how naughty you look, bent over and waiting to be spanked?”

I press my lips together and nod sadly.

“I want you to keep your eyes open while I spank you,” he instructs.  “I want you to see what happens when you misbehave.”

I watch, horrified, as he raises my shoe up in the air.  He holds it there for a moment, and then the shoe comes down across my bottom and my mouth curls into a little “oh” as my eyes fly open wide.  I have no time to recover before he raises his arm back up in the air and brings my shoe down hard across my bared cheeks a second time.  I gasp in pain and close my eyes briefly, but I quickly raise my lids only to watch James bring my shoe down once more.  This time, to my horror, my hips buck forward in a humiliating attempt to deflect the blow.

Seeing myself like this, watching my own spanking, it’s the ultimate punishment.  Seeing the pain and dismay on my face, watching myself squirm as he lands spank after spank, knowing it’s my own shoe in his hand – it’s all too much to bear.  I want to cry, not just from the growing sting of the spanking, but from the sight of myself being punished at his hands.  From the inescapable knowledge that I’m being thoroughly disciplined, and that I deserve it.  My shoe comes down again and again in a loud slap, slap, slap across my upturned cheeks and I watch myself in the mirror as my lips turn down in a sad little pout.

But my self- pity vanishes the moment James shifts his attention to the delicate underside of my cheeks.  My shoe catches both cheeks with each spank, lifting me up onto my toes. Panic wells up within me as the pain grows, and it’s only because I catch a glimpse of how shamefully perverse it looks that I’m able to keep from wagging my bottom back and forth to ease the sting.

I’m gasping out loud now.  I continue to watch my spanking in the mirror, but I no longer care how I look.  I know that in a moment, I’ll start wailing.

“Please,” I gasp, “James, please!”

He pauses and meets my gaze in the mirror.

“Have you had enough, Amy?” he asks, “Have you learned your lesson?”

I sob quietly and nod my head.

“Yes, sir.  I’ve learned my lesson.”

I watch, wincing, as he gives my bottom one last whap.  Then he holds my shoe up for me to see and says, “Every time you take these off, I expect you to remember what you look like right now – bent over the sink, with your panties down around your knees.  I expect you to look at these shoes and remember that I used them to give you a good spanking.  And after thinking about all that, I expect you to put them back in the closet where they belong.  Do I make myself clear?”

I nod vigorously in agreement.  “Yes, James.  I will.  I’ll remember everything.”

He lets my shoe fall to the floor with a loud clap and my entire body sags with relief.  He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, and I struggle to hold still as his eyes move over my sore bottom.

“I’m through playing around,” he warns.  “Next time I’ll put you over my lap and give you the belt.”

He shifts his body so he’s directly behind me and takes my hips firmly in his hands.  He brushes his body lightly against the prickly flesh of my spanked cheeks, and my heart does a happy little leap as I become aware of his erection.

“Do you hear what I’m saying, Amy?” he asks, his voice velvety soft as he increases the pressure against my body.  “Do you want me to spank you with the belt?”

“No,” I manage to gasp, “I’ll behave.”

My pulse starts hammering wildly as he slips his pajama bottoms off.

“Will you be a good girl?” he asks.

“Yes.  I’ll be a very good girl.”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror as he very slowly enters me.  His hands move under my nightgown, up my waist and over my breasts.  My entire body is suffused with happy pleasure, and my eyes slip closed as I moan softly.

Almost at once, he finds my nipples, pinching them painfully between his thumb and forefinger.  I cry out softly as my eyelids flutter open.

“I told you to keep your eyes open,” he says with a grin as he thrusts into me.  I gasp loudly, torn between pleasure and pain.  His hips buck against mine and I arch my back to meet him.

“Keep your eyes open,” he whispers into my ear.

“Do I have to spank you in front of all these people?”

The words are a sharp, sudden hiss in my ear, and I gasp as the blood rushes to my cheeks.  I glance around, wide-eyed, certain that everyone in the crowded grocery store has overheard.

His lips brush my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine.

“Do I?” he whispers.

