I've had pretty much no time or energy for writing this last month. Its been crunch time as far as schoolwork is concerned, with the fall semester coming to a close. I'm sorry to make another non-story post so soon after the last one, but I just wanted to make sure you knew that this blog is still alive. There WILL be several new stories by January.
This brings me to a question I have for y'all. The name of this blog is spanking AND sexual acts. How do you feel about stories that don't necessarily include spanking? The reason I ask is because there's an acquaintance of mine (with an imagination possibly even dirtier than my own) who has some stories of his own I'd like to host here. A lot of them involve spanking, but some are just plain old kinky sex. No matter what, the VAST majority of the stories on this blog will be about spanking, but what do you say to the occasional vanilla erotic story?
While we're on the note of reader feedback, do you guys have any requests? I've still got Vessels ch. 4 and another (shorter and less complex) serial in the works, but I could always use inspiration. What kind of stories do you guys like to see? Is there a subgenre I've thus far neglected? Is there a particular story of mine you'd like to see another similar to? Do you have an idea for a kinky scene or character you'd like me to use at some point?
Well, I'll be getting back to work now. Looking forward to hearing your input regarding any of the questions asked above, or anything else at all for that matter.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Backfire
This story was originally intended as a rather silly one-off short, but ended up starting a serial. The idea of this series is that it follows an X+1 progression; in each chapter, one new spanker is added to the roster, and our sub gets it from all of her previous spankers as well. Her life is going to be painful.
...
“Stan? You mean Stan Geller?”
April nodded, closing her eyes dreamily. “Yesss. God, I‘ve been trying to get him to notice me since winter break, but he, like, just keeps being there.”
They were sitting on the couch in their dorm room, chatting during a commercial break in Dexter. Sara was a tall, athletic redhead; she ran track, played tennis, the works. April, who currently wore a slightly downtrodden expression, was a short blonde girl with a softer, curvier figure. The two had been friends since they started college together last year.
Sara listened curiously to her roommate’s plight. Sara and April were part of the same weekly study group, which Stan had joined late last semester. Sara had known Stan before that (she was friends with an ex-girlfriend of his), but April had not.
“He is cute,” Sara agreed, “and he knows how to cook. I…guess he‘s not a bad choice.”
April gave Sara a curious look.
“You guess?”
Sara flashed her a “well, if you REALLY want to know” smile. April looked on impatiently.
“Well…” Sara said, not sure if she should really be spilling the beans, “Jen told me that part of the reason they broke up was…um…spanking.”
April raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean? Spanking?”
“She told me Stan was, y’know, into it. Like, as a sex thing. He kept wanting to do it, she didn’t.”
April looked shocked. She knew that kinkiness wasn’t all that uncommon, especially among their offbeat circle of friends. But Stan? Hitting a girl? That image just wasn’t something she could get her mind around.
Sara smiled again. “So yeah. That‘s the story.”
“Huh.”
April seemed to be thinking. Sara found this somewhat amusing.
“Still want to date Stan?”
“Spanking? Wow, um…I think…yeah, I could see myself there, I guess. Like, sure, even if he‘s sort of freaky, he‘s still the same guy, right?”
Sara shrugged. “I‘m not the one to ask.”
April frowned thoughtfully, evaluating this new information.
Sara shook her head. Whine, whine, whine. Sometimes, when April got into these moods, it seemed like that was all she could do. April was far from unattractive. Sara even envied her, when they went to parties and it seemed like all the guys had their eyes glued to April’s chest and butt. April did have quite a butt, Sara had to admit. Big, round, and jiggly as a mound of jell-o. Haha, maybe Stan really should give April a try. The mental image of April’s fat ass getting a good tanning was awfully funny. Sara thought it would actually be kind of cool if that happened…Stan would certainly get a kick out of it, at least.
The show came back on, and they watched Dexter kill people for the next fifteen minutes. Or at least, Sara did. April wouldn’t shut her damned mouth.
“Like, you think he‘d want to do that with any girl, or was it, like, just Jenn? Like, I…”
Sara rolled her eyes. Even without that bum of hers, maybe April could use an occasional spanking just to make her shut up. Once they got through the show, April got up and turned off the TV, wiping some dirty blonde locks out of her face as she stood. Sara watched April’s fat, wobbling buttcheeks shake under her panties as she walked. Sara’s eyes narrowed in thought. You know…
“You think I should get some new outfits? Like, these shorts are cute, but-”
“April,” said Sara, “shut up. I have an idea.” Even if April didn’t like the idea, which she probably wouldn’t, maybe she would at least listen to the first part of that.
“What?”
Sara giggled, pushing some red bangs out of her eyes. “If Stan sees you get a spanking, I bet he‘ll want in on the fun.”
“WHAT???”
April stopped being whiny long enough to chuckle along with her.
Shaking her head, hardly able to believe she was actually suggesting this, Sara told April her idea. When the two were done laughing and making jokes about it, April thought about it seriously.
“Oh god, that would be…I don‘t even know, just crazy! Its like something you‘d hear about from a friend‘s friend.”
Sara shrugged. “We are in college.”
There was silence for a few minutes, broken only by the occasional giggle.
“Okay, but like, seriously. Do you think that would actually work?”
Sara shrugged. “I know I‘d notice. Especially if I had a fetish.”
“Yeah but…oh god, its crazy!”
“It was just a passing thought.”
More silence. Then.
“Do you REALLY think it would-”
“Yes.”
April blushed deeply, grinning an embarrassed, yet unconsciously sultry grin.
“Well…yeah…I guess we are in college.”
…
“You‘re not going to do it hard, are you?” Asked April as she waddled along beside Sara. Okay, waddled might not be the best word, but close enough; April wasn’t that out of shape, but she did have a couple of pounds here and there that weren’t strictly necessary. It helped fill out her figure.
“Its got to be convincing,” Sara answered.
“But…”
“If you‘re that nervous about it, you shouldn't be after Stan.”
April blushed again. “Okay, you‘re right.”
They reached the common room/kitchen in the dormitory basement and said hi to the others. This was the meeting place for their study group.
“Hey Stan,” said April sweetly.
“Heya,” Stan replied with a friendly nod of his head. Stan was a tall, dark-haired boy, with an athletic figure and very striking green eyes. He had brought donuts tonight…it was always something. You know, thought Sara, he is a pretty sweet guy, even if he’s got secrets. He would be good for April. Hell, she decided, he’d be good for most girls, as long as they didn’t mind his bedroom eccentricities. She was really going to be doing her roommate a favor tonight.
An hour and a half later, people started saying goodnight and going back to their rooms. As Stan began to put his books away, Sara said “Stan, I think you left your coffee cup here last week. Isn't that it in the kitchen?”
“Did I? Huh, thanks.” Stan went into the little kitchenette, giving the common room an extra minute to empty. In a few moments, it was just the three of them in there. Perfect.
April looked at her nervously. Sara grinned and nodded. April blushed and nodded back. Showtime.
“APRIL!” Sara shouted, dropping her bookbag to the ground, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?”
“Wuh…um…“ April coward a few steps back and stammered, “…it’s a calculator.”
Sara huffed. “Oh, a calculator. That‘s MY calculator! What the hell is it doing in your backpack?”
Sara shouted loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen, but not quite enough to wake people up in the surrounding rooms. At least she hoped not.
“I…um…mine was out of juice, and I didn‘t think-”
“Yeah, you didn‘t think. What else is new? I NEEDED THAT IN CLASS TODAY YOU LITTLE BITCH! I had to share with someone else for the quiz. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”
Stan’s head appeared around the corner of the kitchen entrance. His eyes were wide. He had never seen Sara act like this before. It was completely out of character. She decided they had better get on with it before he excused himself.
“Obviously not!” Sara growled. In a flash, she reached out and grabbed April by the hair, making her wince and “ow!” as she yanked her back toward the couch. April, gritting her teeth against the pain, winked at her. Sara decided not to risk winking back; it would be too easy for Stan to notice.
“Ow! Ow! Sorry! Ow-let go! Here, we can talk about this in our room!”
“No.” Said Sara, “No talking. I‘m not interested in your excuses. We‘ll sort this out right now!”
Sara sat down, sideways, on one arm of the couch and pulled April down over her lap, letting go of her hair and grabbing her around the torso. April wriggled and begged to be released, feet kicking a few inches above the carpet. They made quite a sight in this position. Sara was a tall, almost Amazonian figure, just shy of six feet tall, body slender and toned, and she wore a very convincing expression of rage. April was about the right relative height to be Sara’s daughter, and acted the part with her struggling and half-coherent begging to be released. The fact that April had enough tits and ass to fill out a girl twice her stature only made the picture prettier. Sara risked a quick, sideways glance at the kitchen door. Stan was still standing there, completely motionless, mouth starting to hang open.
“Sara, please, not in pu-”
SLAP!
Sara brought her right hand down hard against the seat of April’s skirt. April was wearing a miniskirt and thong tonight, just as they had agreed. As a result, part of Sara’s hand fell under the cloth line and hit naked thigh.
“OW!”
April’s reaction (which included even more bucking and kicking) was genuine. She had not expected one slap to sting that much. It dawned on her, to her dread, that Sara was probably one of the strongest, most athletic girls she knew, and that, for the sake of verisimilitude, she would not be holding back much. She shouldn’t have agreed to this! But it was too late to back down now…
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“I told you to ASK ME before taking my things!” Sara pressed down with her left forearms as she swung her right in a wide, meteoric arc, slapping April’s bum with as much drama as she could muster. “DIDN’T I?”
“Ow! Ow! Yes, I‘m sorry! I-WHAT THE??”
Sara had grabbed April’s miniskirt and flicked it up over her backside, pinning it against April’s back with her other arm. In their position, April’s ass was pointed straight at Stan, and that thong covered maybe five percent of it (the thong did its best, but seriously, there was a lot of ground to cover). Her round, chubby, perky cheeks jiggled lewdly into the open air, requiring severe punishment for their immodesty.
Sara brought back her arm and gave her roommate the hardest slap yet, catching her right in the center of the right cheek and making it bounce and wobble around beautifully. That one left an angry, pink handprint across April’s virtually naked buttock.
“YEOW!!!”
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“We agreed not to use each other‘s things without asking!”
SLAP! SLAP! Aprils’ massive bottom was now lightly pink all the way across.
“DIDN’T WE?”
April’s answer was cut short by a truly fierce volley of slaps that exploded into the lower, fleshy undersides of both cheeks, right at the crease where they tucked back in to her thighs. Her butt wasn’t done jiggling from the last smack when the next three landed, keeping it dancing and wobbling constantly for the entire spanking. April’s rear really was perfect for spanking. Sara was actually wondering why she hadn’t thought to do this before.
As April kicked and mewled, Sara finished her off with another dozen slaps to each big, reddened cheek. Then, without releasing her unfortunate roommate, she reached into her bag and pulled out her secret weapon.
Sara’s parents were of the old fashioned, spare-the-rod variety. As a result, she had been corporally punished pretty often as a kid, all the way up until eighth grade. She knew, therefore, exactly how to hold a struggling girl down to keep her in place until the punishment was over. She knew also that a proper spanking began with a parent’s hand, and ended with an even two dozen with a hairbrush. There were two reasons why she hadn’t mentioned this part of her plan to April. One was that she wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning; when spankings were given, a hairbrush was used. That’s just how its done, at least in Sara‘s household growing up. Part and parcel of any convincing punishment, right? The other was that...well…April wasn’t going to win any Emmis for acting. She had exceeded Sara’s expectations so far tonight, but her performance probably wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, and Stan was very likely to scrutinize. If she wasn’t expecting the hairbrush, her reactions would be much more genuine.
Sara stole another covert glance at Stan as she pulled out the plastic, flat-backed hairbrush and held it aloft. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He wasn’t excusing himself. In fact, he darted back around the corner to avoid notice as she glanced in that direction; he wasn't going anywhere, and who could blame him?
“What are you doing!?!?”
April was looking up over her shoulder and staring, terrified, at the hairbrush. Her eyes were full of indignation, confusion, and not a bit of trepidation. Sara shrugged a little and gave her a look that said “well, we agreed it would have to be a real spanking. Anyway, there‘s no backing out now without ruining everything, so I guess you‘ll have to grin and bear it.” April moaned and shut her eyes, falling weakly back into place over her friend’s lap, gritting her teeth against what was to come. Sara pressed the back of the hairbrush against April’s angry, red buttocks, pushing those thick cushions of flesh down against the hips. Her left hand crept further down April’s back, grabbing the hem of her thong and pulling it upward into her crack, resulting in a painful wedgie that left even more bottom exposed for the brush.
The first CRACK! of the hairbrush came with a twirling flick of Sara’s hand, and crashed like flat, plastic shockwave into the swell of her left butt. April’s cheek flattened and pancaked out under the force of the brush, then bounced and jiggled madly back outward when she raised it again. For a second, April didn’t seem to react to the blow. Then, when her nerves did their job…
“AUUGH! OW! NO!”
She kicked her legs wildly and tried to push herself off of Sara’s lap. She almost succeeded too; Sara had to lean forward and press her full weight onto April’s lap to keep her in position. Despite this awkward pose, she managed to raise her hand to around shoulder level again, and brought the brush down in a series of blind, clumsily-aimed stokes.
SNAP! CRACK! CRACK! SNAP! WACK!
As April howled, Sara managed to raise herself back into an upright, sitting position while keeping April pinned with her left arm. April’s ass was red from crowns to crease, with a handful of deeper, ugly crimson splotches where the hairbrush had left its calling card. Now that she could aim and swing properly again, Sara wasted no time in applying fast, even strokes to her victim’s behind, making sure every last centimeter of the brush bit deeply into the flesh with each landing. She swung without any sign of tiring, putting those tennis muscles to good use. She wasn’t using nearly her full strength, but she still went hard enough to make sure there was real pain and distress in April’s yelps.
