by Julie
I skimmed at the personal ads with bored indifference until I spotted a headline that read “The Spanking Game.” At the word spanking, I have always felt a tingle on my spine that makes me pause. I felt taken aback to see a headline like this in my local paper and perused the ad. “English Gentlemen, 35, employed, well groomed, single, clean, seeks mate for love, movies, and games.”
I read the ad six times and, with my right hand trembling, picked up a pen, and circled the ad. I called the personals’ phone line and entered his ad code. He sounded genial and confident. I promptly hung up the phone and commuted to work.
I tried to focus on work but my mind kept reverting to that word: spanking. My obsession with the word and the activity began in the third grade. I played spanking games with neighborhood girls and boys “you play the mommy (or daddy), I will play your little girl. Oops! (I would laugh) I spilled milk on the floor! What? I will not go to bed! (They would catch on eventually) No! Please don’t spank me! I will be good. What? Over your lap? Oh!” I looked up spanking in the dictionary about a thousand times. “A brisk, rapid series of slaps on the buttocks.” By the time I was 12 years old I began to wonder what was wrong with me. I fantasized about a spanking factory. In the fantasy, my cousin Jenny and I lay face down propped up over some pillows, and we would ride down a conveyor belt with our bare bottoms exposed. Then we passed through a series of hands that awaited us above the belt, and the hands would spank our bare bottoms. I went to sleep every night for years playing this fantasy out in my mind. When I turned 15, I felt like a freak and successfully repressed my spanking fantasies for years.
Then, at 23, the fantasies returned energetically. I remember the day. I was at the public library waiting my turn to use an internet terminal and this handsome man stood up from a computer, walked toward me, smiled and said hello as he passed. I strode over and logged onto the computer he vacated, and, out of curiosity, clicked on the history to see what this man viewed online. I clicked on “history” and there was the word spanking, repeated hundreds of times. I felt my face turn beat red and I perspired. I felt as if everyone in the library was staring at me and knew, but I looked about and realized that everyone still minded his or her own business. I clicked on one spanking website with a story that began, “she lay face down over his lap, with her plump rear exposed for a bare-bottom smacking that she would not soon forget.” I felt compelled to touch myself right there. I clicked on a search engine and typed “spanking.” To my amazement, the word appeared thousands of times. I felt a catharsis. Up to that moment, I thought I was the only one who felt this way about spanking.
I developed nightly rituals perusing personal ads online but the men looked gross, married, dangerous, or violent. I didn’t want a severe spanking. Just a mild hand (or possibly very light wooden hairbrush) spanking. I didn’t want whips, chains, and paddles (although the thought of someone scolding, “I am going to paddle your bare bottom” sends shivers down my spine). I wanted loving, over-the-the knee panties down to the top of my thighs spanking. With some light scolding “you naughty, naughty girl. We talked about your behavior in the past and now I am ashamed to say it, but you need to be chastised. Go into the bedroom and wait for me.”
I looked at the ads online and in the newspapers for two years and then I spotted “The Spanking Game.” I returned home from work, and, with two glasses of cognac aiding my courage, I called the personals line and left a message with “The Spanking Game” ad and gave my phone number. Two hours later, the phone rang. His name was Joe, and we talked for an hour about everything except spanking. It was a relief though, as I was not yet ready to confess this to anyone.
We talked for a month on the phone, but he never mentioned the spanking game. I started to wonder if there was misprint in his ad. We met and had two dates. On the night of the third date, as we sat on the couch of his apartment, Joe said, “well, it’s our third date. Traditionally, a girl has to kiss or tell the guy to take a hike. Since we have already kissed, shall we proceed to the main course?”
Joe had been mild mannered up to this point and I felt intrigued. “Why, whatever do you mean?” I asked.
“The headline of my ad. Are you ready to play the spanking game?”
“Oh!’ I exclaimed. “I don’t know what that game is.”
Joe chuckled. “I think you do. Look at you, your face is flushed.”
It was true: I felt my cheeks flaming and my hands trembling.
“I don’t want you to be terrified, but I am going to give you a short prelude of things to come. Now, stand up.”
Meekly, I stood up in my cocktail dress and looked down at my feet.
“Lay down across my lap.” Joe commanded.
I shook my head sideways and said, “No.”
“You know you need this.” His right hand encircled my waist, and carefully, and slowly, he lowered me face across my lap. I felt his organ protruding from his dress pants against my stomach. I listened to the sound of traffic passing below as I placed my hands against the soft carpet and waited. The suspense and tension felt overwhelming to me. I had waited years for this moment and felt scared: what if he does it too hard or what if it’s not hard enough? What if it hurts too much? I lay across his lap for thirty long seconds before he said, “You have been a naughty girl but this is going to excite me more than it is going to excite you.”
I felt him hiking the dress up to my waist, and then I felt a short series of soft smacks against my pantied bottom. “Well, here it is at last” I thought, as I wiggled my groin against his lap.”
“You hussy! Keep still!” Joe admonished me. “I am going to have to spank you on your bare bottom for grinding against me like that!” I felt a fingertip grasping the elastic of my panties and felt as he slowly, oh so slowly, lowered them to the tops of my thighs. “Magnificent,” he cooed. “Look at this pair of white, full, round buttocks. So perfect.” He cupped his hands against my bare bottom and slowly rubbed and caressed my cheeks. Then, his right palm slapped my bare bottom in a series of rapid, brisk spanks. I felt like a little girl getting the dress-up bare-bottom spanking that I desperately needed. The slaps resonated through the apartment, and I wondered if the neighbors could hear us, but soon I forgot about that and was in ecstasy. The spanking lasted all of three minutes, and to my disappointment, he apruptly stopped. “I can’t give you too much of a good thing. It is better to leave a girl wanting more.” I lay face down across his lap panting in satisfaction. I felt his fingers separating my sex, and soon he fingered me and I felt my hips buckling as I came.
The spanking game ended for the evening and we continued as if nothing occurred. I returned home to my apartment, logged onto to some websites, and decided to write a story of my own for your website.
The End
If you enjoyed this, leave a comment or you can email Julie at mind.candy (at) hotmail (dot) com. (This story also was featured on Literotica.)