I shake my head vigorously and squeak out a barely audible “no.”

He nods and moves away, and I resolve to be good for the rest of the day.  But I can tell by his brisk manner as we meander down the pasta aisle that it’s too late.

I say very little as we finish the grocery shopping, and even less on the long walk to the car.  When he opens the back door for me instead of the front, my heart sinks.  But I slide in without protest.  Fear and anticipation make my heart race as I wait.

He takes his time loading the groceries into the trunk, but at last he’s done.  I watch him as he opens the car door and climbs into the back seat beside me, searching for some sign of what’s to come.  He’s angry, and I’m in for a lecture.  But whether there’s more to come, I can’t tell.

He pats his thigh and says, “Come here.”

I hesitate, instinctively scanning my surroundings.  The parking lot is relatively deserted, but that doesn’t mean it will stay that way for long.

“Amy, this isn’t a game,” he warns.  “Over my lap.  Now.”

The sharpness in his voice makes me cringe, and I whimper quietly.  I know that I have no choice but to do as he says, so I take a deep breath and very slowly inch toward him.  I lift my eyes, and my pleading gaze meets his.  I can tell from the hard set of his jaw that words will only make my punishment worse, so I press my lips together and keep quiet.  Reluctantly, I lean forward and stretch my body over his lap.

He waits until I’m in place, then flips my skirt up unceremoniously.  I gasp at the sudden exposure, and have to struggle not to cover myself with my hands.  I curl them into fists beneath my chest and take a deep, slow breath.

Why had I behaved like such a spoiled brat, anyway?  I had been pushing him all day, delighting in every little victory.  I knew, I knew I was going too far.  But as always, once I start getting away with things, I’m incorrigible.

Well, that’s not true, I think with a rueful sigh.  I’m actually quite corrigible, as we’re about to find out.

“Do you know why I’m about to spank you, Amy?” he asks.

I nod my head, and he gives my bottom a swift, hard swat.  I cry out in surprise, and then immediately bite my lip as I remember we’re in public.

“I want to hear you answer me,” he says angrily.  “Do you know why I’m spanking you?”

“Yes,” I answer quickly.

“Why?”

“Because,” I answer in a trembling voice, “I was being a brat.”

“That’s right,” he says, “You were being a brat.”

I feel his fingers fumble at the waistband of my panties, and I sigh in resignation as I wait for them to come down.  But instead, he gives them a sharp, brisk tug upward.  My cheeks become exposed as the thin fabric slips between them.  I close my eyes, thoroughly embarrassed at what I must look like.

But before I can dwell on the sight I must make – over his knee and bottom bared – his hand comes down hard, landing firm across both cheeks.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  Good, hard spanks that leave me gasping.  He pauses, and I feel his hands wrap around my waist as he rearranges me to his liking.  He adjusts my position so my back is arched and my cheeks are raised even higher in the air, and then the spanking continues.

Four, five, six…

I start to whimper, but this only increases the intensity of the spanks, and the speed with which he’s delivering them.

Seven, eight, nine, ten…

He pauses suddenly, his hand resting on my very warm bottom.

“Are you going to behave?” he asks.

“Yes,” I sob, “Yes, I promise.”

“Let’s make sure you can keep that promise.  I want you to think about what a good girl you’re going to be, and how if you’re not, you’ll find yourself right back in this position.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“What are you going to think about?”

I swallow with difficulty before saying, “I’m going to think about what a good girl I’m going to be.”

“And?”

“And…and how if I’m not you’ll spank me.”

He lifts his hand and brings it down hard across my stinging bottom.  And then again.  And again.

I catch voices outside and panic wells up in my chest as they draw near.  I feel so sorry.  So sorry that I misbehaved.  So sorry that I upset him.  So sorry that I’m here, over his knee like a little girl.

I want to say ‘please.’  I want to ask him to stop and wait for whoever is outside to leave.  I want to tell him I’ve learned my lesson, and I don’t need this very public spanking.  But I don’t want to add my voice to the sounds of my punishment.  I don’t want to be heard, pleading and begging like a child.  So instead I close my eyes and try to keep quiet as the spanks land again and again, rocking my body forward in a quick, unceasing rhythm.