CRACK! “You.” CRACK! “Will.” CRACK! “Ask.” CRACK! “Next.” CRACK! “TIME!”
She sped up for the final dozen, her arm becoming a blur as she paddled as fast (though still not as hard) as she could, landing the blows in a circle around April’s protruding target. April was sniffling now, eyes starting to get damp and bleary under her blonde bangs. Her body was still bucking and trembling as hard as ever, but Sara had this pinning thing down now. There was absolutely nothing April could do as Sara landed the last ten strokes in the space of four seconds.
“Well now,” said Sara, dropping the hairbrush back into her bag, “have we learned our lesson?”
She put her hand back on April’s buttocks and gently massaged them, kneading the shiny, red hot flesh with her fingers. April’s backside was the color of red construction paper, with the lower sit spots being a darker, tomato shade.
“Y-yes!” April gasped, sniffling in pain, “I‘ll never do it again!”
Sara smiled. “Good.”
She patted her bottom a couple times with her hand, putting just the slightest jiggle back into it, before letting April back up. April’s hands raced to her backside, clutching it tightly as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She glared at Sara angrily, her eyes on the brink of tears. Sara smiled sweetly back as she got back to her feet. As they left the room together, she stole a final glance at the kitchen door. No sign of Stan. He was probably hiding in the kitchen taking care of himself after the show.
As they returned to their room, April glared at Sara.
“You didn't tell me about the brush!”
Sara shrugged. “You didn‘t ask. Its not that bad; my mom used a wooden one when I was a kid. Now THAT would have hurt.”
“You could have just stuck with your hand!”
“Not really,” said Sara as she opened their door, “if I really wanted to spank someone, I‘d use a brush. You told me you wanted to make it look real.”
April shook her blonde head, wiping her blotchy face again. “You‘re still a bitch!”
Sara nodded. “Fair enough.”
To atone for her overzealousness, Sara got a cold beer out of their fridge and rolled it over April’s sizzling ass, providing some relief. As she did this, the topic of conversation turned back to their objective for the night.
“Did he seem like he was interested?”
“Oh yeah. You should have seen his face. He couldn't take his eyes off you. Or part of you, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really. He‘s not going to think about anything else for a week.”
April seemed satisfied by this answer. Soon, they were giggling and making jokes about the silliness of the whole situation, and April finally got up and creamed Sara with a couch cushion, showing that she wasn’t angry anymore. After a thoroughly gratuitous scene of the two half-naked girls jumping around and having a pillow fight, they got ready for bed. April would have to sleep on her stomach tonight, but she could hardly wait to run into Stan again now. As for Sara…she looked forward to being able to watch TV in peace.
…
The next day, Sara answered a knock at the door. It was Stan.
“Hey,” she said, “what‘s up?” She grinned conspiratorially before adding “Did you find your coffee cup?”
“Hahaha,” he laughed nervously, “no, actually, it was weird. I found it in the sink in my room, where I thought I had left it.”
“Huh,” said Sara, “guess someone else’ looked like yours. Anyway, April’s in the shower right now. If you wait a couple minutes, she’ll be out soon.”
Stan smiled. He really did have a charming smile, Sara thought.
“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you.”
Sara raised her eyebrows a bit. What the hell?
“Um…”
She really wasn’t sure what was going on here.
“…okay. What‘s up?”
“Well,” he said, “I got two tickets for the Modest Mouse concert next week, and I only need one of them. I thought maybe you could help me avoid wasting the second one.”
WHAT????
“I…um…”
It was now Sara’s turn to stammer.
“I dunno, I‘ll have to think about it. Here, maybe April would want-”
He shook his head. “No offense to April, but I think I’d rather take you.”
Slowly, comprehension dawned as Sara recounted her conversation with Jen. She had told her that Stan was into spanking. But she had never clarified who he wanted on the receiving end.
He smiled that winning smile again.
“Um…”
“I can make dinner afterward. You liked my brisket, right?”
…
“YOU BACKSTABBING BITCH!!!!”
“I tried to get him to ask you for fifteen minutes. I’m not exaggerating, you were drying yourself by the time he left.”
“HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THAT? I TRUSTED YOU!”
Sara shook her head helplessly. “I told you what I knew. I was joking when I suggested that, you‘re the one who wanted to go through with it.”
April was screaming at Sara from across the room. Sara had spent the last two days trying to get Stan interested in April, but he seemed to have fallen hopelessly in love. And, while she felt terrible admitting it, Sara had begun to reciprocate. Stan had this witty, underdog charm about him that made her want to just bring him home and make him hers. No one could accuse her of not trying to fix April’s chances with him, but it became more of an uphill battle every time they saw each other. And honestly, all the boys wanted April. Sara wasn’t used to being first choice, and it felt damned good.
“I‘LL BET YOU LIKED IT, DIDN‘T YOU!?!? YOU‘RE A FUCKING LESBIAN!”
“Well…” Sara said slowly, “if you didn‘t like it, you probably won‘t last longer than Jen did.”
“FUCK YOU!!!”
Sara sighed. She knew she couldn’t blame April for being upset, but seriously, she was acting like it was all Sara’s fault. She wasn’t going to be able to watch TV in peace for a month, was she? No, probably not.
“Alright,” said Sara, “when he knocks on the door, you can answer. I‘ll pretend I have a headache. If you can-”
“I‘m telling your mom about the weed!”
Sara’s jaw dropped.
“April, stop being ridiculous.”
April did not stop. Instead, she picked up the phonebook.
“April…Are you even thinking?”
April was flipping through the pages. Wow. Sara was used to her occasional, petulant moods, but this was a side of her friend that she had never seen before. Sara had never suspected that April could be such a spoiled brat. I mean, the signs were all there, but she had never bothered to put them together, and now that April was in a situation where the full extent of it showed Sara was just shocked.
“My mom‘ll take me home if she finds out about that! April, this is actually serious stuff. You know what, let‘s do what I said before; when he comes in, we‘ll sit down and tell him everything.”
“Shut up!”
Sara had already suggested that several times. April was no more amenable to it now than she was before. Desperate, she stood up and tried to pull the book out of April’s hands.
“Let go!”
“I can‘t let you do this! Its not fair.”
“Its not fair you stole Stan you cunt!”
“What the…stole him? You‘re making it sound like he was obsessed with you before!”
“GIVE IT BACK YOU BITCH, GIVE IT BACK!!!”
April slapped Sara across the face.
For a very long second, silence rang across the room. Sara stared at April in shock, raising a hand to rub her face where she had been hit. April looked smug, giving her a “now you know what it feels like” glare.
More silence.
Then, Sara grabbed April by the scruff of the neck and dragged her into the middle of the room.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!!”
“Do you promise to be rational?”
“FUCK YOU!!! LEMEGO!!!”
She punched Sara in the stomach, winding her and nearly making her let go. Sara growled and wrestled her struggling roommate down, throwing her against the floor and sitting down on her back. April was struggling for real, but she had crossed too many lines. Sara was determined.
Pinning April under her body, Sara reached forward and tore her panties down, leaving her luscious, bratty bottom exposed.
“WHAT THE FU-"
Sara turned up the music in her head and started the spanking.
“OW! OW! OOOWWW!!!!”
At this angle, she had much more room to swing than last time, and she wasn’t pulling any punches. Her last spanking had been hard and fierce, but she hadn’t nearly used her full strength. This time, though, she had a very real lesson to teach.
“Owww! I’m sorry, please stop! No! No! I won’t call your mom, I won’t call the cops, I won’t, ow! Ow! OW!”
Two days worth of anxiety, frustration, and annoyance were pouring through Sara’s arm and into April’s ass. Her hand fell much faster than the clicks of the second hand of the clock mounted on their wall, and each smack landed with every bit as much force as her body could provide. She was spanking from the torso, all the muscles in her upper body clenched for a unified purpose.
A minute later, April was blubbering incoherently, her words not making even the slightest amount of sense. A minute after that, she was screaming and crying like a six-month-old baby, tears cascading down her cheeks and wetting the carpet beneath her blonde head. Sara’s palm felt like she had pressed it down against a hotplate, and her arm was aching something fierce. But she didn’t stop. April’s bum was at least as dark a red as it had been after the paddling a few nights ago. Swollen to a size even more generous than its natural volume, April’s round, cheeky ass was dancing like the entire cast of Rocky Horror under Sara’s clublike hand, a madly jiggling, trembling mass of dark red and purple flesh, its entire self consumed with indescribable, searing pain.
After five uninterrupted minutes of this, Sara finally got up. Her arm hurt more than it ever had since she broke it nine years ago. Her hand was completely numb. She couldn’t begin to imagine how April’s bottom must feel, and in all honesty, I can’t think of words to describe it. April’s blistered, bruising cheeks were completely red from top to bottom, leaning toward a darker shade on the swollen, fatty undersides. She was still crying, hands twitching involuntarily between her face and her devastated ass as she writhed and squirmed on the floor.
There was a knock at the door. Fixing her hair, Sara went to answer it.
“Ready to g-woah!”
Stan’s eyes widened as he noticed April lying helplessly on the floor, trying to clutch her smoldering rump with trembling hands, and heard her anguished sobs. Sara could tell he was getting excited again.
Sara shook her head. “She borrowed my calculator again. Let’s hit that concert.”
She put her hand in his and led him out of the room, ignoring April's anguished sobbing. It occurred to her that it was April's turn to do the dishes tonight; she decided a dose of the hairbrush would await her if she didn't.
...
“Stan? You mean Stan Geller?”
April nodded, closing her eyes dreamily. “Yesss. God, I‘ve been trying to get him to notice me since winter break, but he, like, just keeps being there.”
They were sitting on the couch in their dorm room, chatting during a commercial break in Dexter. Sara was a tall, athletic redhead; she ran track, played tennis, the works. April, who currently wore a slightly downtrodden expression, was a short blonde girl with a softer, curvier figure. The two had been friends since they started college together last year.
Sara listened curiously to her roommate’s plight. Sara and April were part of the same weekly study group, which Stan had joined late last semester. Sara had known Stan before that (she was friends with an ex-girlfriend of his), but April had not.
“He is cute,” Sara agreed, “and he knows how to cook. I…guess he‘s not a bad choice.”
April gave Sara a curious look.
“You guess?”
Sara flashed her a “well, if you REALLY want to know” smile. April looked on impatiently.
“Well…” Sara said, not sure if she should really be spilling the beans, “Jen told me that part of the reason they broke up was…um…spanking.”
April raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean? Spanking?”
“She told me Stan was, y’know, into it. Like, as a sex thing. He kept wanting to do it, she didn’t.”
April looked shocked. She knew that kinkiness wasn’t all that uncommon, especially among their offbeat circle of friends. But Stan? Hitting a girl? That image just wasn’t something she could get her mind around.
Sara smiled again. “So yeah. That‘s the story.”
“Huh.”
April seemed to be thinking. Sara found this somewhat amusing.
“Still want to date Stan?”
“Spanking? Wow, um…I think…yeah, I could see myself there, I guess. Like, sure, even if he‘s sort of freaky, he‘s still the same guy, right?”
Sara shrugged. “I‘m not the one to ask.”
April frowned thoughtfully, evaluating this new information.
Sara shook her head. Whine, whine, whine. Sometimes, when April got into these moods, it seemed like that was all she could do. April was far from unattractive. Sara even envied her, when they went to parties and it seemed like all the guys had their eyes glued to April’s chest and butt. April did have quite a butt, Sara had to admit. Big, round, and jiggly as a mound of jell-o. Haha, maybe Stan really should give April a try. The mental image of April’s fat ass getting a good tanning was awfully funny. Sara thought it would actually be kind of cool if that happened…Stan would certainly get a kick out of it, at least.
The show came back on, and they watched Dexter kill people for the next fifteen minutes. Or at least, Sara did. April wouldn’t shut her damned mouth.
“Like, you think he‘d want to do that with any girl, or was it, like, just Jenn? Like, I…”
Sara rolled her eyes. Even without that bum of hers, maybe April could use an occasional spanking just to make her shut up. Once they got through the show, April got up and turned off the TV, wiping some dirty blonde locks out of her face as she stood. Sara watched April’s fat, wobbling buttcheeks shake under her panties as she walked. Sara’s eyes narrowed in thought. You know…
“You think I should get some new outfits? Like, these shorts are cute, but-”
“April,” said Sara, “shut up. I have an idea.” Even if April didn’t like the idea, which she probably wouldn’t, maybe she would at least listen to the first part of that.
“What?”
Sara giggled, pushing some red bangs out of her eyes. “If Stan sees you get a spanking, I bet he‘ll want in on the fun.”
“WHAT???”
April stopped being whiny long enough to chuckle along with her.
Shaking her head, hardly able to believe she was actually suggesting this, Sara told April her idea. When the two were done laughing and making jokes about it, April thought about it seriously.
“Oh god, that would be…I don‘t even know, just crazy! Its like something you‘d hear about from a friend‘s friend.”
Sara shrugged. “We are in college.”
There was silence for a few minutes, broken only by the occasional giggle.
“Okay, but like, seriously. Do you think that would actually work?”
Sara shrugged. “I know I‘d notice. Especially if I had a fetish.”
“Yeah but…oh god, its crazy!”
“It was just a passing thought.”
More silence. Then.
“Do you REALLY think it would-”
“Yes.”
April blushed deeply, grinning an embarrassed, yet unconsciously sultry grin.
“Well…yeah…I guess we are in college.”
…
“You‘re not going to do it hard, are you?” Asked April as she waddled along beside Sara. Okay, waddled might not be the best word, but close enough; April wasn’t that out of shape, but she did have a couple of pounds here and there that weren’t strictly necessary. It helped fill out her figure.
“Its got to be convincing,” Sara answered.
“But…”
“If you‘re that nervous about it, you shouldn't be after Stan.”
April blushed again. “Okay, you‘re right.”
They reached the common room/kitchen in the dormitory basement and said hi to the others. This was the meeting place for their study group.
