Monday morning I woke up, and because I am addicted to the internet, immediately reached for my phone and checked my email. What I found there was a delightful surprise – @insatiaboo had taken a twitter conversation from a few days ago and used it as the inspiration for a lovely little story. Even more exciting, I am able to share it with you! So, here is the story, preceded by a note from the author 🙂
The following story was inspired by a correspondence on Twitter with @emma_enchanted. In writing a spanking story, she was lamenting the fact that she was already at 500 words and no one had gotten spanked. I replied with the tweet, “@emma_enchanted “I walked in the door. He was impatiently glowering on the couch. ‘Panties. Down. Now.’ he ordered.” #tospankingin17words”. It seemed like too promising a start to a story to just leave it there. So I continued it. A little weird to appropriate female voice for my first spanking story, I suppose, but I started it that way so it would have seemed churlish not to keep going with it. Interestingly, it still took well past 500 words until someone got spanked. Until about 1300, actually.
I walked in the door. He was impatiently glowering on the couch.
“Panties. Down. Now,” he ordered.
I stopped, frozen.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t used to this. I had been spanked for nothing more than walking in the door in the past. It was no longer a particularly abnormal occurrence in my life.
And yet, everything felt wrong. For starters, he was here, and not up on the rig. He was days earlier than I had expected. And then, I really, really didn’t want him to see the panties. Then he’d know I had been shopping without his permission.
Since I had become his submissive, Jon controlled everything. My sleeping. My eating. My studying. And particularly my shopping.
This wasn’t a bad thing. I was more balanced, less emotional, healthier and more confident than I’d ever been in the past. Giving over control of those things had been almost too easy, and the rewards for doing so worked for me on so many levels. Except I still had a credit card, and a fetish for underwear. I couldn’t let him see the underwear.
“Did you not hear me?” he snarled. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve established? Do you need a reminder?”
“No,” I stammered, my heart hammering while I desperately tried to think on my feet. Not my strong suit at the best of times, but if I was going to be spared a vicious spanking I needed to develop another strategy quickly.“Sorry, sir,” I continued. “I didn’t expect you to be home this soon. And I really, really need to spend a penny.” Going for a pee was hardly the most original strategy in the world, but it would have to do for now.
“So nice to receive such a glowing welcome,” he observed. “I’d almost think you weren’t happy to see me. And you still haven’t done as I’ve asked.”
I gulped. It was like that, then.
“Please, sir? Couldn’t I please pee first?” I begged. I don’t like when I beg, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Very well,” he replied, rising to his feet. “Go ahead. I’ll come and watch.”
My heart fell and my pulse started to hammer in my neck. I felt truly trapped. I didn’t really need to pee, having just done so while waiting for the takeaway, now growing cold on the table by the door. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I could. And if he was going to watch, there was no opportunity to hide the panties I was wearing before he saw them.
Not that the panties gave me cause to be ashamed. They were black. They were cut fairly full, in that they at least covered my bum. They were ruffled. And that was the challenge; I hadn’t owned a pair of ruffled panties before, and he knew it. In fact, he had specifically commented, after browsing a certain Tumblr feed, how much he’d like to see my bum in ruffled panties. But he hadn’t authorized me to actually go buy any; I’d done that of my own accord. I gulped again.
“No, it’s okay, sir,” I whispered, walking towards him while my hands reached for the zipper on my skirt, “I deserve a spanking. Please, don’t hold back.”
I dropped the skirt, and then with both hands I lifted my bra and blouse over my head in one movement, standing before him in stockings and panties. He gazed appreciatively down on me as he stood beside me, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth and a glint appearing in his eye.
“Well, this is a change of tune, isn’t it?” he mused sardonically. “From resistant to compliant in less than 60 seconds. Clearly I’ve been missing out while I’ve been away.”
I could only bow my head.
“But what are these?” he murmured, running his fingers oh-so-gently through the ruffles that covered my mound. My pussy twitched in response, aching for more than the light stroking it was receiving. “I don’t remember you having any ruffled panties,” he continued, his breath now in the nape of my neck as his nose brushed against the hair hanging behind my ear. “And I certainly don’t remember authorizing you buying any.”
