June 24, 2010

Lap tango

"You forgot to do something when you got here, didn't you?"

Her mind scrambled and settled on the one thing that she knew he must be referring to. When she arrived with her Mary Poppins overnight bag, laptop and Thai food, she had completely forgotten to greet him properly. It is part of their arrangement: a nice hello on her knees, her lips pressed against his hand, an indication of her submission to him for the duration of her stay.

"Yes, Sir, I guess I did. My hands were full and we were hungry! And...I forgot to greet you," she said, not really feeling ashamed but rather grateful that he had an excuse to discipline her. She had been a very good girl this week.

"Uh-huh. And I think you need to be reminded so you don't forget again. Don't you?" He said, his hand in her hair, his lips against her ear and trailing to her neck.

He wrapped his fingers in the tangle of her unruly hair and pulled her over his lap to begin the slow rub on her bottom. Lifting the hem of her sundress, his right hand explored the backs of her thighs and underside of her nether cheeks as she shuttered a sigh against his lap. These brief moments of anticipation, expectation always connected them...as if the days before were mere steps to bring them here, to this exact spot, to this proper placement of her over his lap.

Slowly, almost gently, he began his steady assault on her bottom. Two stinging smacks to her left cheek, two rapid strokes to her right, he built the rhythm to a frenzy until her legs were kicking and her hips were dancing against his knees.

Their tango continued with more heat, with him in the lead and she following, holding on, waiting to see the direction he'd turn.

"Do I need to remind you? Do you know who owns you?" He asked, loud enough so she could hear his words over the echoing claps. She shook her head, unable to speak in any other language besides gasps and small protestations.

And finally, she managed a whispered, "You do. You own me."

"That's my girl," he murmured and quickened his pace causing her legs to lift, her feet nearly touching her bottom in an unconscious attempt to protect her heated cheeks.

Suddenly, without realizing the spanking had ended, she felt his fingers explore her slick depths, teasing her open. She pushed against his finger, attempting to swallow it in her folds.

"Ah...that's my girl," he repeated. "I hope you learned your lesson...naughty girl."

(Inspired by a picture found on Richard Windsor's blog, who was kind enough to send me a cleaner version. Thanks, Richard!)


  1. Hot story. Thank you.

  2. Yes, very hot. Can you please write a story about a girl spanked on a park bench, or in front of her class? Or in a headmaster's office? Or a first thing in the morning maintenance spanking? Or a girl spanked by her rescuer, after she's safe?

  3. Your wish is my command, anony...
    I'll get to work on it!

    (If this is who I think it is at least, if not...then nope.) ;)

  4. Great Story! sigh... loved it.


  5. I only make these demands of you because you drive me to distraction with your delicious tales. I want more, I crave your voice. So gimme gimme, but please this time let me get! Take me inside that mind of yours, so I can find some refuge, some solace, and some edgy excitement! Thank you for everything.

  6. I want to be taught a lesson!


    Photo: Ooh straddle the knee position. Mmm, me likey!


    This is a great line, good writing:
    "...she felt his fingers explore her slick depths, teasing her open. She pushed against his finger, attempting to swallow it in her folds."

  7. Thank you, Hedone!

    I find that learning a lesson is a great, if somewhat uncomfy, inspiration. In fact, I need another "lesson" just about...now.


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