“Hey Stan,” said April sweetly.
“Heya,” Stan replied with a friendly nod of his head. Stan was a tall, dark-haired boy, with an athletic figure and very striking green eyes. He had brought donuts tonight…it was always something. You know, thought Sara, he is a pretty sweet guy, even if he’s got secrets. He would be good for April. Hell, she decided, he’d be good for most girls, as long as they didn’t mind his bedroom eccentricities. She was really going to be doing her roommate a favor tonight.
An hour and a half later, people started saying goodnight and going back to their rooms. As Stan began to put his books away, Sara said “Stan, I think you left your coffee cup here last week. Isn't that it in the kitchen?”
“Did I? Huh, thanks.” Stan went into the little kitchenette, giving the common room an extra minute to empty. In a few moments, it was just the three of them in there. Perfect.
April looked at her nervously. Sara grinned and nodded. April blushed and nodded back. Showtime.
“APRIL!” Sara shouted, dropping her bookbag to the ground, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?”
“Wuh…um…“ April coward a few steps back and stammered, “…it’s a calculator.”
Sara huffed. “Oh, a calculator. That‘s MY calculator! What the hell is it doing in your backpack?”
Sara shouted loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen, but not quite enough to wake people up in the surrounding rooms. At least she hoped not.
“I…um…mine was out of juice, and I didn‘t think-”
“Yeah, you didn‘t think. What else is new? I NEEDED THAT IN CLASS TODAY YOU LITTLE BITCH! I had to share with someone else for the quiz. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”
Stan’s head appeared around the corner of the kitchen entrance. His eyes were wide. He had never seen Sara act like this before. It was completely out of character. She decided they had better get on with it before he excused himself.
“Obviously not!” Sara growled. In a flash, she reached out and grabbed April by the hair, making her wince and “ow!” as she yanked her back toward the couch. April, gritting her teeth against the pain, winked at her. Sara decided not to risk winking back; it would be too easy for Stan to notice.
“Ow! Ow! Sorry! Ow-let go! Here, we can talk about this in our room!”
“No.” Said Sara, “No talking. I‘m not interested in your excuses. We‘ll sort this out right now!”
Sara sat down, sideways, on one arm of the couch and pulled April down over her lap, letting go of her hair and grabbing her around the torso. April wriggled and begged to be released, feet kicking a few inches above the carpet. They made quite a sight in this position. Sara was a tall, almost Amazonian figure, just shy of six feet tall, body slender and toned, and she wore a very convincing expression of rage. April was about the right relative height to be Sara’s daughter, and acted the part with her struggling and half-coherent begging to be released. The fact that April had enough tits and ass to fill out a girl twice her stature only made the picture prettier. Sara risked a quick, sideways glance at the kitchen door. Stan was still standing there, completely motionless, mouth starting to hang open.
“Sara, please, not in pu-”
SLAP!
Sara brought her right hand down hard against the seat of April’s skirt. April was wearing a miniskirt and thong tonight, just as they had agreed. As a result, part of Sara’s hand fell under the cloth line and hit naked thigh.
“OW!”
April’s reaction (which included even more bucking and kicking) was genuine. She had not expected one slap to sting that much. It dawned on her, to her dread, that Sara was probably one of the strongest, most athletic girls she knew, and that, for the sake of verisimilitude, she would not be holding back much. She shouldn’t have agreed to this! But it was too late to back down now…
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“I told you to ASK ME before taking my things!” Sara pressed down with her left forearms as she swung her right in a wide, meteoric arc, slapping April’s bum with as much drama as she could muster. “DIDN’T I?”
“Ow! Ow! Yes, I‘m sorry! I-WHAT THE??”
Sara had grabbed April’s miniskirt and flicked it up over her backside, pinning it against April’s back with her other arm. In their position, April’s ass was pointed straight at Stan, and that thong covered maybe five percent of it (the thong did its best, but seriously, there was a lot of ground to cover). Her round, chubby, perky cheeks jiggled lewdly into the open air, requiring severe punishment for their immodesty.
Sara brought back her arm and gave her roommate the hardest slap yet, catching her right in the center of the right cheek and making it bounce and wobble around beautifully. That one left an angry, pink handprint across April’s virtually naked buttock.
“YEOW!!!”
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“We agreed not to use each other‘s things without asking!”
SLAP! SLAP! Aprils’ massive bottom was now lightly pink all the way across.
“DIDN’T WE?”
April’s answer was cut short by a truly fierce volley of slaps that exploded into the lower, fleshy undersides of both cheeks, right at the crease where they tucked back in to her thighs. Her butt wasn’t done jiggling from the last smack when the next three landed, keeping it dancing and wobbling constantly for the entire spanking. April’s rear really was perfect for spanking. Sara was actually wondering why she hadn’t thought to do this before.
As April kicked and mewled, Sara finished her off with another dozen slaps to each big, reddened cheek. Then, without releasing her unfortunate roommate, she reached into her bag and pulled out her secret weapon.
Sara’s parents were of the old fashioned, spare-the-rod variety. As a result, she had been corporally punished pretty often as a kid, all the way up until eighth grade. She knew, therefore, exactly how to hold a struggling girl down to keep her in place until the punishment was over. She knew also that a proper spanking began with a parent’s hand, and ended with an even two dozen with a hairbrush. There were two reasons why she hadn’t mentioned this part of her plan to April. One was that she wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning; when spankings were given, a hairbrush was used. That’s just how its done, at least in Sara‘s household growing up. Part and parcel of any convincing punishment, right? The other was that...well…April wasn’t going to win any Emmis for acting. She had exceeded Sara’s expectations so far tonight, but her performance probably wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, and Stan was very likely to scrutinize. If she wasn’t expecting the hairbrush, her reactions would be much more genuine.
Sara stole another covert glance at Stan as she pulled out the plastic, flat-backed hairbrush and held it aloft. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He wasn’t excusing himself. In fact, he darted back around the corner to avoid notice as she glanced in that direction; he wasn't going anywhere, and who could blame him?
“What are you doing!?!?”
April was looking up over her shoulder and staring, terrified, at the hairbrush. Her eyes were full of indignation, confusion, and not a bit of trepidation. Sara shrugged a little and gave her a look that said “well, we agreed it would have to be a real spanking. Anyway, there‘s no backing out now without ruining everything, so I guess you‘ll have to grin and bear it.” April moaned and shut her eyes, falling weakly back into place over her friend’s lap, gritting her teeth against what was to come. Sara pressed the back of the hairbrush against April’s angry, red buttocks, pushing those thick cushions of flesh down against the hips. Her left hand crept further down April’s back, grabbing the hem of her thong and pulling it upward into her crack, resulting in a painful wedgie that left even more bottom exposed for the brush.
The first CRACK! of the hairbrush came with a twirling flick of Sara’s hand, and crashed like flat, plastic shockwave into the swell of her left butt. April’s cheek flattened and pancaked out under the force of the brush, then bounced and jiggled madly back outward when she raised it again. For a second, April didn’t seem to react to the blow. Then, when her nerves did their job…
“AUUGH! OW! NO!”
She kicked her legs wildly and tried to push herself off of Sara’s lap. She almost succeeded too; Sara had to lean forward and press her full weight onto April’s lap to keep her in position. Despite this awkward pose, she managed to raise her hand to around shoulder level again, and brought the brush down in a series of blind, clumsily-aimed stokes.
SNAP! CRACK! CRACK! SNAP! WACK!
As April howled, Sara managed to raise herself back into an upright, sitting position while keeping April pinned with her left arm. April’s ass was red from crowns to crease, with a handful of deeper, ugly crimson splotches where the hairbrush had left its calling card. Now that she could aim and swing properly again, Sara wasted no time in applying fast, even strokes to her victim’s behind, making sure every last centimeter of the brush bit deeply into the flesh with each landing. She swung without any sign of tiring, putting those tennis muscles to good use. She wasn’t using nearly her full strength, but she still went hard enough to make sure there was real pain and distress in April’s yelps.
CRACK! “You.” CRACK! “Will.” CRACK! “Ask.” CRACK! “Next.” CRACK! “TIME!”
She sped up for the final dozen, her arm becoming a blur as she paddled as fast (though still not as hard) as she could, landing the blows in a circle around April’s protruding target. April was sniffling now, eyes starting to get damp and bleary under her blonde bangs. Her body was still bucking and trembling as hard as ever, but Sara had this pinning thing down now. There was absolutely nothing April could do as Sara landed the last ten strokes in the space of four seconds.
“Well now,” said Sara, dropping the hairbrush back into her bag, “have we learned our lesson?”
She put her hand back on April’s buttocks and gently massaged them, kneading the shiny, red hot flesh with her fingers. April’s backside was the color of red construction paper, with the lower sit spots being a darker, tomato shade.
“Y-yes!” April gasped, sniffling in pain, “I‘ll never do it again!”
Sara smiled. “Good.”
She patted her bottom a couple times with her hand, putting just the slightest jiggle back into it, before letting April back up. April’s hands raced to her backside, clutching it tightly as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She glared at Sara angrily, her eyes on the brink of tears. Sara smiled sweetly back as she got back to her feet. As they left the room together, she stole a final glance at the kitchen door. No sign of Stan. He was probably hiding in the kitchen taking care of himself after the show.
As they returned to their room, April glared at Sara.
“You didn't tell me about the brush!”
Sara shrugged. “You didn‘t ask. Its not that bad; my mom used a wooden one when I was a kid. Now THAT would have hurt.”
“You could have just stuck with your hand!”
“Not really,” said Sara as she opened their door, “if I really wanted to spank someone, I‘d use a brush. You told me you wanted to make it look real.”
April shook her blonde head, wiping her blotchy face again. “You‘re still a bitch!”
Sara nodded. “Fair enough.”
To atone for her overzealousness, Sara got a cold beer out of their fridge and rolled it over April’s sizzling ass, providing some relief. As she did this, the topic of conversation turned back to their objective for the night.
“Did he seem like he was interested?”
“Oh yeah. You should have seen his face. He couldn't take his eyes off you. Or part of you, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really. He‘s not going to think about anything else for a week.”
April seemed satisfied by this answer. Soon, they were giggling and making jokes about the silliness of the whole situation, and April finally got up and creamed Sara with a couch cushion, showing that she wasn’t angry anymore. After a thoroughly gratuitous scene of the two half-naked girls jumping around and having a pillow fight, they got ready for bed. April would have to sleep on her stomach tonight, but she could hardly wait to run into Stan again now. As for Sara…she looked forward to being able to watch TV in peace.
…
The next day, Sara answered a knock at the door. It was Stan.
“Hey,” she said, “what‘s up?” She grinned conspiratorially before adding “Did you find your coffee cup?”
“Hahaha,” he laughed nervously, “no, actually, it was weird. I found it in the sink in my room, where I thought I had left it.”
“Huh,” said Sara, “guess someone else’ looked like yours. Anyway, April’s in the shower right now. If you wait a couple minutes, she’ll be out soon.”
Stan smiled. He really did have a charming smile, Sara thought.
“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to talk to you.”
Sara raised her eyebrows a bit. What the hell?
“Um…”
She really wasn’t sure what was going on here.
“…okay. What‘s up?”
“Well,” he said, “I got two tickets for the Modest Mouse concert next week, and I only need one of them. I thought maybe you could help me avoid wasting the second one.”
WHAT????
“I…um…”
It was now Sara’s turn to stammer.
“I dunno, I‘ll have to think about it. Here, maybe April would want-”
He shook his head. “No offense to April, but I think I’d rather take you.”
Slowly, comprehension dawned as Sara recounted her conversation with Jen. She had told her that Stan was into spanking. But she had never clarified who he wanted on the receiving end.
He smiled that winning smile again.
“Um…”
“I can make dinner afterward. You liked my brisket, right?”
…
“YOU BACKSTABBING BITCH!!!!”
“I tried to get him to ask you for fifteen minutes. I’m not exaggerating, you were drying yourself by the time he left.”
“HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THAT? I TRUSTED YOU!”
Sara shook her head helplessly. “I told you what I knew. I was joking when I suggested that, you‘re the one who wanted to go through with it.”
April was screaming at Sara from across the room. Sara had spent the last two days trying to get Stan interested in April, but he seemed to have fallen hopelessly in love. And, while she felt terrible admitting it, Sara had begun to reciprocate. Stan had this witty, underdog charm about him that made her want to just bring him home and make him hers. No one could accuse her of not trying to fix April’s chances with him, but it became more of an uphill battle every time they saw each other. And honestly, all the boys wanted April. Sara wasn’t used to being first choice, and it felt damned good.
“I‘LL BET YOU LIKED IT, DIDN‘T YOU!?!? YOU‘RE A FUCKING LESBIAN!”
“Well…” Sara said slowly, “if you didn‘t like it, you probably won‘t last longer than Jen did.”
“FUCK YOU!!!”
Sara sighed. She knew she couldn’t blame April for being upset, but seriously, she was acting like it was all Sara’s fault. She wasn’t going to be able to watch TV in peace for a month, was she? No, probably not.
“Alright,” said Sara, “when he knocks on the door, you can answer. I‘ll pretend I have a headache. If you can-”
“I‘m telling your mom about the weed!”
Sara’s jaw dropped.
“April, stop being ridiculous.”
April did not stop. Instead, she picked up the phonebook.
“April…Are you even thinking?”
April was flipping through the pages. Wow. Sara was used to her occasional, petulant moods, but this was a side of her friend that she had never seen before. Sara had never suspected that April could be such a spoiled brat. I mean, the signs were all there, but she had never bothered to put them together, and now that April was in a situation where the full extent of it showed Sara was just shocked.
“My mom‘ll take me home if she finds out about that! April, this is actually serious stuff. You know what, let‘s do what I said before; when he comes in, we‘ll sit down and tell him everything.”
“Shut up!”
