You Can’t Spank Me

This was supposed to be a tiny little couple hundred word mini-post thing, but it got out of control. Even the posts around here don’t behave themselves. Something ought to be done about that.


“You can’t spank me,” she says, her eyes flashing warning.

He is not listening. He is removing the cuff-links from his shirt sleeves, methodically placing one then the other on the coffee table. He has said that she is to be spanked. He has said it as if it is the most natural and necessary thing in the world.

“Don’t you dare.” She backs towards an exit, just in case the unthinkable happens and he does actually dare.

He looks at her mildly, his intention plain as he begins rolling his shirt sleeves up over his forearms, which now seem to her to be ridiculously overdeveloped. What has he been doing that the mucles flex visibly with even the smallest movement?

A curl of his salt and pepper has fallen into his eyes, he pushes it back then beckons to her. One finger crooked. Here. Now.

She shakes her head. “No!” Her voice cracks with outrage. “No we are not doing this!”

“Come here, young lady.” His voice is steady and low.

“No,” she insists. “No. No. No. No. No.” She shakes her head, lashing her pony tail from side to side.

“Don’t make me come and get you,” he warns her.

“If you come any closer, I’ll bite you.”

A hint of a smirk flickers at the corners of his lips and his brow rises just a hair. The threat doesn’t bother him in the slightest. She scowls, angry that she cannot seem to shake him.

He stands and takes a step towards her. She panics, stumbling into the couch that she could have sworn wasn’t there a minute ago. He catches her before she falls, but her salvation is short lived for she is over his lap in seconds.

“No!” She’s said the word so many times it sounds hollow and meaningless now. Words have failed so she tries to pull free, tries to buck and kick her way off his lap. Surely he will let her go now. Surely he will see how serious she is about not being spanked. Surely he will relent.

He does not. He wraps one strong arm around her waist and simply waits for her to stop thrashing around.

“Are you quite done?”

He is amused. Amused and oh so patient.

“Please don’t.” It’s the first time anything polite has passed her lips since this started. It’s too little too late. His hand is at her waist, flipping up the skirt she wishes she hadn’t worn.

She cannot believe he’s seeing her in her panties. She blushes crimson as he slips a finger into the waistband and slips them down too, leaving her naked and pressed over his hard thighs.

A little sob escapes her lips. He’s hardly laid a hand on her but already it’s more than she thinks she can take. Her bottom tingles where he touched her lightly, her breath comes quick and shallow. It’s really happening. He’s actually going to do it.

A quick slap gets her attention. “Bottom up, young lady.”

Her whimper is pitiful. Isn’t it enough that she’s there, bare and about to be spanked? Does she really have to participate in her own punishment?

“No.” She says the word again, but this time there is no defiance in it, no conviction. It is a whine, a plea destined to be denied.

He props his thigh up, lifting her hips with it. The position is undignified, her legs splay slightly no matter how much she tries to push them together. His hand is back, a warm palm across her cheeks. The touch is devastatingly intimate.

“Please, pretty please?” She tries a late attempt at charm.

“I told you what would happen if you insisted on playing the brat.” He is stern. He is determined. Nothing works on the man, not anger, not defiance, not cute appeals for clemency. Nothing.

His hand leaves her bottom. She closes her eyes tightly, clenching them shut, hoping that it’s all just a bad dream, hoping that the man who told her she deserved a good spanking was really just kidding and she’s fallen asleep on the bus on the way home. She hopes that if it is real, he will playfully pat her pert mounds and send her on her way. She deserves clemency after all, she is not so very naughty, not like the other girls, the ones who deserve a spanking.

His palm comes sweeping down and connects with her cheeks. Her shriek is one of surprise as much as it is one of pain. The tingles in her backside become fireworks zipping through her lower belly. It is real. She is being spanked. Heat rushes across her rear as he spanks her with gusto. There is little clemency, not as far as she can see anyway. He is toasting her bottom with solid smacks that make her yelp and whimper. Somewhere in the heat and the hurt she abandons the fight and surrenders to him. She clutches at his leg for comfort as the slaps continue to rain down on her very deserving bottom.

She has stopped her petulant resistance and soon the spanking ends too. If she were a good girl used to being spanked by him she would know to wait until he let her up, but she does not know that and she pushes herself up as soon as he stops spanking, burying her head in his chest.

He wraps his arms around her and holds her close, murmuring soothing things into her ear and kissing her temple. Snuggled against him, she reaches back and tentatively touches the places he spanked her. The skin feels tight and hot. He has transformed her bottom from something soft and sittable to a pulsing reminder of his will.

There is more still, between her cheeks there is a wetness. Her pussy is running with slick juices. She does not understand her arousal so she keeps her legs clamped tightly together. He is old enough to be her father and he has just spanked her very soundly, he can’t know that underneath the little whimpers and pitiful noises she is terribly aroused. That will be her secret. That will be her…

“Oh!” A little exclamation escapes her lips as his hand slips around the curve of her cheeks and his fingertips brush her slit. She squirms as their eyes meet, then looks away quickly as he slips a finger inside her. He is inside her. He has spanked her and now he is inside her. She moans as he teases her pussy, urging her arousal on.

They are making quite a scene together. He, the refined gentleman in the neat jeans and shirt, she the wanton woman in her little t-shirt that offers no coverage, squirming her hot round rear over his lap whilst he buries his fingers inside her.

She is lost to her arousal, rubbing her clit against the palm of his hand with all the needful passion of a cat in heat. His hand is covered in her juices as he works his fingers deeper, harder, slapping her pretty pussy as she gets ever closer to the edge.

Closer, closer, she grinds her hips but climax eludes her until his other hand slides up her spine and he takes a hold of her hair in a primal grip of pure control. The sudden confinement frees her and sends her jetting over the edge into an orgasm that ultimately leaves her trembling and weak in his arms. In a few short minutes he has taken her from petulant brat to fulfilled woman. It is a little while before she can speak, when she does, it comes out in a soft whisper.

“You can spank me.”