The blush in my cheeks spread to my neck as I stood there. I couldn’t even speak, I was so afraid and so ashamed. His hands roamed over my body unhindered, up my tummy to my breasts where he tweaked my nipples sharply. With a gasp from me, his hands continued over my sides to my back, before following the line of my spine, back to the incriminating panties. He fondled them lasciviously, his hands cupping my cheeks before finally finding the line where the gusset of my panties met the material covering my bum. He pushed inwards, stroking up and down, the seam contacting that most intimate of places and sending a shiver up my spine.
“I hope you haven’t been a naughty girl while I’ve been away,” he whispered. “Visiting stores, fondling silky underthings, taking them home and enjoying them while I’ve been away working.” Again, I could only gulp, my head collapsing against his shoulder as I braced myself for the inevitable. “I see,” he continued. “You’ve been a naughty girl. A very, very naughty girl.”
I nodded, the top of my head rubbing up and down against his collarbone. I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“You know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?” he asked.
I nodded again.
“What?” he prompted, with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“They get spanked,” I barely murmured, my lips dry and my voice cracking.
“What was that?” he prompted, the glee in his voice increasingly obvious.
Damn but he was making this hard. I swallowed, desperately trying to get some moisture in my mouth so I could speak in something approximating a normal tone of voice. “They get spanked,” I said again. Not much clearer, but it would have to do.
“They do,” he replied, the warmth of his voice in my ear.
He sat down, pulling me down along with him, the silkiness of the stockings on my legs a contrast against the rough texture of his jeans as thigh met thigh. He continued to fondle my bum through the ruffles, the texture of the panties driving me wild and sending my pussy into spasms of ecstasy. There was no doubt that I was wet, but still I desperately hoped to keep that knowledge from him, to no avail.
He slid his hand down towards the crease of my bum, where the cleft met the top of my thighs. Again pushing in between the cheeks, the moisture that seeped through was obvious. I was excited, and I wanted this. We both knew it.
He fondled my bum for a few more moments, before his hand pulled away. My buttocks clenched, knowing instinctively what came next. My toes curled in preparation for the impending stroke.
His hand came down hard, right at the juncture of bum, pussy and thigh, sending a glow through my nether regions. I had never known that a spank could reach so much – could touch so much – before. The warmth radiated through me, and without conscious thought I found myself lifting up from his lap, my bum reaching towards his hand. I became more desperate and more exposed, all at the same time.
His hand fell again, his palm hitting my cheeks while his fingers caught the full roundness of my mound, taking my breath away. It hurt, and it didn’t, all at the same time. The overall sensation was of warmth, of tingling, of belonging. I wanted more. My thighs spread, welcoming the third stroke with the depth of my being.
The next stroke caught my right cheek by surprise. The pace picked up then, striking left, and right, and left, and right, until every fibre of my being was focussed on the sensations radiating from my ass and pussy. Every shred of awareness centred on the throbbing, warm, aching of my bum as it clenched and released in response to his ministrations.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
The strokes went lower, embracing my thighs, the crease of my bum and the rapidly dampening centre of my being.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
I gasped and cried out, with shock and pain, as the next strokes firmly landed between my legs, not realizing how much I had exposed myself to his attentions. And yet, my bum and my pussy rose yet again to meet his hand, wanting the strokes, wanting the pain, wanting the stimulation and warmth of him spanking my most intimate parts. Even while tears welled in my eyes from the pressure of the spanking, my body asked for more. And more it received.
When finally the spanking subsided, I was sobbing on Jon’s lap while he stroked my bum through the panties.
“So,” he said, still annoyingly confident and aloof in the face of my quivering, sobbing, sniffling self. “Are you going to tell me where you got the panties?”
Sniffing hard, I tried to catch my breath and clear my throat at the same time. Largely without success. “I bought them,” I sobbed. “For you.”
Fondling again between my legs, his other hand reached down to grope my breast, feeling and then tweaking the nipple. I bit my lower lip to avoid crying out, the sensation sending a pulse clear down to my nether regions once again. I think he knew it, his fingers tapping against the outer folds of my labia through the panties.
“I thought as much,” and I could hear the pleasure in his voice, even as he tried to be stern. “Well then. You’ve had your punishment now for buying them. It’s time you got your reward. Stand up and lets look at you then.”