Sara had already suggested that several times. April was no more amenable to it now than she was before. Desperate, she stood up and tried to pull the book out of April’s hands.
“Let go!”
“I can‘t let you do this! Its not fair.”
“Its not fair you stole Stan you cunt!”
“What the…stole him? You‘re making it sound like he was obsessed with you before!”
“GIVE IT BACK YOU BITCH, GIVE IT BACK!!!”
April slapped Sara across the face.
For a very long second, silence rang across the room. Sara stared at April in shock, raising a hand to rub her face where she had been hit. April looked smug, giving her a “now you know what it feels like” glare.
More silence.
Then, Sara grabbed April by the scruff of the neck and dragged her into the middle of the room.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!!”
“Do you promise to be rational?”
“FUCK YOU!!! LEMEGO!!!”
She punched Sara in the stomach, winding her and nearly making her let go. Sara growled and wrestled her struggling roommate down, throwing her against the floor and sitting down on her back. April was struggling for real, but she had crossed too many lines. Sara was determined.
Pinning April under her body, Sara reached forward and tore her panties down, leaving her luscious, bratty bottom exposed.
“WHAT THE FU-"
Sara turned up the music in her head and started the spanking.
“OW! OW! OOOWWW!!!!”
At this angle, she had much more room to swing than last time, and she wasn’t pulling any punches. Her last spanking had been hard and fierce, but she hadn’t nearly used her full strength. This time, though, she had a very real lesson to teach.
“Owww! I’m sorry, please stop! No! No! I won’t call your mom, I won’t call the cops, I won’t, ow! Ow! OW!”
Two days worth of anxiety, frustration, and annoyance were pouring through Sara’s arm and into April’s ass. Her hand fell much faster than the clicks of the second hand of the clock mounted on their wall, and each smack landed with every bit as much force as her body could provide. She was spanking from the torso, all the muscles in her upper body clenched for a unified purpose.
A minute later, April was blubbering incoherently, her words not making even the slightest amount of sense. A minute after that, she was screaming and crying like a six-month-old baby, tears cascading down her cheeks and wetting the carpet beneath her blonde head. Sara’s palm felt like she had pressed it down against a hotplate, and her arm was aching something fierce. But she didn’t stop. April’s bum was at least as dark a red as it had been after the paddling a few nights ago. Swollen to a size even more generous than its natural volume, April’s round, cheeky ass was dancing like the entire cast of Rocky Horror under Sara’s clublike hand, a madly jiggling, trembling mass of dark red and purple flesh, its entire self consumed with indescribable, searing pain.
After five uninterrupted minutes of this, Sara finally got up. Her arm hurt more than it ever had since she broke it nine years ago. Her hand was completely numb. She couldn’t begin to imagine how April’s bottom must feel, and in all honesty, I can’t think of words to describe it. April’s blistered, bruising cheeks were completely red from top to bottom, leaning toward a darker shade on the swollen, fatty undersides. She was still crying, hands twitching involuntarily between her face and her devastated ass as she writhed and squirmed on the floor.
There was a knock at the door. Fixing her hair, Sara went to answer it.
“Ready to g-woah!”
Stan’s eyes widened as he noticed April lying helplessly on the floor, trying to clutch her smoldering rump with trembling hands, and heard her anguished sobs. Sara could tell he was getting excited again.
Sara shook her head. “She borrowed my calculator again. Let’s hit that concert.”
She put her hand in his and led him out of the room, ignoring April's anguished sobbing. It occurred to her that it was April's turn to do the dishes tonight; she decided a dose of the hairbrush would await her if she didn't.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Still Here
Hey there. I'm sorry its been so long; real life has been banging at my door this last couple of weeks.
I'm just posting this to let you know that I've not forgotten this blog, and that I'll have something new to post within the week. Thank you for your patience.
I'm just posting this to let you know that I've not forgotten this blog, and that I'll have something new to post within the week. Thank you for your patience.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Short: Product Testing
This is the first time I've written an M/F scenario, so I'm sure there's room for improvement. In particular, I'm afraid I was a little too descriptive.
...
Robert Kinsley looked at the three boxes that sat on the desk. It was about time; the new models had been due nearly a week ago. Robert was a punctual man, and liked to keep things orderly. His clean shaven face, short, well-groomed hair, neatly pressed black suit jacket and tie spoke for him in this regard.
“I‘m sorry again for the delay, Mr. Kinsley,” said the clerk, “but here they are. Serial numbers HB22, HB23, and BB05 fresh out of the workshop.”
Robert nodded curtly. “I trust preparations for mass production have been made?” He had a subtle British accent that matched his trim appearance like tea and biscuits.
The clerk nodded, holding up his clipboard. “As always. They‘re just waiting for our approval.”
Robert looked at the three boxes with their serial numbers again. He had been the head manager of Product Testing for several years now, and was well used to the procedure. Time to make or break these new prototypes.
“Understood. Bring in the subjects.”
Robert stood behind the desk, waiting patiently. Under the wrapping, he was a tall, athletic thirty-year-old with a deceptively slender frame. There was a cushy, armless office chair beside him, but he chose not to sit down just yet; he would be using that in a bit. In a few minutes, the clerk came back in, followed by three nervous-looking young women, wearing only loose-fitting T-shirts, panties, and socks. These were the guinea pigs.
One of the new arrivals was Rose, a black woman of twenty-eight. She was the tallest of the three, with a flowing, big-boned figure. Her hair was cut just above her shoulders, framing a smooth-featured face with green eyes, full lips, and milk-chocolatey brown skin. She was strong-looking, with a robust frame and wide, womanly hips, but she also looked the most anxious. Robert couldn’t blame her; this was her first day on the job. He made a point of smiling at her reassuringly; she tried to smile back, but quickly looked away again.
The second woman was Jolene, a cute white girl with nineteen years to her name. Jolene was the shortest of the three, but made up for it with a bit of…“plumpness” would be the word. She wasn’t anywhere near fat, but she did have a slightly convex belly and cute love-handles that gave some shape to her T-shirt. Elbow-length, light brown hair fell past her shoulders, running along the sides of a rather prominent chest. She smiled at Robert cheerily, eyes moving between him and the three boxes on the desk. “Do your worst” was what her expression said.
Last was Anna. She was a year or two older than Jolene, but she looked younger; her dainty, smooth-skinned features and wide, dewy brown eyes were those of a teenager. Her body, on the other hand…Anna was a textbook example of the hourglass figure. Large, spherical breasts pushed out against her shirt, giving way to a sweeping, slender torso that widened dramatically into some of the widest, curviest hips Robert had ever seen. Below her (very full) pink panties, her legs were thick, fleshy, and toned. She had darker skin, suggesting a Latin heritage (according to her bio, her family was from Argentina). She gave a shy, somewhat timid smile as Robert‘s eyes met hers.
“I trust you‘re all prepared,” said Robert, stepping around the desk. It wasn’t a question.
Rose nodded slowly. “I think so.”
Jolene smirked. “Oh Rob you big softy! Its not like it‘ll be any worse than last time.” She rubbed her backside in painful recollection. “Ready when you are.”
Anna smiled her timid smile again. “I‘m good to go, I guess.”
Robert gave a calculating glance at Jolene. My, but wasn’t someone cocky this morning?
The clerk came over to the desk and helped Robert open the boxes. The first one contained a small, flat-backed wooden hairbrush, just the right size to be kept in a pocket or purse. Robert picked it up and turned it over in his hand, letting his experienced fingers sample the wood. Maplewood, he thought. He placed it down on the desk, where three pairs of female eyes focused on it.
“That looks like its gonna‘ hurt,” said Rose, turning anxiously to her companions.
Anna nodded, her soft, hazel eyes widening a little. “I wish I could say something helpful,” she said quietly, “But yeah, you‘re right.”
“Personal care maple hairbrush, HB22,” said the clerk, ignoring the trepidation of the women, “four inch blade, one half of an inch thick.”
“Good varnish,” remarked Robert as he opened the second box, “but small. Hopefully it can stand up to wear and tear.”
The clerk chuckled. “Well, that‘s where you come in.”
The second box contained another hairbrush. This one was significantly bigger, with a thick and quite heavy oval-shaped blade. The back of this brush was slightly rounded, almost like the outside surface of a flat spoon. It looked good, mostly, but its handle tapered a little too thin before it met the blade; Robert wondered if this would prove a problem.
“HB23 is the classic hickory brush. Same handle as the other models, but five inch blade with a varying thickness of one and a half inches at the center to one inch at the edges.” As the clerk spoke, Robert felt the back of it and flicked his wrist a little, seeing how it felt in the air. HB23 was noticeably heavier than 22, and had a more forceful swing.
“That,” said Rose, her eyes wide, “that‘s not…who would buy something like that?” She was clearly having second thoughts about this.
“I think I would.”
The other two stared at Jolene.
“What? My hair gets tangly when I wake up.”
Jolene was keeping up her façade of bold nonchalance, but it was obvious she was a little more intimidated by the second hairbrush than she was letting on. Otherwise, her eyes wouldn’t keep going back to it as they did.
“The last one is a bath brush?” Robert asked as he opened the final box.
“Ayup. Maplewood again, water treated. This one‘s a long-handled model, got an eight inch hilt with another six inches of blade. The bristles are soft nylon; no risk of scratches. Blade is just over an inch thick.”
The guinea pigs were silent for a moment as Robert handled this one.
“Well,” said Rose, looking from one of her fellows to the other, “it can‘t be as bad as the big hairbrush, right?”
Anna shook her head. “Don‘t count on it.”
“Its got a long handle,” said Jolene slowly, “a wider arc means more momentum. God, I hope I don‘t get that one.”
Anna glared at her.
“You‘d rather I got that one?” She subconsiously put a hand to her bottom.
“Yeah, actually. I would.”
The other two women glared at Jolene, but they really couldn’t blame her that much. After all, they were all thinking the same thing; please not the bath brush for me.
Meanwhile, Robert had put down BB05 and was dragging his office chair out from behind the desk. Seating himself comfortably in it, he addressed the test subjects.
“I have a decision to make. Ladies, turn around please.”
Rose looked back at the other two to ask if this was normal, but they were already turning around and presenting their panty-clad assets to the scrutiny of the two men.
“Miss Jackson, turn around.”
Robert’s voice was patient, but slightly stern. He was giving Rose a piercing look. Slowly, keeping her eyes trained distrustingly on him, she turned around.
“Which is for which?” Asked the clerk.
Robert thought carefully. Rose had a derriere of the kind black women are known for; lush, thick, and quite substantial, jutting out behind her rounded hips like half of a pear. On one hand, probably quite durable and cushioning. On the other…this was only her first day on the job. Jolene was shorter than Rose, but her hips were just as wide, and the baby fat that was visible elsewhere on her body was even more abundant here. She had a round, very soft looking bottom, each cheek like a heavy water balloon. Both Rose and Jolene, however, were put to shame by Anna. She had some of the widest, most feminine hips Robert had ever seen, and her ass stuck out. It was as if her body had gathered together all the fat it didn’t need and stuffed it tightly into those two jutting, bulging cheeks. Her panties were woefully insufficient to contain them, their shelf-like mass being left mostly exposed.
After looking from rump to rump for a moment, deciding what should go where, he turned back to the clerk. “I think we can proceed.”
The clerk nodded, writing something on his notepad. “Okay girls, you can turn back around.”
They did so, all with baited breath. Rose in particular looked almost ready to faint. The other two seemed slightly less mortified (they had had experience, after all), but they were still anxious to hear the first pronouncement.
“HB22 will be tested on Miss Rose Jackson,” said Robert. “Rose, please come here.”
Rose let out a long, deep breath. On one hand, she was going to get what looked like the smallest and least menacing brush of the three. That was a relief. On the other, she had been hoping to see at least one of the other girls go first, so that she could have some idea of what to expect. It was thus with great uncertainty (and no small amount of looking back over her shoulder at the other two) that she advanced to where Robert Kinsley was sitting.
“Don‘t be nervous, sister, you got off easy,” said Jolene, “just be glad it wasn‘t the bath brush.”
Anna nodded. She and Jolene looked at each other briefly, both wondering frantically who would get which of the remaining instruments of agony. Their attention was soon brought back to Rose’ ordeal by the sound of Robert’s voice.
“You‘ve read the routine, I hope?”
Rose nodded fearfully, staring pleadingly at Robert. She was hoping he would have mercy on her, go easy on her, something like that. He gave no sign of having noticed her trepidation.
“Then you know that our tests are conducted on the bare skin. Take off your underwear.”
Her face sunk. Even through the dark brown of her skin, there was an obvious blush in her cheeks as she reluctantly lowered her hands to her hips and worked the panties down. In a moment, they fell to her ankles, leaving a bushy landing strip of black pubic hair visible between the tops of her luscious thighs. She was afraid that Robert would leave her standing like that for a long time, to take in the sight of her naked vagina, but fortunately he waited for only a second before patting his thigh, signaling her to bend over his knees.
Robert placed a hand on her lower back and helped ease Rose down into position (she resisted for a moment, but soon gave in and allowed him to position her as he wished). Her hands were touching the carpet on one side of the armless chair, her feet planted on the other, which placed her ass right across Robert Kinsley’s lap. It was truly a marvelous ass; each cheek just perfectly high and large enough to be grabbed or squeezed by a male hand. Robert didn’t grab or squeeze it, though. Instead, he rested one hand on the small of her back and let the other rest, very lightly, on her left buttock.
“Warm ups consist of twenty slaps with my open palm,” said Robert, “this will precede the implement testing.”
“Uh…do you have to?” Asked Rose, looking desperately up at her captor, full, African lips almost trembling, “I mean, you could just give me my fifty with the brush and-”
The clerk winced. The other two women shook their heads knowingly.
“Believe me, Miss Jackson, the warm up is for your benefit, not mine. Without desensitizing the tissues and amplifying the blood flow beforehand, the hairbrush could do serious damage.”
