Perhaps a spanking wouldn’t be the worst thing…

Not that she really wanted a spanking. They hurt, especially the paddle when swung with purpose from behind by a stern man determined to enforce the rules on her bare bottom. Rules she’d suggested, rules she bent, twisted, spindled and ignored whenever she knew he wasn’t aware. Somehow though, his naughty radar always found out her transgressions and very shortly afterwords, she would be bent over, naked from the waist down and be punished until he decided the redness fit the crime. It wasn’t a crime to smoke, or cuss, or be late, or… any of the hundreds of rules both significant and petty she’d drawn up over a period of weeks in a fit of determination followed by frantic backsliding. Too bad he wouldn’t budge, not an inch, not one single stroke pulled in the name of mercy. She wanted spanking, she demanded spanking: Far be it for him to go back on his word. She knew his word was bond, but did he have to be so perfect? Couldn’t a girl mess up just once without a sore bottom the result? Evidently not. Forgetting the mail was one thing, forgetting to pick up the kids after school was not acceptable. Before dinner, the children doing the normal electronic immersion it was off to the woodshed and a date with the following: A padded sawhorse, leather restraints, rubber bit and a three-tailed tawse due to impact one hundred times. Still… when she’d realized she’d forgotten and rushed off to the school only to find her children gone, her terror and shame were more painful than any spanking he could ever inflict. The look in eyes when he’d brought them home: She wanted to crawl away and hide. Strapped face down, completely nude, nipples clamped and butt plugged, she looked forward to the scorching stripes about to decorate her bottom. Maybe, just maybe, this time ‘it’ would finally kick in and she’d change for good. If not… well, there was always the cane.

The ball drops

The animal pulse rose with the passage of every minute. Nearer to midnight and nearer to the sanctioned unleashing of social passion. The second seating was cleared away and couples filled the parquet, swirling to frenetic mixes and beats. Clutching her champagne, Alli felt completely out of place: A drab hen amongst birds-of-paradise. The very air was charged with attraction as men and women grew ever bolder under the strobing glitter balls draped with mistletoe. Bumped and jostled, Alli gradually was forced against the far wall, strangers taking kisses without consent, eyes undressing her, hands roving her curves. Tears shimmered above her purple shadow, crimson lips trembled, arms defensively crossed and she was on the verge of full-blown panic when the press suddenly eased. Firm hands draped her bare shoulders guiding her numb feet safely away from the frenzied mob chanting down the waning seconds to unbridled licentiousness.

Abruptly the sensual roar was silenced by clanging doors. Alli’s ears rang and her emotions gave way. Turning into her savior, she wept loudly with released fright and relief. Long arms wrapped her close, fingers stroked her hair, then steadily lowered her zipper, the scrap of black fabric falling in a dark puddle at her burgundy stilettos. Shocked, Alli opened her mouth to protest, but words were swallowed by hard lips and probing tongue. Her bare breasts crushed against silk, rough hands kneading exposed buttocks, Alli wanted to run, needed to stay, hoped nothing would happen and prayed everything would. She felt overwhelmed by the sheer masculinity holding her tight and her sex flowed in response to his unspoken demands. He led, she followed. A path never taken, for Alli was innocent in all ways. Her very first New Year’s party and now, half-naked, in a dark room with someone who she didn’t know, hadn’t spoken and was intent on taking his pleasure in her unsullied body.

Alli stared out into the night lit by skyscrapers. On her stomach, her thong lowered to her ankles, thighs forced apart and then, male fingers carefully entered her. She tightened with instinct, he grunted, she gasped, he asked, she answered yes, a virgin. To his disbelieving statement, she grew indignant, a woman should be able to do what she wants without fear of rape. A long pause, the world stilled, the tension rose before the storm broke. When Alli felt him withdraw, she protested, still prone, still offered sacrifice, he declined, she was crushed. Rejection stung worse than ever. She knew she was nothing special if a man, this man refused to take her only gift. Rising, Alli was brusquely shoved back down on the desk, hips locked on the edge, she heard a whisper of cloth, then, his hand firmly holding her small of the back, a streak of fire across her proffered bottom.

Her reaction was delayed, the belt whipping her several times before giving voice to her needs. Guttural moans rose from her swollen throat, fingers gripping, pushing up with each stroke, begging him with primal movements to continue, to hurt her, to make her a real woman. He complied, the leather painting her flesh, his hands fondling the dampness, his desire to punish subsiding and his desire to rupture growing. Alli rotated her hips, both cooling the burn and heating her womb. Brokenly she pleaded, please take me, please take me: A last flurry of blows, sharp smacks with his hand. Too hard to wait, too aroused to care, he eased into the virgin opening and, grabbing her hair, thrust hard through and into her channel. She screamed in pain, back arched, head raised, his stomach slamming her sore bottom, he waited as she rippled in shock. Tentatively he withdrew, clinging, she sucked him back. Her secretions eased his motions, her arousal transmuted pain to passion, his rapid strokes met with timid gyrations turned frantic. Beyond anything Alli had ever imagined, having him inside her brought her out of herself and freed her suffering soul.