I hear the voices linger maybe four or five cars away, and then the sound of packages being loaded into a car.  But to me, the sound of my spanking is infinitely louder.  It’s getting harder and harder to keep quiet.  I squirm and wriggle as I realize that it won’t be long before the sting overwhelms me and I forget my dignity.

As always, he can tell what’s on my mind.

“If you didn’t want to be spanked in public,” he says, “you should have thought about your behavior.”  I can hear the smile in his voice as he caresses my sore cheeks.  “Now you have to deal with the consequences of being naughty.  Do you think you’ll misbehave in public again?”

I shake my head vehemently, and this earns me five very hard and swift spanks that finally break my silence.

“No,” I cry, “No I won’t misbehave in public again.”

He gives me one last smack and then he rests his hand across my stinging cheeks.  Outside, I hear the sound of car doors closing and then an engine fires up.  I close my eyes as relief floods my body.

James pats my bottom softly and says, “I trust we won’t have to do this again for a while.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, and I shake my head.

“We won’t,” I whisper.

He gives my cheeks a few more patronizing little pats and I feel myself flush with humiliation, but also with something else.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

I do as I’m told, and his fingers slip between them.  I moan softly as he begins to explore.

“Do you like that?” he whispers huskily.

“Yes,” I sigh as his fingers continue to work me.

“You were a very bad girl, Amy.”

I say nothing because I’m incapable of speech.  His fingers are everywhere, stroking and sliding and teasing.  I gasp and arch my back involuntarily, providing him with better access, and he chuckles softly.  I spread my legs wide, taking his fingers inside me as I draw closer and closer to that glorious edge.

And suddenly his fingers are gone and I receive two very hard spanks that make me jump in surprise.

“When we get home,” he says, “I’m going to strip your clothes off and give you the spanking you deserve.”

His fingers find their way between my legs again, light and teasing.

“Maybe I’ll have to paddle you as well.  Just to make sure I drive the lesson home.”

His words are sending me into a flurry of fear, but his fingers have me writhing in happy ecstasy.

“Why are you pouting now?” he asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Because,” I whine, “I wanted pizza for dinner and it’s not fair!  I never get any say in anything!”

He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and takes a slow, deep breath.

“Fine,” he says in a slow measured tone.  He fixes his glare on me, and I’m suddenly wary.  I have a good reason to be.

“You want some say?” he asks, “How do you want to be spanked?  Do you want the belt, the paddle, or my hand?”

I gasp and try to look away, but he reaches out and grasps my chin, tilting it up so I have no choice but to meet his eye while my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

“I…I didn’t…I mean I don’t want…” I stammer.

He raises one eyebrow as a smile spreads across his face.

“You don’t want to be spanked?” he asks, “Well, you should’ve thought of that before throwing a little tantrum.  Now, what’s it going to be?  Am I going to whip you with the belt, put you over my lap and paddle you, or give you a spanking with my hand?”

I press my lips together and try to think.  It’s not much of a choice really.  I’d be a fool to choose the belt.  But if I ask to be spanked with his hand, I’m sure it’ll be much more drawn out than it would be otherwise.

I want this over quickly, so on impulse I blurt out, “The paddle.”

“Okay,” he says, “Go fetch the paddle.”

I sigh and start off in the direction of the bedroom.  I’ve only taken a few steps when he calls out, “And take your pants off.”

I have to bite my lip hard to keep from making a smart reply.  I don’t want to antagonize him.  Not when I’m about to be over his knee.

I find the paddle in its usual place - in the top drawer of the nightstand, right by his side of the bed for easy access.  It’s a cheap, plastic thing that originally came with a small rubber ball.  We picked it up at an amusement park after hours spent playing skee ball and eating junk food.  I was the one who spotted it, sitting in the prize bin with some other toys.  I held it up for James to see, a devilish gleam in my eye, and he smiled and that was that.  He used it on me that very night, and that’s how I learned that cheap, plastic paddles are just as effective as their heavy wooden counterparts.