“Okay…just don‘t be too hard, alright?”
He shook his head. “I‘m sorry, but this department is responsible for quality assurance. You‘ll receive the full treatment; that‘s why you‘re here.”
In truth, he was indeed letting her off light. Rose was a big, athletic woman, with quite a well-padded seat, all qualities that spoke to her endurance. Normally, he would have selected her for one of the heavier brushes. The only reason she was getting the smallest one was because it was her first time. He wasn’t making any more allowances for her than that.
“Are you ready, Miss Jackson?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded yes (what else could she do at this point?). Across the room, the other two girls watched carefully.
Robert raised his hand to shoulder height and brought it down with a wristy flick against her left buttock. Rose let out a little “mm!” when it hit, but actually it wasn’t nearly as hard as she had expected. Just a sharp little snap against her ass, making her left cheek jiggle and bounce for a second. The next slap was very much like it, and landed on the opposite cheek. Rose let herself relax. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Robert alternated cheeks, spanking Rose with a steady, not-too-fast not-too-slow drumbeat. That fleshy mountain of a bottom jiggled and swayed, each cheek wobbling playfully under his palm. Rose’s body was actually squirming a tiny bit on its own, making itself more comfortable; she wasn’t disliking this at all!
After twenty fleshy smacks, he let his hand rest once again on her warm flank. He waited for perhaps fifteen seconds, studying the subtle, pinkish flush that had built up under her rich, brown skin.
“Can I get up now?” She asked.
Robert chuckled. It was a nice, comforting chuckle, really, but it carried some rather fearful connotations in her mind.
“Stay in position, Miss Jackson. We haven‘t even started the test!”
“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her body relaxed. There was a low, burning sting in her buttocks, but it wasn’t anywhere near unmanageable. Honestly, she almost thought she enjoyed it! Her peace of mind ended when she felt the cold wood being rubbed softly against her flesh, and realized how much harder than Robert’s hand it was.
“Um…wait…no, I think I-”
SPLAT!
“Owwwww!!!!”
The hairbrush has nothing like Robert’s hand. It felt like an honest-to-god weapon, and one covered in fire ants at that! Immediately, she tried to push herself up off Robert’s lap, but he pressed his left hand down into her back and held her fast.
SPLAT!
She hadn’t finished recovering from the shock of the first hit when the second bit her other cheek. She tried to say something, but the third stroke interrupted her by forcing another “Yeow!!!” to take its place.
Robert applied the hairbrush to Rose’s backside with the same cadence and swishing, wrist-snapping motions that he had used with his hand…only now he was employing much more of his strength. With each crack, one of her large buttocks would flatten under the brush before wobbling and jiggling around to shake off the force. She started to really struggle, scissoring her legs and twitching her torso like a snake, but Robert’s grip was inescapable.
“The test lasts for fifty swats, Miss Jackson,” he said sternly, arm still rising and falling about once every two seconds, “that means you will…stay…in…place.”
The last three words were each accompanied by an extra hard, extra fast smack, crashing into her round booty cheeks like a jackhammer. She was yelping and twitching with each impact. Her bottom’s pinkish hue had grown in intensity; there were now two dark red spank spots on her otherwise brown rear.
After twenty licks, Robert stopped for a moment. Rose, thinking she had a chance to escape, tried to roll herself off of his lap, but he was expecting it. Grabbing her body with both arms, he suddenly pulled his right leg out from under her and brought it down on top of her thighs, clamping her in place between his legs.
“What the….what are you doing???”
“I‘m keeping you in place. There‘s no way I can aim properly with you squirming like that.”
Her backside was now framed between his hand on her lower back, and his thigh, holding the two, throbbing mounds implacably in place. He lined up the hairbrush and picked up right where he had left off.
SPLAT! SMACK! WHACK! WHACK! SMACK!
The clerk was furiously writing down notes. Rose yelped and cried out and flailed her arms and lower legs furiously, but there was nothing she could do to even remotely improve the situation. Her buttocks were dancing under the hairbrush, jiggling like two bowls of jello-strawberry jello-on a shaking table. Jolene made a little humming sound as she watched her newest coworker take her medicine, noting that Robert was in no mood for shenanigans today. Anna let a hand creep down to her inner thigh…watching Robert turn Rose’s black ass scarlet was causing a familiar itch down bellow, even though Rose was clearly in great pain.
Finally, with two extra loud and slow SPLATS! On either side, Robert put down the hairbrush and raised his leg, letting Rose scramble off of him. She wobbled to her feet and grabbed her big, perky bottom in both hands, hissing in pain as she rubbed it in a futile attempt to mitigate the sting. She was grimacing.
“How do you feel, Miss Jackson?”
“OW! How the fuck do you THINK I feel, JERK?!?!?”
She hopped up and down a little, causing her rotund buttocks to bounce and wobble under her hands. They really were red, and looked quite aggravated. Not really swollen, though.
“I feel like…agghh…bugs biting me…like I got hornets all over my ass, and they keep stinging! Ouch!”
“Understood. Do you feel any deeper trauma or bruising?”
“Ahh…I…I don‘t think so, just the sting. Why, does that mean you have to finish the job now? Ow!”
Robert turned to the clerk. “High sting factor, no reported thud. No visible or tactile signs of bruising or sub-cutaneous tissue trauma.”
“Right,” said the clerk, “seems promising. Someone at RnD will be getting a raise.”
Robert addressed Rose, who was trying to work her panties back over her reddened, tender derriere. It wasn’t easy; due to the prominent shape of her ass, she had to stretch her panties tightly to get them around her hips, and that was now a painful prospect.
“Stand in the corner, Rose. When the testing is done you and the others will be provided aftercare.”
Rose hobbled over to the corner, panties halfway up her juicy thighs, both hands still rubbing her ass. Robert and the clerk both watched her naked, well-spanked rear as she walked; it had a way of bouncing heavily with each step.
“Next will be Miss Marensky, with the HB23 model.”
Jolene stepped forward.
“So,” she said, “tire yourself out on Rose? Or are you just getting warmed up?”
Robert smiled a little.
“Bend over, Jolene.”
She pouted at him.
“Okay, fine, don‘t answer me.” She laid herself across his lap and pulled her body forward, sticking her voluptuous backside right in his face. “Its not like it can be as bad as last time, you brute.”
Meanwhile, Rose (who had given up trying to pull up her panties) was watching intently over her shoulder, unable to take her eyes off of what was going to happen next. Anna, for her part, was eyeing the long-handled bath brush with a sinking feeling in her stomach; she knew she was really in for it now.
“We‘ll only know after the fact,” said Robert, helping her into the right position. Jolene had a fat ass; there was no better way to say it. It didn’t sag or droop (okay, maybe just a tiny bit), but there was a lot of it. She was also fair skinned; her big, pale bottom would show the results of Robert’s abuse much more clearly than Rose’s.
He began spanking her with his palm, much as he had done with Rose. Jolene’s butt was wider and jigglier than Rose’s, even if it didn’t stick out quite as far. With each crisp slap, the dimply flesh would ripple and rebound delightfully. She let out a cute little gasp or “ooh” each time he connected, occasionally seeming to lift her hips a few inches as if to welcome the next smack. More than once, he had to use his left hand to push her back down against his knees to make sure he had enough room to swing. Slowly, each subtle, rosy handprint built on the ones beneath it, giving rise to a soft, glowing pink hue in the fattiest part of each buttock.
“That‘s the end of your warm-up,” he said, letting his hand rest against her juicy rear for a moment before reaching for the brush.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, “I was just getting into it. Couldn’t you go a little longer this time?”
She wiggled her butt, letting the wide, bouncy cheeks sway back and forth before his face. He smiled and shook his head...the little minx was trying to postpone the inevitable.
“You know I would love to,” he said, “but company policy mandates twenty licks, no more no less. Perhaps after hours sometime.”
She stopped jiggling her assets and looked petulant. “Fine,” she said, sticking out her lower lip and looking back down at the carpet, “meanie.”
He picked up HB23 and hefted it in his hand again. The back of this hairbrush was intriguing; almost club-like, instead of the usual flat surface. Once again, he studied the narrow part of the handle where it connected to the paddle. It looked a little too thin to be trusted, but there was only one way to know for sure.
He placed the back of the brush against the fatty underside of Jolene’s ass and rubbed it in a wide circle. She inhaled softly, savoring the coolness of the wood before what was to come. In a moment, Robert tightened his left hand’s grip on her back, raised the big hairbrush to shoulder height, and-
SMACK!!!!
It wasn’t as loud as the first hairbrush, but it fell with much greater force. Jolene’s left cheek exploded out around the impact, waves of tender flesh rippling out away from the hit.
“WOW! OH! OH!”
She jerked her body abruptly, clearly unprepared for the pain. Robert did not break pace. He lifted the brush again, revealing an angry red spot where it had hit the first time, and delivered an identical swat to the opposite cheek.
WACK!
She wasn’t teasing or egging him on any more. Her body scissored and shook under his relentless assault, locks of light brown hair flying as she looked over one shoulder after the other, trying to see what he was doing to cause such unimaginable pain. WACK! SMACK! THWACK! Every second, like clockwork. Patches of deep, fiery red piled up on top of each other, getting darker and more inflamed with each swat. WACK! CRACK! CRACK! Her corpulent buttocks were getting visibly swollen, exaggerating their already very prominent jiggle whenever the brush landed. WHACK! WAP!
“OOOH!! OW! NO! NO! OWW! PLEASE!”
The wood kept raining down on her plentiful ass. For well over two minutes, there wasn’t a sound in the room but the understated WAP of the brush and Jolene’s resulting shrieks. Rose, Anna, and even the clerk watched in mute shock. How long could this continue?
WACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMA-
The brush came down for the thirty-ninth stroke, and Robert’s hand continued past Jolene’s ass, handle still clutched in his fist. The blade of the hairbrush, however, went spinning through the air, landing heavily on the carpet at his feet.
Jolene, squinting through her teary eyes, looked up over her shoulder, raising her torso a bit to see what had happened. Robert held the broken handle in front of his face, scowling.
“I suspected it.”
The clerk stepped forward, picking up the bristled paddle-blade and holding it out next to the handle.
“Too thin right at the hilt,” the clerk shook his head, “well that‘s just a bugger.”
Jolene looked relieved. Wincing, she eased herself off of Robert’s lap, both hands clasping her thoroughly punished bum. The entire lower surfaces of her butt cheeks were a dark, angry red, and a pair of small bruises had appeared on her sit spots, where the thickest part of the rounded brush had connected the most times.
“Whose design was 23?” Asked Robert.
“That‘d be Debbie, the new girl in RnD.”
“I see. We‘ll be sure to give her a stern talking to once the report has been made.” He looked up at Jolene, who was bouncing from foot to foot as she rubbed furiously at her bruised ass (her large breasts bounced cutely under her shirt as she did this, but that‘s not really relevant to this account. Just figured you might want to know).
“We‘ll salvage what data we can from this trial, though. Miss Marensky?”
“Ow…it…” she wiped her eyes before quickly returning that hand to her backside, “it hurts. Deep. Almost like…like a big paddle, sort of. Ow, I think I‘m bruised!”
Robert patted her reassuringly on the rump. She managed to smile a tiny bit through her pained grimace, a little of her former, vixenly self coming back.
“Thank you. You can wait in the corner with Rose until the last trial is over.”
Jolene hotfooted it to the corner, her hands not able to cover her wide, swaying rear cheeks as she stepped. She had left her panties on the carpet, where she had accidentally kicked them off toward the end of her paddling. The clerk picked them up and placed them on the desk, where she could retrieve them later. As the two stood next to each other, rubbing their sore fannies, there was a noticeable gleam between both of their legs, as if the fluorescent light was shining off something wet. Robert couldn’t blame them; after all, his own underpants weren’t exactly crispy-dry at this point either. Eh, one of the perks of the job.
“Its your turn now, Miss Mandirez.”
Anna tiptoed up to Robert’s chair, her face a picture of youthful anxiety. She had seen what that second hairbrush did to her friend’s behind. BB05 wasn’t rounded like that hairbrush, or quite as thick, but with that long handle and shiny varnish she knew it would more than make up for that. How long would it be until she could sit after this? As she walked forward to her fate, she felt a warm dampness between her upper thighs. Watching Robert Kinsley’s masterful work had excited her, even if she dreaded what was to come. It was that damned British accent of his, wasn’t it? Or maybe just that infuriatingly self-assured tone of voice when he said “Miss Mandirez.” Whatever the case, she was a mess of fear and excitement by the time she had placed her slim, violin-shaped self over Mr. Kinsley’s lap.
“I‘m ready to begin as soon as you are, Anna.”
As he spoke, he slid his fingers under the hem of her panties and pulled them down to her thighs. This took him a moment or two; even for Robert’s agile fingers, there was a lot of very tight ground to cover here. There was a reason Anna favored skirts and dresses rather than jeans; for a woman with her figure, they were just a pain to get on and off.
“Well, I am in position,” she said. She planted her hands firmly on the carpet, letting her heavy, pendulous breasts hang down beneath her chest. The clerk could see down her collar. Oh well, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t get an eyeful one way or another.
“Nothing to wait for, then,” said Robert. He began his third preparatory spanking of the day.
Anna offered such a target that a less experienced spanker probably wouldn’t know where to start. Her rear cheeks stuck out behind her in blatant defiance of gravity, nearly as thick as they were wide (and she had some wide hips). Robert lined up his hand with the tall, underside surface of each one and let fly, letting his hand connect heavily with each swing. SMACK! SMACK! Her cheeks bounced and shook, but they didn’t really jiggle. He decided that she would need a slightly more intense warm-up session to prepare all that ass, and so he stepped up the pace.
SMACK! SMACK! She was breathing in little gasps, keeping her legs a few inches apart to give him access to the deep, plummeting cleft between her cheeks. He had such big, hard, flexible hands; he had only given her ten slaps, and already there was a tingling burn throughout her situpon. She let out a soft “mmmm” as he slapped her again and again. She hoped this would do the job of preparing her; she most certainly did not want to be unready when the bath brush came out.
