When I was younger, in my early twenties, I day dreamed about being spanked. Laying over his unyielding knees, my pants pulled down to my thighs, and his firm hand leaving red streaks on my bottom. I envisioned the firm tones, the raised eyebrow, the command to present myself for my punishments. I longed for the day he would slide his hand up my neck and grab hold of my hair, to drag my eyes to his, and demand my attention.
Then it happened. There was no going back, I had given my word not to protest should the situation ever present itself. He grabbed my arm above my elbow and pulled me from the kitchen, into the bedroom of our apartment. The attitude I had been laying on him all evening had finally worn him down. The resentment I felt at not having what I wanted, blanketed every word I flung at him over dinner.
“Where’s that paddle you bought?” He rifled through my drawers, dropping socks and panties onto the floor as he searched. Stunned at what was happening, I remained silent. “Where is it?” he demanded. His casual blue eyes turned dark. There was a flush to his cheeks as though he had jogged through the room, although he was not out of control. He seemed very much collected in his actions.
“I packed it away.” I confessed. Sure that my fantasy would never be brought to life, I packed it away with old magazines and movies that only gave strength to my urge to be dominated.
“Come here.” He pulled the chair from my writing desk out and sat down. I willed my feet to move, but they were as disobedient as the rest of me. “Do not make me get you. Come here, now.” His tone was firm, the sort of tone I heard in my head when daydreaming about this event. Although this was not in my head, this was very real.
Slowly, I shuffled across the room to where he sat. Once I was close enough, he grabbed me and threw me over his lap. I landed with a thud, his knee in my ribs. He quickly jostled me around until he had his target in optimal positioning, and he began to reign down smacks to my backside with no delay between volleys.
I managed to put my hands on the legs of the chair to keep from falling, but was unable to keep my legs from kicking. The intense burn of each smack was unanticipated, although I had read enough stories to have been better prepared.
“The attitude will stop.” His words held weight to them. With one hand wrapped around my waist to keep me on his lap, he used his free hand to yank down my pants. I wished at that moment I had worn my jeans and not my yoga pants. He rested his hand on my warm bottom. His fingers kneaded my skin as he told me again that he would no longer tolerate my behavior.
“Okay! Okay!” I called out my cry for mercy. He turned a deaf ear to my pleas and began his assault on my backside. I took deep breaths and tried not to yell out with each fresh slap to my sore bottom. He paused in his motions for a moment, and I began to think he was finished.
I tried to catch my breath.
I tried to catch my breath.
The feel of cool wood rested on me, and my mind raced to find its identity. My hairbrush! I bucked and cried and made promises to be good as he continued to punish me thoroughly. Only when he was finished, did he stop. The brush fell to the ground and his hands ran over me. His soothing hands did little to distinguish the fire in my skin. I realized I was crying and took a few calming breaths.
“Stand up.” His order was softened with his aid. Once standing in front of him, my hands folded in front of me to cover my exposed parts, he smiled up at me. “No more attitude. No more bratty behavior.” He stood from the chair, wiped the strands of hair that were stuck to my wet cheeks away and kissed me warmly. I felt his need pressed against my leg.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered.
“I know.” He kissed my cheek. I kept my eyes on his as I lowered myself to my knees. I unzipped his jeans with no protest from him. Freeing him from the restraints of his clothing, I slowly took him into my mouth. His sharp intake of breath made me smile as I did my best to be his good girl once again.
………………….sometimes our fantasies stay our fantasies, even when they’ve been brought to real life. My actual first spanking was a lot more awkward and much shorter…but that’s a story for another day……………