I make a face at the paddle as I peel off my pants, but that’s the extent of my rebellion, and after making sure my flimsy lace panties are modestly covering what little they can cover, I head back out into the living room, paddle in hand.

He’s sitting on the couch watching TV, but he switches it off when he sees me.

“Good,” he says when he spies the paddle.  He takes it from my hand and gestures to his lap.

He doesn’t need to say anything.  I know the drill.  But he says it anyway because he knows it will heighten my humiliation.

“Over my lap and get ready for your spanking.”

I reluctantly drape myself over his lap and wait.  I don’t have to wait long.  The first blow lands almost immediately, and I know from the lack of hesitation that he’s really angry.  The second blow lands and I whimper quietly - a pleading whimper meant to let him know I’m sorry I was such a brat.

That’s the thing about being paddled.  I’m always instantly sorry.  It’s not like his hand, where it takes a dozen spanks before I’m warmed up.  With the paddle, every stroke counts.

A third blow finds the unprotected underside of my cheeks, and the sting makes me squirm frantically.

“Be still, Amy,” he says sternly, “Think about how you deserve to be paddled, and be still.”

He’s right, so I cease my struggling, and I take the next two strokes relatively well.  But by the sixth, I start whimpering and babbling unintelligibly about how much it hurts.

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he says patiently, “If it didn’t hurt, you wouldn’t learn anything, and it wouldn’t be a very good spanking.”

He lands the paddle one more time and I start to sob.  I’ve reached the point in the spanking where I've become completely aware of my helplessness.  If he wants to give me a good, thorough spanking, then no matter how much I plead or bargain, he will give me a good, thorough spanking.  He’s in control, and it was foolish of me to ever, ever provoke him.

I gasp and kick when the next blow finds its home.  It’s a particularly hard one, and it’s quickly followed by another.  My palms are sweating, and I’m not sure I can take anymore.  In a sudden rush of panic, I begin to kick and struggle in earnest.  My efforts only increase with the next blow.

“Amy,” he says with a dangerous edge in his voice, “If you don’t stop fighting and take the next two with some modicum of dignity, I’m going to peel your panties off and paddle your bare bottom.”

All the fight goes out of me at once, and I lie still and obedient across his lap.  He lands a hard blow, and although my responding wail rivals the loud “smack” the paddle makes when it finds my cheeks, I force myself not to struggle.  He lands one more, and again, I whimper and whine and sob.  But I remain very still.

“Good girl,” he says.  I hear him lay the paddle to one side and a wave of relief washes over me.  But when I feel him tugging my panties down and arranging them just below my sore cheeks, my fear instantly returns.

He runs his fingers over my bottom, and I wince silently.

“Your ass is very, very red,” he says thoughtfully.  I close my eyes and feel my body flush with embarrassment.

“I think you got a very good spanking,” he says, “What do you think?  Did you learn your lesson here today?”

“Yes,” I say quietly, “I learned my lesson.”

I hear him pick the paddle up, and my eyes fly open in alarm, but I have no time to think before the paddle finds my bare bottom.

I sob quietly, and try to find the strength to endure a barrage of fresh spanks on my naked cheeks.  But he only holds the paddle up within my line of vision and says, “Do you think we’ll need to use this again any time soon?”

I shake my head vehemently and choke out, “No.”

“Do you think you’ve been punished sufficiently?  Are you ready to behave?”

“Yes,” I say eagerly, “I’m ready to be good.”

“Okay,” he says.

I wince slightly as he arranges my panties back over my stinging bottom.

“You can stand,” he says.

I slowly push myself up off his lap, but as usual right after a spanking, I’m too embarrassed to meet his eye.

He takes my hand and pulls me toward him.

“Come here, Amy,” he says gently.

I obey willingly, straddling his lap and gasping as I become aware of his erection.  His eyes are shining with need as he gazes up at me lovingly.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

I happily oblige, wanting nothing but the joy of his body against me.  He groans as my lips move over him, and I smile.