SMACK! SLAP!
All too soon, the hand spanking was done. Robert had gone a bit harder toward the end of it than he usually did, but she still wasn’t in much discomfort. She grimaced and sucked in a deep breath as she felt the long, stiff paddle blade line up against her rump, just above the crease where buttock met thigh. Ohdamn, this brush was a hard one.
Before he began, Robert turned the brush over and gently ran the soft, nylon bristles over Anna’s cheeks. She purred in surprised pleasure; that tickled!
“Bristles are useful. Write that down. Now on to the wood.”
As two well-spanked ladies and one inwardly gleeful clerk looked on, Robert raised the bath brush and whipped it down into the underside of Anna’s massive tush. CLAAP!!! This one was easily the loudest and most dramatic of the three. Anna inhaled long and hard, gasping in pain as he flicked the bath brush up again. SPLAAAP!!! Her other tan, jutting mound bounced under the fiery onslaught. She let out an “Ahh!” and her body gave an involuntary jerk.
Robert Kinsley had no mercy. He wielded the wooden bath brush just as hard and fast as the other two, smacking those mammoth cheeks with all the gusto his arm could provide. SMAAACK!!! SPLAAT!!! SMAAACK!!! Anna wasn’t making much noise yet, but he knew this would change. He would make it change. The experience of spanking Anna was having a mental effect on him. Those proud, full-of-themselves cheeks! How could they possibly be that damned thick! He had to teach them a lesson. Beat them back down into submission. Anna’s was an ass that demanded punishment, and lots of it! Despite his professional calm, he found himself swinging the paddle faster, giving it to her harder than he had Rose or Jolene. At the seventh SPLAAT!!! Anna finally “AWWW’”d. At the tenth, she was writhing and squirming over his lap just like the other two.
SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!!
He was halfway done. Her mountain-like buttocks were already a dark, injured crimson, and wobbling and swaying like fat, rubber balls. Not enough, damnit, not enough! He kept a calm face, but his eyes were burning. What an ass! If Anna were to stand straight and clench her glutes, she could literally balance a coffee cup on it. Was the brush even getting through all that armor? He would make sure it did.
“AAAAAH! AHHHH!! OHHH!! NOO-AAAAAHHHH!!!!”
Her hourglass-shaped body was thrashing and struggling now. He dug his left forearm into her back and leaned in, confining her frenetic, bare-butted lap dance to its current locale. SNAAAAP!!!!! CRAAACK!!!! SPLAAACK!!!! SNAAAPP!!!! “”OH! OW! AHH! HELP!!!!” However-and this is a testament to Anna's resolve-she didn't try to roll off of his lap the way Rose had.
Rose and Jolene watched in stunned amazement as Robert did his job. He was in the zone. His deep, dark eyes were full of masculine intensity. Under his trim office suit, his muscles had grown taught. The clerk was scribbling furiously in his notebook, clearly struggling to keep up with the action.
Screams, cries, wails, and the relentless crack of the bath brush filled the air for several minutes. Anna was aware of nothing besides the paddling. She was struggling mindlessly, kicking, screaming, flailing her limbs like an animal in a trap. When the fiftieth lick landed and Robert lifted his imprisoning arm, she rolled off his lap onto the floor, seizing her rump with both hands and kicking her feet like a rabbit.
Rose looked at Jolene, clearly horrified. Jolene just gave her a “well, you should have known what to expect” look in return, though in truth even she was pretty cowed by this last display. She felt herself getting weak in the knees, but kept position in the corner.
“Anna?” Robert got out of his chair and knelt over his victim’s twitching body. “Anna, are you alright?”
She looked up at him through a face blotchy with tears. She tried to say something, but all that came out was a sob.
“Please, Anna, can you-”
Before he could finish his sentence, she lunged to her feet, grabbed him around the shoulders, and forced her tongue into his mouth.
Robert was too stunned to react, at first, which allowed her to French kiss him for a good two seconds or so. When he managed to remember himself, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently, deliberately, pushed her back to arms length away.
“Anna, please, we‘re on the job.”
Reluctantly, she complied with his protest, letting her arms leave his shoulders and return to her blistered rear. Her backside was purple. Not red. Dark, thoroughly, and utterly punished purple, and swollen to even larger than its usual size. As she backed off, it also became clear that her female spot was completely slick.
“So,” said the clerk, “I…uh…I guess BB05 is a success?”
Anna turned to him and nodded energetically, using one hand to wipe away her tears while the other remained clamped over her burning ass.
“Well then,” said Robert, his voice slightly hoarse, “you three can go on to aftercare. I know you could use it.”
The clerk opened another door, revealing a room that looked like a spa. There were two, rather handsome young massage therapists waiting, both with bottles of cold cream and aloe vera . Rose and Jolene didn’t have to be told twice. They marched into the aftercare room (Rose had gotten her panties back on by now, Jolene was still naked from the waist down). Anna, however, did not follow them.
“*sniff*…Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Would…*sob*…is it okay if…*sniff*…you give me the cold cream this time?”
He put his hand on her arm, looking caringly into her bleary, hazel eyes.
“I have to finish my report before I can do anything else. Do you think you can wait for ten minutes?”
Anna nodded.
“Alright. Wait in my office.”
As she left the room, the two men sat down at the desk and worked out the details of their quality-assurance report.
“So that‘s maximum ratings for hair 22 and bath 5, but an ixnae for now on 23.” The clerk checked the boxes as Robert summarized the medical and emotional effects of each implement at the bottom of the sheet.
“That‘s certainly my assessment.”
“Aight.”
They finished the report, and the clerk tucked the papers away into his briefcase.
“You know Bob,” he said, “I can‘t help but wonder. What if someone actually wants to brush their hair with these?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then…
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
They both laughed uproariously, wiping tears of merriment from their eyes. The clerk had really had him there for a second!
The Vermont Country Store would stay in business for a long time yet.
...
Robert Kinsley looked at the three boxes that sat on the desk. It was about time; the new models had been due nearly a week ago. Robert was a punctual man, and liked to keep things orderly. His clean shaven face, short, well-groomed hair, neatly pressed black suit jacket and tie spoke for him in this regard.
“I‘m sorry again for the delay, Mr. Kinsley,” said the clerk, “but here they are. Serial numbers HB22, HB23, and BB05 fresh out of the workshop.”
Robert nodded curtly. “I trust preparations for mass production have been made?” He had a subtle British accent that matched his trim appearance like tea and biscuits.
The clerk nodded, holding up his clipboard. “As always. They‘re just waiting for our approval.”
Robert looked at the three boxes with their serial numbers again. He had been the head manager of Product Testing for several years now, and was well used to the procedure. Time to make or break these new prototypes.
“Understood. Bring in the subjects.”
Robert stood behind the desk, waiting patiently. Under the wrapping, he was a tall, athletic thirty-year-old with a deceptively slender frame. There was a cushy, armless office chair beside him, but he chose not to sit down just yet; he would be using that in a bit. In a few minutes, the clerk came back in, followed by three nervous-looking young women, wearing only loose-fitting T-shirts, panties, and socks. These were the guinea pigs.
One of the new arrivals was Rose, a black woman of twenty-eight. She was the tallest of the three, with a flowing, big-boned figure. Her hair was cut just above her shoulders, framing a smooth-featured face with green eyes, full lips, and milk-chocolatey brown skin. She was strong-looking, with a robust frame and wide, womanly hips, but she also looked the most anxious. Robert couldn’t blame her; this was her first day on the job. He made a point of smiling at her reassuringly; she tried to smile back, but quickly looked away again.
The second woman was Jolene, a cute white girl with nineteen years to her name. Jolene was the shortest of the three, but made up for it with a bit of…“plumpness” would be the word. She wasn’t anywhere near fat, but she did have a slightly convex belly and cute love-handles that gave some shape to her T-shirt. Elbow-length, light brown hair fell past her shoulders, running along the sides of a rather prominent chest. She smiled at Robert cheerily, eyes moving between him and the three boxes on the desk. “Do your worst” was what her expression said.
Last was Anna. She was a year or two older than Jolene, but she looked younger; her dainty, smooth-skinned features and wide, dewy brown eyes were those of a teenager. Her body, on the other hand…Anna was a textbook example of the hourglass figure. Large, spherical breasts pushed out against her shirt, giving way to a sweeping, slender torso that widened dramatically into some of the widest, curviest hips Robert had ever seen. Below her (very full) pink panties, her legs were thick, fleshy, and toned. She had darker skin, suggesting a Latin heritage (according to her bio, her family was from Argentina). She gave a shy, somewhat timid smile as Robert‘s eyes met hers.
“I trust you‘re all prepared,” said Robert, stepping around the desk. It wasn’t a question.
Rose nodded slowly. “I think so.”
Jolene smirked. “Oh Rob you big softy! Its not like it‘ll be any worse than last time.” She rubbed her backside in painful recollection. “Ready when you are.”
Anna smiled her timid smile again. “I‘m good to go, I guess.”
Robert gave a calculating glance at Jolene. My, but wasn’t someone cocky this morning?
The clerk came over to the desk and helped Robert open the boxes. The first one contained a small, flat-backed wooden hairbrush, just the right size to be kept in a pocket or purse. Robert picked it up and turned it over in his hand, letting his experienced fingers sample the wood. Maplewood, he thought. He placed it down on the desk, where three pairs of female eyes focused on it.
“That looks like its gonna‘ hurt,” said Rose, turning anxiously to her companions.
Anna nodded, her soft, hazel eyes widening a little. “I wish I could say something helpful,” she said quietly, “But yeah, you‘re right.”
“Personal care maple hairbrush, HB22,” said the clerk, ignoring the trepidation of the women, “four inch blade, one half of an inch thick.”
“Good varnish,” remarked Robert as he opened the second box, “but small. Hopefully it can stand up to wear and tear.”
The clerk chuckled. “Well, that‘s where you come in.”
The second box contained another hairbrush. This one was significantly bigger, with a thick and quite heavy oval-shaped blade. The back of this brush was slightly rounded, almost like the outside surface of a flat spoon. It looked good, mostly, but its handle tapered a little too thin before it met the blade; Robert wondered if this would prove a problem.
“HB23 is the classic hickory brush. Same handle as the other models, but five inch blade with a varying thickness of one and a half inches at the center to one inch at the edges.” As the clerk spoke, Robert felt the back of it and flicked his wrist a little, seeing how it felt in the air. HB23 was noticeably heavier than 22, and had a more forceful swing.
“That,” said Rose, her eyes wide, “that‘s not…who would buy something like that?” She was clearly having second thoughts about this.
“I think I would.”
The other two stared at Jolene.
“What? My hair gets tangly when I wake up.”
Jolene was keeping up her façade of bold nonchalance, but it was obvious she was a little more intimidated by the second hairbrush than she was letting on. Otherwise, her eyes wouldn’t keep going back to it as they did.
“The last one is a bath brush?” Robert asked as he opened the final box.
“Ayup. Maplewood again, water treated. This one‘s a long-handled model, got an eight inch hilt with another six inches of blade. The bristles are soft nylon; no risk of scratches. Blade is just over an inch thick.”
The guinea pigs were silent for a moment as Robert handled this one.
“Well,” said Rose, looking from one of her fellows to the other, “it can‘t be as bad as the big hairbrush, right?”
Anna shook her head. “Don‘t count on it.”
“Its got a long handle,” said Jolene slowly, “a wider arc means more momentum. God, I hope I don‘t get that one.”
Anna glared at her.
“You‘d rather I got that one?” She subconsiously put a hand to her bottom.
“Yeah, actually. I would.”
The other two women glared at Jolene, but they really couldn’t blame her that much. After all, they were all thinking the same thing; please not the bath brush for me.
Meanwhile, Robert had put down BB05 and was dragging his office chair out from behind the desk. Seating himself comfortably in it, he addressed the test subjects.
“I have a decision to make. Ladies, turn around please.”
Rose looked back at the other two to ask if this was normal, but they were already turning around and presenting their panty-clad assets to the scrutiny of the two men.
“Miss Jackson, turn around.”
Robert’s voice was patient, but slightly stern. He was giving Rose a piercing look. Slowly, keeping her eyes trained distrustingly on him, she turned around.
“Which is for which?” Asked the clerk.
Robert thought carefully. Rose had a derriere of the kind black women are known for; lush, thick, and quite substantial, jutting out behind her rounded hips like half of a pear. On one hand, probably quite durable and cushioning. On the other…this was only her first day on the job. Jolene was shorter than Rose, but her hips were just as wide, and the baby fat that was visible elsewhere on her body was even more abundant here. She had a round, very soft looking bottom, each cheek like a heavy water balloon. Both Rose and Jolene, however, were put to shame by Anna. She had some of the widest, most feminine hips Robert had ever seen, and her ass stuck out. It was as if her body had gathered together all the fat it didn’t need and stuffed it tightly into those two jutting, bulging cheeks. Her panties were woefully insufficient to contain them, their shelf-like mass being left mostly exposed.
After looking from rump to rump for a moment, deciding what should go where, he turned back to the clerk. “I think we can proceed.”
The clerk nodded, writing something on his notepad. “Okay girls, you can turn back around.”
They did so, all with baited breath. Rose in particular looked almost ready to faint. The other two seemed slightly less mortified (they had had experience, after all), but they were still anxious to hear the first pronouncement.
“HB22 will be tested on Miss Rose Jackson,” said Robert. “Rose, please come here.”
Rose let out a long, deep breath. On one hand, she was going to get what looked like the smallest and least menacing brush of the three. That was a relief. On the other, she had been hoping to see at least one of the other girls go first, so that she could have some idea of what to expect. It was thus with great uncertainty (and no small amount of looking back over her shoulder at the other two) that she advanced to where Robert Kinsley was sitting.
