This was hardly my first time on the side of kink, but it was a reintroduction after a sizable absence. Male dominant, female submissive: no sex, but lots & lots of spanking.
It was late one night, my senior year of college. I just had one of those rousing fights with the girlfriend, M. Things were done, kaput, through, over . . . no way we were ever getting back together. Until tomorrow, at least. Everybody in the apartment complex heard us yelling – there are few secrets with thin walls & loud voices.
Because I was such the absolute winner while in college, I did not go out to a hot raging party this fine Saturday evening. No, I booted my computer & started up Madden. I was pissed off & decided to take things out on the Patriots . . . the first quarter ended with the score 28-3 when there was a knock on the door.
K was there, dressed in an outfit that is still burned into my retinas: thigh-high black boots, exposed knees, pleated skirt, white button-down top (with the top couple of buttons left unbuttoned), glasses instead of her regular contacts (making her eyes brown, instead of the green I was so used to seeing). Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. I think my heart truly skipped a beat, and it was more than a moment before I could tell that she was crying.
“I heard your fight”, K said before I had a chance to ask her what was up.
“Uhhhh. Um, um. Yeah, it was a doozy”, I said, stammering beyond control. “What’s wrong? I mean, it’s not that I don’t enjoy the visit – but I thought tonight was going to be the ‘greatest night ever’, and you’re not exactly ‘dressed the part’ for a random visit.”
“‘Greatest night ever’, wasn’t” is all she said.
For the two weeks prior to this evening, K had been talking about this weekend (driving most of us who hung with her often downright batty). Her best friends from high-school were coming up, and they were going to live it up. Well, “live it up” might have been a relative term in a suburban Pennsylvania college, but it was obvious that she was going to party. And, since one of the old friends was an ex-boyfriend, well, lets just say that K visited my condom stash before the weekend started, just to make sure she “was covered”. Or, maybe I should say, to make sure that he would stay covered throughout the weekend.
Now she was here, looking downright miserable, and stomped her foot right in front of me.
“I guess your ex didn’t take your advances?”, I asked – just to state what I felt was obvious.
“No, we fucked like bunnies”, she replied, refusing to look me in the eyes.
“Then your friends didn’t like getting kicked out of the room? I mean, what’s up?”
K finally looked up at me. “I hate this”, she said, followed by a long pause (because I’m absolutely horrible in awkward situations and I didn’t have a clue as to what K was aiming at). “Ok, you know that website that offered you the job?”
“Ummmm, which one? The one I took, or the other one? Because the job I took isn’t a website – it’s to build websites. See, I’ll…”, I replied, finding that I have a severe case of verbal diarrhea when I don’t understand the situation I’m in the middle of.
“No, that other one, that bondage one” she cut me off (thankfully). Though a random series of events, I was offered a lucrative position to program for and write content for a BDSM website. Not wanting to have to explain why I had a job in the porn industry on my resume, I chose not to even negotiate salary and took a more standard job. “I checked it out. I tried to get [name redacted] to spank me. He played around, but wouldn’t really lay into me. I begged, and he just said ‘I don’t want to abuse you’, and then we fought. Though, nowhere near as loudly as you & M fought.” A new tear started falling down her cheek and she looked directly into my eyes. “I need to feel that.”
“Ok…” I responded, not really sure what was happening in front of me. “This may not be the best time for me to start something new”, I hemmed.
“No, I don’t want to have sex with you.” K responded, and I must have responded with a quizzical reaction. “I don’t mean it like that. I know you’re not going to cheat on M.”
I started to interrupt, trying to say that M & I were through, but K stopped me. “You’re not really broken up with her, and you know it. It’s just that, well, I trust you, and I want this. Please?” she pleaded, as a fresh tear rolled down her cheek.
“Ok, um. Ok, um…” I stammered (my ability to speak seems to disappear when presented with an unusual situation that excites me) and swept a pile of detritus from on top of my bed, in the stereotypical manner of a sitcom star clearing a spot to make whoopie. I sat down & patted my lap. K giggled. “Now!” I said, with a hint of a stern tone in my voice. K stopped gigging & immediately came to me & bent over my lap.
Not really knowing what “rules” we were going to follow, or really, what she was looking for (looking back on this situation, there were a lot of things I keep saying I should have done differently), I started with a few light spankings to her skirt-covered ass. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that the outfit she wore over was utilitarian, as well as hot as hell. I pulled up the skirt to K’s waist, and swatted her thong-clad ass, progressively getting harder with each stroke from my hand.
When my hand started to tire, I took a small break. K had her head down, looking straight at the ground & whispered “more, please”. I hooked my fingers around her thong & pulled it over her ass and boots, letting the panties hit the floor. I felt K’s hips grind into my nap and saw that her knees slid a bit further apart.
I started the spanking anew, directing my hand right over that region where the ass turns to leg, aiming to hit the same spot with each strike. I can’t tell you how long we went at it like this, but K’s sobs turned from those of embarrassment/humiliation to those of pain. When my handprint was evident in that sweet-spot, I alternated between the fleshy white of each ass-cheek, alternating my blows.
At this point I started really getting into it, starting to raise my right leg as my right-arm came down with each smack. I continued spanking – one blow every two or three seconds, until I couldn’t feel my hand.
I stopped spanking K, stopped raising my leg, but noticed that K’s hips were thrusting into my lap with the same pattern that I was spanking her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the sobbing had stopped completely, just a barely audible moan emanating from her.
“That was…” K said.”
“Not over yet. Time to use the other hand.”
A little growl escaped from K’s lips, “Yes sir” she said and stepped out of her panties, with the boots still on.
The voyeur in me couldn’t help but watch between K’s legs as she stood, and I caught what I believed to be a neatly tripped “landing strip” leading to her pussy lips. She walked around my lap, lied down facing the other direction, and kept her legs spread wide apart. I slid the skirt back up around her waist, grabbed a fistful of her hair with my right hand, thrusting my fingers just inside the ponytail rubber band. I unleashed a torrent of spanks with my left hand, right back to that sweet-spot where asscheek becomes leg, one or two every second. All the while, I’m pulling her head straight back by her hair. Eventually, K audibly moaned.
I abruptly stopped, and again, K continued grinding into my lap. I allowed my fingertips to trace the red marks I left behind . . . they looked like a 3 year old had drawn a hand on each ass-cheek, and left a purple rectangle-type-thing between them. The smell of raw sex radiated from her. Releasing the hold on her hair, I allow my fingers to slip between her ass cheeks & down her sex. I pulled very wet fingers back.
K looked over her shoulder at me. “That was something else”, she said, and smiled. Standing up, she grinned, “I should head back to my friends”. She picked her panties up off of the ground, put them on, and left the room.
Well, I then had to take care of, ahem, something on my own, and I couldn’t help but notice that my shorts were quite damp around each of the sides.
I didn’t see K again until our regular “let’s steal a bunch of shit from the cafeteria so we don’t have to go grocery shopping” Monday breakfast. While it was years before we would talk about the encounter, I couldn’t help but notice that she sat down very gingerly on the cafeteria chair that morning.