Samantha closed her eyes in order to think, only to have the vivid image of Joel Cameron spanking her come quickly to mind. Shaking off the hateful picture, her eyes shot open; and then almost without thinking, she made up the six steps to his side. “Get it over with,” she announced.
Joel smiled. He’d won. Taking his seat in the chair, he quickly guided Samantha over his lap and raised her skirt. This time, much to his surprise, she was wearing a garter belt, stockings and a pair of lacy thong panties. What a find! Her bottom was round and smooth, quivering lightly, the glare of the overhead light making the surface shine. Two dimples at the tops of her cheeks, he’d not noticed the first time, winked at him, almost invitingly. He loved women headstrong, and Samantha was perfect in that regard. He loved his spanking subjects attractive with plump asses, and her body seemed made for the treatment.
Lifting the upper band of the thong, he slowly pulled the fabric from between her cheeks. This wasn’t necessary in order to have his target naked, but it added to her humiliation, and at this point humility was important if he was to teach the woman anything. As he pulled the tiny thong to her knees, he noticed the cotton crotch, curiously wet in the center. Was it possible that the scene aroused her? He hoped so, he could feel his own crotch warm, his penis throb and threaten to make itself erect. Ignoring it now, he centered his attention on the task, holding the nervous woman around the waist as he’d done before, and running the smooth business end of the paddle over her cheeks. Drawing his hand back, he then brought it firmly down on her left ass cheek, following the simple motion with a smack to the right one.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The blows repeated from one cheek to next, each one gaining in strength, each one sure to sting a little more than the one before.
Samantha’s resignation was purely accomplished in self-defense. No way would she see her faults written up like gym class demerits, fuel the grave board of directors acting as her daddy’s stooges would use to indict and punish her.
Beyond the necessity of submitting to this horror—just to avoid another, Samantha found the position over Joel’s lap not only embarrassing, but oddly intimate. His arm around her waist was patronizing, at the same time comforting. The blows to her were initially sharp but curiously arousing. Only when he proceeded to lay a good dozen on the same spot of each cheek did the perplexing mix of opposing feelings suddenly vanish. What started out to be mildly pleasant in a twisted sort of way turned miserable in seconds. The sting of the repeated smacks soon proved unbearable and she began to thrash and twist, groan and sputter. The force of the wooden paddle was much worse than the strike of his hand had been. Her protest only gained in volume the more the spanking stung.
“I’d be careful how much you caw and rant, Miss Brinkman,” Joel warned.
But she couldn’t help herself. The pain was biting and getting worse, helped only when he moved to another target on her ass—although any relief was momentary. Everywhere he struck soon turned into a flaming fire.
“Yeeeeeouch!” she finally wailed aloud unable to contain her misery. She twisted hard to get away, managing to squirm half off his lap. But Joel pulled her back to him, clamped on tighter and kept up the smacks. “Please, I can’t take any more,” she begged him in a loud and breathy whisper.
Joel changed his tactics, but only to lay several solid smacks on the back of her thighs.
“Yikes!” she roared, wrenching herself as hard as she could.
He resumed the spanking, targeting her wounded ass, delivering a few finishing strikes that made her entire body bounce.
Samantha wanted off Joel’s lap when he was done, but he held her to him for several seconds until she’d stopped huffing and puffing and he’d caught his breath himself. He then dropped the paddle to the floor and replaced it with his hand, just resting it on her scorched behind. The skin throbbed against his touch, while he wondered if she was feeling the same things he was. She squirmed a little, unsure.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed this,” he stated at last.
Once the comment fully registered, Samantha shot up off the man’s lap and stood before him panting, “I did not!” she swore.
As I said, “If I didn’t know better…”
“Don’t start reading anything into this, Joel Cameron. I did it because you blackmailed me. No other reason.”
Despite her protest, Joel was pleased, especially pleased because she was standing in front of him, half naked, completely unaware that she was exposing her pubic mound for his interested gaze. The lovely triangle of her neatly-trimmed, blonde bush glistened with the hint of female dew.
“What are you staring at?” she suddenly became aware of how she looked. Without waiting for him to answer, she surmised the truth, bent down and plucked her thong from the floor and pushed down her slim skirt. “Are done with me?” she asked.
“No, I’m not done,” he answered, sternly. He picked up the paddle so that she wouldn’t miss its implication, but he remained in his seat, looking up at her flushed face. “You’re going to get spanked regularly, Samantha. You need it, you beg for it, you even want it.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“You won’t convince me of that. I see the truth in the way you look now.”
“How do I look now?”
“As if a year’s worth of worry has been swept aside.”
“I can’t imagine why that would be,” she replied a little meekly, retaining only a little of her signature haughtiness.
“You think about it, Samantha,” he said as an order.
“Don’t count on it,” she countered quickly.
“I’m betting you won’t be able not to.”
“Then that’s a bet you’ll lose.”
As dazed as she was, she almost felt as though she needed permission to leave. But getting her bearings, she gave the man a look of total bewilderment and quickly scooted out of his office.
Joel was right. Samantha couldn’t forget, couldn’t forget the sensation, the arousal—yes, it was arousal getting into every inch of her body. This time was worse than the first time. She left Joel’s office with her crotch throbbing hot, beating like a drum, her belly full, her mind filled with wild images. Thankfully, it was almost the end of the day and she could excuse herself early to go home. There, she paced, agitated and even scared—unsure. Her body was clawing at her demandingly, insistent, unstoppable. She worked on the patio, playing with her flowers, vacuumed her entire apartment and was about to scrub the floor on hands and knees when she chanced to rub up against a chair. The top of it grazed her crotch and the whole thing seemed to jump with life. It was perfectly evident what she needed.
© Eric Simard - Fotolia.com