“Don‘t be nervous, sister, you got off easy,” said Jolene, “just be glad it wasn‘t the bath brush.”
Anna nodded. She and Jolene looked at each other briefly, both wondering frantically who would get which of the remaining instruments of agony. Their attention was soon brought back to Rose’ ordeal by the sound of Robert’s voice.
“You‘ve read the routine, I hope?”
Rose nodded fearfully, staring pleadingly at Robert. She was hoping he would have mercy on her, go easy on her, something like that. He gave no sign of having noticed her trepidation.
“Then you know that our tests are conducted on the bare skin. Take off your underwear.”
Her face sunk. Even through the dark brown of her skin, there was an obvious blush in her cheeks as she reluctantly lowered her hands to her hips and worked the panties down. In a moment, they fell to her ankles, leaving a bushy landing strip of black pubic hair visible between the tops of her luscious thighs. She was afraid that Robert would leave her standing like that for a long time, to take in the sight of her naked vagina, but fortunately he waited for only a second before patting his thigh, signaling her to bend over his knees.
Robert placed a hand on her lower back and helped ease Rose down into position (she resisted for a moment, but soon gave in and allowed him to position her as he wished). Her hands were touching the carpet on one side of the armless chair, her feet planted on the other, which placed her ass right across Robert Kinsley’s lap. It was truly a marvelous ass; each cheek just perfectly high and large enough to be grabbed or squeezed by a male hand. Robert didn’t grab or squeeze it, though. Instead, he rested one hand on the small of her back and let the other rest, very lightly, on her left buttock.
“Warm ups consist of twenty slaps with my open palm,” said Robert, “this will precede the implement testing.”
“Uh…do you have to?” Asked Rose, looking desperately up at her captor, full, African lips almost trembling, “I mean, you could just give me my fifty with the brush and-”
The clerk winced. The other two women shook their heads knowingly.
“Believe me, Miss Jackson, the warm up is for your benefit, not mine. Without desensitizing the tissues and amplifying the blood flow beforehand, the hairbrush could do serious damage.”
“Okay…just don‘t be too hard, alright?”
He shook his head. “I‘m sorry, but this department is responsible for quality assurance. You‘ll receive the full treatment; that‘s why you‘re here.”
In truth, he was indeed letting her off light. Rose was a big, athletic woman, with quite a well-padded seat, all qualities that spoke to her endurance. Normally, he would have selected her for one of the heavier brushes. The only reason she was getting the smallest one was because it was her first time. He wasn’t making any more allowances for her than that.
“Are you ready, Miss Jackson?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded yes (what else could she do at this point?). Across the room, the other two girls watched carefully.
Robert raised his hand to shoulder height and brought it down with a wristy flick against her left buttock. Rose let out a little “mm!” when it hit, but actually it wasn’t nearly as hard as she had expected. Just a sharp little snap against her ass, making her left cheek jiggle and bounce for a second. The next slap was very much like it, and landed on the opposite cheek. Rose let herself relax. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Robert alternated cheeks, spanking Rose with a steady, not-too-fast not-too-slow drumbeat. That fleshy mountain of a bottom jiggled and swayed, each cheek wobbling playfully under his palm. Rose’s body was actually squirming a tiny bit on its own, making itself more comfortable; she wasn’t disliking this at all!
After twenty fleshy smacks, he let his hand rest once again on her warm flank. He waited for perhaps fifteen seconds, studying the subtle, pinkish flush that had built up under her rich, brown skin.
“Can I get up now?” She asked.
Robert chuckled. It was a nice, comforting chuckle, really, but it carried some rather fearful connotations in her mind.
“Stay in position, Miss Jackson. We haven‘t even started the test!”
“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her body relaxed. There was a low, burning sting in her buttocks, but it wasn’t anywhere near unmanageable. Honestly, she almost thought she enjoyed it! Her peace of mind ended when she felt the cold wood being rubbed softly against her flesh, and realized how much harder than Robert’s hand it was.
“Um…wait…no, I think I-”
SPLAT!
“Owwwww!!!!”
The hairbrush has nothing like Robert’s hand. It felt like an honest-to-god weapon, and one covered in fire ants at that! Immediately, she tried to push herself up off Robert’s lap, but he pressed his left hand down into her back and held her fast.
SPLAT!
She hadn’t finished recovering from the shock of the first hit when the second bit her other cheek. She tried to say something, but the third stroke interrupted her by forcing another “Yeow!!!” to take its place.
Robert applied the hairbrush to Rose’s backside with the same cadence and swishing, wrist-snapping motions that he had used with his hand…only now he was employing much more of his strength. With each crack, one of her large buttocks would flatten under the brush before wobbling and jiggling around to shake off the force. She started to really struggle, scissoring her legs and twitching her torso like a snake, but Robert’s grip was inescapable.
“The test lasts for fifty swats, Miss Jackson,” he said sternly, arm still rising and falling about once every two seconds, “that means you will…stay…in…place.”
The last three words were each accompanied by an extra hard, extra fast smack, crashing into her round booty cheeks like a jackhammer. She was yelping and twitching with each impact. Her bottom’s pinkish hue had grown in intensity; there were now two dark red spank spots on her otherwise brown rear.
After twenty licks, Robert stopped for a moment. Rose, thinking she had a chance to escape, tried to roll herself off of his lap, but he was expecting it. Grabbing her body with both arms, he suddenly pulled his right leg out from under her and brought it down on top of her thighs, clamping her in place between his legs.
“What the….what are you doing???”
“I‘m keeping you in place. There‘s no way I can aim properly with you squirming like that.”
Her backside was now framed between his hand on her lower back, and his thigh, holding the two, throbbing mounds implacably in place. He lined up the hairbrush and picked up right where he had left off.
SPLAT! SMACK! WHACK! WHACK! SMACK!
The clerk was furiously writing down notes. Rose yelped and cried out and flailed her arms and lower legs furiously, but there was nothing she could do to even remotely improve the situation. Her buttocks were dancing under the hairbrush, jiggling like two bowls of jello-strawberry jello-on a shaking table. Jolene made a little humming sound as she watched her newest coworker take her medicine, noting that Robert was in no mood for shenanigans today. Anna let a hand creep down to her inner thigh…watching Robert turn Rose’s black ass scarlet was causing a familiar itch down bellow, even though Rose was clearly in great pain.
Finally, with two extra loud and slow SPLATS! On either side, Robert put down the hairbrush and raised his leg, letting Rose scramble off of him. She wobbled to her feet and grabbed her big, perky bottom in both hands, hissing in pain as she rubbed it in a futile attempt to mitigate the sting. She was grimacing.
“How do you feel, Miss Jackson?”
“OW! How the fuck do you THINK I feel, JERK?!?!?”
She hopped up and down a little, causing her rotund buttocks to bounce and wobble under her hands. They really were red, and looked quite aggravated. Not really swollen, though.
“I feel like…agghh…bugs biting me…like I got hornets all over my ass, and they keep stinging! Ouch!”
“Understood. Do you feel any deeper trauma or bruising?”
“Ahh…I…I don‘t think so, just the sting. Why, does that mean you have to finish the job now? Ow!”
Robert turned to the clerk. “High sting factor, no reported thud. No visible or tactile signs of bruising or sub-cutaneous tissue trauma.”
“Right,” said the clerk, “seems promising. Someone at RnD will be getting a raise.”
Robert addressed Rose, who was trying to work her panties back over her reddened, tender derriere. It wasn’t easy; due to the prominent shape of her ass, she had to stretch her panties tightly to get them around her hips, and that was now a painful prospect.
“Stand in the corner, Rose. When the testing is done you and the others will be provided aftercare.”
Rose hobbled over to the corner, panties halfway up her juicy thighs, both hands still rubbing her ass. Robert and the clerk both watched her naked, well-spanked rear as she walked; it had a way of bouncing heavily with each step.
“Next will be Miss Marensky, with the HB23 model.”
Jolene stepped forward.
“So,” she said, “tire yourself out on Rose? Or are you just getting warmed up?”
Robert smiled a little.
“Bend over, Jolene.”
She pouted at him.
“Okay, fine, don‘t answer me.” She laid herself across his lap and pulled her body forward, sticking her voluptuous backside right in his face. “Its not like it can be as bad as last time, you brute.”
Meanwhile, Rose (who had given up trying to pull up her panties) was watching intently over her shoulder, unable to take her eyes off of what was going to happen next. Anna, for her part, was eyeing the long-handled bath brush with a sinking feeling in her stomach; she knew she was really in for it now.
“We‘ll only know after the fact,” said Robert, helping her into the right position. Jolene had a fat ass; there was no better way to say it. It didn’t sag or droop (okay, maybe just a tiny bit), but there was a lot of it. She was also fair skinned; her big, pale bottom would show the results of Robert’s abuse much more clearly than Rose’s.
He began spanking her with his palm, much as he had done with Rose. Jolene’s butt was wider and jigglier than Rose’s, even if it didn’t stick out quite as far. With each crisp slap, the dimply flesh would ripple and rebound delightfully. She let out a cute little gasp or “ooh” each time he connected, occasionally seeming to lift her hips a few inches as if to welcome the next smack. More than once, he had to use his left hand to push her back down against his knees to make sure he had enough room to swing. Slowly, each subtle, rosy handprint built on the ones beneath it, giving rise to a soft, glowing pink hue in the fattiest part of each buttock.
“That‘s the end of your warm-up,” he said, letting his hand rest against her juicy rear for a moment before reaching for the brush.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, “I was just getting into it. Couldn’t you go a little longer this time?”
She wiggled her butt, letting the wide, bouncy cheeks sway back and forth before his face. He smiled and shook his head...the little minx was trying to postpone the inevitable.
“You know I would love to,” he said, “but company policy mandates twenty licks, no more no less. Perhaps after hours sometime.”
She stopped jiggling her assets and looked petulant. “Fine,” she said, sticking out her lower lip and looking back down at the carpet, “meanie.”
He picked up HB23 and hefted it in his hand again. The back of this hairbrush was intriguing; almost club-like, instead of the usual flat surface. Once again, he studied the narrow part of the handle where it connected to the paddle. It looked a little too thin to be trusted, but there was only one way to know for sure.
He placed the back of the brush against the fatty underside of Jolene’s ass and rubbed it in a wide circle. She inhaled softly, savoring the coolness of the wood before what was to come. In a moment, Robert tightened his left hand’s grip on her back, raised the big hairbrush to shoulder height, and-
SMACK!!!!
It wasn’t as loud as the first hairbrush, but it fell with much greater force. Jolene’s left cheek exploded out around the impact, waves of tender flesh rippling out away from the hit.
“WOW! OH! OH!”
She jerked her body abruptly, clearly unprepared for the pain. Robert did not break pace. He lifted the brush again, revealing an angry red spot where it had hit the first time, and delivered an identical swat to the opposite cheek.
WACK!
She wasn’t teasing or egging him on any more. Her body scissored and shook under his relentless assault, locks of light brown hair flying as she looked over one shoulder after the other, trying to see what he was doing to cause such unimaginable pain. WACK! SMACK! THWACK! Every second, like clockwork. Patches of deep, fiery red piled up on top of each other, getting darker and more inflamed with each swat. WACK! CRACK! CRACK! Her corpulent buttocks were getting visibly swollen, exaggerating their already very prominent jiggle whenever the brush landed. WHACK! WAP!
“OOOH!! OW! NO! NO! OWW! PLEASE!”
The wood kept raining down on her plentiful ass. For well over two minutes, there wasn’t a sound in the room but the understated WAP of the brush and Jolene’s resulting shrieks. Rose, Anna, and even the clerk watched in mute shock. How long could this continue?
WACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMA-
The brush came down for the thirty-ninth stroke, and Robert’s hand continued past Jolene’s ass, handle still clutched in his fist. The blade of the hairbrush, however, went spinning through the air, landing heavily on the carpet at his feet.
Jolene, squinting through her teary eyes, looked up over her shoulder, raising her torso a bit to see what had happened. Robert held the broken handle in front of his face, scowling.
“I suspected it.”
The clerk stepped forward, picking up the bristled paddle-blade and holding it out next to the handle.
“Too thin right at the hilt,” the clerk shook his head, “well that‘s just a bugger.”
Jolene looked relieved. Wincing, she eased herself off of Robert’s lap, both hands clasping her thoroughly punished bum. The entire lower surfaces of her butt cheeks were a dark, angry red, and a pair of small bruises had appeared on her sit spots, where the thickest part of the rounded brush had connected the most times.
“Whose design was 23?” Asked Robert.
“That‘d be Debbie, the new girl in RnD.”
“I see. We‘ll be sure to give her a stern talking to once the report has been made.” He looked up at Jolene, who was bouncing from foot to foot as she rubbed furiously at her bruised ass (her large breasts bounced cutely under her shirt as she did this, but that‘s not really relevant to this account. Just figured you might want to know).
“We‘ll salvage what data we can from this trial, though. Miss Marensky?”
“Ow…it…” she wiped her eyes before quickly returning that hand to her backside, “it hurts. Deep. Almost like…like a big paddle, sort of. Ow, I think I‘m bruised!”
Robert patted her reassuringly on the rump. She managed to smile a tiny bit through her pained grimace, a little of her former, vixenly self coming back.
“Thank you. You can wait in the corner with Rose until the last trial is over.”
Jolene hotfooted it to the corner, her hands not able to cover her wide, swaying rear cheeks as she stepped. She had left her panties on the carpet, where she had accidentally kicked them off toward the end of her paddling. The clerk picked them up and placed them on the desk, where she could retrieve them later. As the two stood next to each other, rubbing their sore fannies, there was a noticeable gleam between both of their legs, as if the fluorescent light was shining off something wet. Robert couldn’t blame them; after all, his own underpants weren’t exactly crispy-dry at this point either. Eh, one of the perks of the job.
“Its your turn now, Miss Mandirez.”
Anna tiptoed up to Robert’s chair, her face a picture of youthful anxiety. She had seen what that second hairbrush did to her friend’s behind. BB05 wasn’t rounded like that hairbrush, or quite as thick, but with that long handle and shiny varnish she knew it would more than make up for that. How long would it be until she could sit after this? As she walked forward to her fate, she felt a warm dampness between her upper thighs. Watching Robert Kinsley’s masterful work had excited her, even if she dreaded what was to come. It was that damned British accent of his, wasn’t it? Or maybe just that infuriatingly self-assured tone of voice when he said “Miss Mandirez.” Whatever the case, she was a mess of fear and excitement by the time she had placed her slim, violin-shaped self over Mr. Kinsley’s lap.
“I‘m ready to begin as soon as you are, Anna.”
As he spoke, he slid his fingers under the hem of her panties and pulled them down to her thighs. This took him a moment or two; even for Robert’s agile fingers, there was a lot of very tight ground to cover here. There was a reason Anna favored skirts and dresses rather than jeans; for a woman with her figure, they were just a pain to get on and off.
“Well, I am in position,” she said. She planted her hands firmly on the carpet, letting her heavy, pendulous breasts hang down beneath her chest. The clerk could see down her collar. Oh well, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t get an eyeful one way or another.
“Nothing to wait for, then,” said Robert. He began his third preparatory spanking of the day.
Anna offered such a target that a less experienced spanker probably wouldn’t know where to start. Her rear cheeks stuck out behind her in blatant defiance of gravity, nearly as thick as they were wide (and she had some wide hips). Robert lined up his hand with the tall, underside surface of each one and let fly, letting his hand connect heavily with each swing. SMACK! SMACK! Her cheeks bounced and shook, but they didn’t really jiggle. He decided that she would need a slightly more intense warm-up session to prepare all that ass, and so he stepped up the pace.
SMACK! SMACK! She was breathing in little gasps, keeping her legs a few inches apart to give him access to the deep, plummeting cleft between her cheeks. He had such big, hard, flexible hands; he had only given her ten slaps, and already there was a tingling burn throughout her situpon. She let out a soft “mmmm” as he slapped her again and again. She hoped this would do the job of preparing her; she most certainly did not want to be unready when the bath brush came out.
SMACK! SLAP!
All too soon, the hand spanking was done. Robert had gone a bit harder toward the end of it than he usually did, but she still wasn’t in much discomfort. She grimaced and sucked in a deep breath as she felt the long, stiff paddle blade line up against her rump, just above the crease where buttock met thigh. Ohdamn, this brush was a hard one.
Before he began, Robert turned the brush over and gently ran the soft, nylon bristles over Anna’s cheeks. She purred in surprised pleasure; that tickled!
“Bristles are useful. Write that down. Now on to the wood.”
As two well-spanked ladies and one inwardly gleeful clerk looked on, Robert raised the bath brush and whipped it down into the underside of Anna’s massive tush. CLAAP!!! This one was easily the loudest and most dramatic of the three. Anna inhaled long and hard, gasping in pain as he flicked the bath brush up again. SPLAAAP!!! Her other tan, jutting mound bounced under the fiery onslaught. She let out an “Ahh!” and her body gave an involuntary jerk.
Robert Kinsley had no mercy. He wielded the wooden bath brush just as hard and fast as the other two, smacking those mammoth cheeks with all the gusto his arm could provide. SMAAACK!!! SPLAAT!!! SMAAACK!!! Anna wasn’t making much noise yet, but he knew this would change. He would make it change. The experience of spanking Anna was having a mental effect on him. Those proud, full-of-themselves cheeks! How could they possibly be that damned thick! He had to teach them a lesson. Beat them back down into submission. Anna’s was an ass that demanded punishment, and lots of it! Despite his professional calm, he found himself swinging the paddle faster, giving it to her harder than he had Rose or Jolene. At the seventh SPLAAT!!! Anna finally “AWWW’”d. At the tenth, she was writhing and squirming over his lap just like the other two.
SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!! SMAAACK!!!
He was halfway done. Her mountain-like buttocks were already a dark, injured crimson, and wobbling and swaying like fat, rubber balls. Not enough, damnit, not enough! He kept a calm face, but his eyes were burning. What an ass! If Anna were to stand straight and clench her glutes, she could literally balance a coffee cup on it. Was the brush even getting through all that armor? He would make sure it did.
“AAAAAH! AHHHH!! OHHH!! NOO-AAAAAHHHH!!!!”
Her hourglass-shaped body was thrashing and struggling now. He dug his left forearm into her back and leaned in, confining her frenetic, bare-butted lap dance to its current locale. SNAAAAP!!!!! CRAAACK!!!! SPLAAACK!!!! SNAAAPP!!!! “”OH! OW! AHH! HELP!!!!” However-and this is a testament to Anna's resolve-she didn't try to roll off of his lap the way Rose had.
Rose and Jolene watched in stunned amazement as Robert did his job. He was in the zone. His deep, dark eyes were full of masculine intensity. Under his trim office suit, his muscles had grown taught. The clerk was scribbling furiously in his notebook, clearly struggling to keep up with the action.
Screams, cries, wails, and the relentless crack of the bath brush filled the air for several minutes. Anna was aware of nothing besides the paddling. She was struggling mindlessly, kicking, screaming, flailing her limbs like an animal in a trap. When the fiftieth lick landed and Robert lifted his imprisoning arm, she rolled off his lap onto the floor, seizing her rump with both hands and kicking her feet like a rabbit.
Rose looked at Jolene, clearly horrified. Jolene just gave her a “well, you should have known what to expect” look in return, though in truth even she was pretty cowed by this last display. She felt herself getting weak in the knees, but kept position in the corner.
“Anna?” Robert got out of his chair and knelt over his victim’s twitching body. “Anna, are you alright?”
She looked up at him through a face blotchy with tears. She tried to say something, but all that came out was a sob.
“Please, Anna, can you-”
Before he could finish his sentence, she lunged to her feet, grabbed him around the shoulders, and forced her tongue into his mouth.
Robert was too stunned to react, at first, which allowed her to French kiss him for a good two seconds or so. When he managed to remember himself, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently, deliberately, pushed her back to arms length away.
“Anna, please, we‘re on the job.”
Reluctantly, she complied with his protest, letting her arms leave his shoulders and return to her blistered rear. Her backside was purple. Not red. Dark, thoroughly, and utterly punished purple, and swollen to even larger than its usual size. As she backed off, it also became clear that her female spot was completely slick.
“So,” said the clerk, “I…uh…I guess BB05 is a success?”
Anna turned to him and nodded energetically, using one hand to wipe away her tears while the other remained clamped over her burning ass.
“Well then,” said Robert, his voice slightly hoarse, “you three can go on to aftercare. I know you could use it.”
The clerk opened another door, revealing a room that looked like a spa. There were two, rather handsome young massage therapists waiting, both with bottles of cold cream and aloe vera . Rose and Jolene didn’t have to be told twice. They marched into the aftercare room (Rose had gotten her panties back on by now, Jolene was still naked from the waist down). Anna, however, did not follow them.
“*sniff*…Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Would…*sob*…is it okay if…*sniff*…you give me the cold cream this time?”
He put his hand on her arm, looking caringly into her bleary, hazel eyes.
“I have to finish my report before I can do anything else. Do you think you can wait for ten minutes?”
Anna nodded.
“Alright. Wait in my office.”
As she left the room, the two men sat down at the desk and worked out the details of their quality-assurance report.
“So that‘s maximum ratings for hair 22 and bath 5, but an ixnae for now on 23.” The clerk checked the boxes as Robert summarized the medical and emotional effects of each implement at the bottom of the sheet.
“That‘s certainly my assessment.”
“Aight.”
They finished the report, and the clerk tucked the papers away into his briefcase.
“You know Bob,” he said, “I can‘t help but wonder. What if someone actually wants to brush their hair with these?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then…
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”
They both laughed uproariously, wiping tears of merriment from their eyes. The clerk had really had him there for a second!
The Vermont Country Store would stay in business for a long time yet.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Love My Lurkers
Today marks an annual tradition in the spanking blogosphere; Love Our Lurkers day. Originally conceived by the lovely and talented Bonnie of My Bottom Smarts, this is an open invitation for lurkers (people who read silently without commenting) to speak up and comment, either with a name or anonymously. Since I seem to have nothing but lurkers so far, this little holiday seems especially relevant to this blog.
According to blogspot's hit counter, there are a good number of you. This is your cue to chime in and tell me what you think of my work so far, tell me something about yourselves, or even just say hi. If you've been waiting to think of something to say, or have just been shy, this is your time to come out of the shadows. Please, don't be nervous; despite the internet's reputation, I'm really not a scary person.
Look forward to hearing from you!
According to blogspot's hit counter, there are a good number of you. This is your cue to chime in and tell me what you think of my work so far, tell me something about yourselves, or even just say hi. If you've been waiting to think of something to say, or have just been shy, this is your time to come out of the shadows. Please, don't be nervous; despite the internet's reputation, I'm really not a scary person.
Look forward to hearing from you!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Vessels: Intro to Calculus (Jake 3)
I met Heather during my first week at Muller University. I first bumped into her on the stairwell of my dormitory, where her room was two floors above mine. I had been on my way downstairs, when I heard a terrified squeak from behind me, and something warm, soft, and heavy hit me in the back.
“Woah!” I shouted, grabbing the handrails to keep balanced, “watch it!”
Turning around, I saw a girl getting up off the ground. One of her shoes was untied; it looked like she had tripped on the laces. Did I mention she was klutzy?
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She said, picking herself up off the stairs. She looked sheepish and embarrassed.
“Its alright,” I said, chuckling a little, “are you okay there?”
“Yeah,” she said, “thanks.”
She was a short girl, maybe five foot three, and full bodied, just a pound or two shy of chubby. Her hair was short and glossy black, and her face was round and open.
“So much for making impressions,” she said as she got to her feet, “I thought I’d at least make it downstairs without almost killing someone.”
“Who me?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes way more than that to kill a badass like me.”
I puffed out my chest. She laughed. Hers was a deep, throaty laugh, one that you can tell is genuine. I liked making her laugh.
“What’s your name?” I asked, helping her up.
“Heather,” she said, “Heather DuCourcey.”
“Cool,” I said, “I’m Jake Ramone.”
As we continued down the stairs, she absentmindedly rubbed her bruised ass with one hand. It would have been hard not to be interested in it under the best of circumstances, but the rubbing made it near impossible. Heather was wide shouldered and wide hipped, with large, globe-shaped buttocks that rippled under her hand. I later learned that she, like most girls, was insecure about her body, and thought that big butts were always a sign of fatness. God do I hate women’s magazines.
We chatted until we got to the ground floor, at which point she went down to the basement laundry room and I left for my first class. We said hi again when we met in the lobby that evening, and discovered that we had Intro to Calculus together the next day. I had made my first new friend at school.
…
Intro to Calculus was taught by Professor Grodvikia, a middle aged Bulgarian woman with a short temper and a poor grasp of English. She stood in front of the whiteboard for an hour, saying things I could barely understand and getting frustrated when anyone asked a question. Being a math person, I was more or less able to follow by reading the book. Heather, who sat a few seats away from me, however, was not a math person. Just two weeks into the semester, I was already helping her with our homework. Not that I minded.
One Tuesday in mid October, I came to Calculus a minute or so late to discover that everyone else was present…except Professor Grodvikia. This was odd. She was usually the embodiment of punctuality, and got annoyed when students were even a few minutes late. I smiled a bit. Maybe she’d stop being so uptight about lateness after this.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and in walked a person who could hardly be less like Professor Grodvikia. A tall, olive-skinned (possibly Persian or Indian) woman, maybe twenty five years old, strode purposefully across the room. The shocking part was what she was wearing; she had a skintight, black leather top cut into a low V-collar at the front, held together at the sides by straps. On her lower body she wore matching black leather short shorts, polished so they sparkled, that looked almost too tight to move in. Finally, a pair of high heeled black boots adorned her petite ankles and feet.
“My name is Miss Flinn,” she said sternly, without a trace of emotion on her face, when she reached the professor’s desk, “I am a Teaching Assistant for Professor Grodvikia. Since the Professor was not able to make it today, I will be teaching this class in her place. You are to regard me as your instructor for this course for as long as I stand in.”
What the…? I hadn’t heard anything about a TA, and even if I had, there was no way in hell the school would let them show up to work dressed like that. I looked around at my classmates. All of them seemed to be in mute shock.
“Understood?”
Her hazel eyes flashed. “Understood,” everyone quickly echoed.
“Um…Miss Flinn?” Someone raised their hand.
“Yes?”
“Um…what’s with the dominatrix stuff?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What ‘dominatrix stuff‘ are you referring to?”
Her eyes bored into the kid dangerously. I was sitting across the room, but I could still tell I’d have trouble thinking straight under that piercing glare. He didn’t answer.
“Any other questions?”
She let her hands rest on her leather-clad hips. She had a slim figure, but an athletic one. Her face had soft features, but her expression and demeanor more than made up for it. Due to the deep V-shape of her black leather color, the inside cleft of her breasts was visible. They were a nice upper medium size, and pear shaped. I couldn’t decide whether this was titillating, or terrifying. Everyone else seemed shocked into silence.
“Excellent,” she said softly when more questions were asked, “now we can begin the class.”
She wrote some formulas on the board, and we began taking notes. She went quickly, and was only slightly more approachable than Professor Grodvikia, but at least her English was fluent. When her back was turned, I glanced over at Heather with a look of utter confusion on my face. She returned the expression.
I turned to the guy sitting next to me. “What the hell?” I whispered.
He shrugged. “Dunno, man,” he said, sounding strangely groggy, “weird shit’s gotta happen sometimes, I guess.”
I stared at him openmouthed for a second, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant. A moment later, I noticed something familiar about that slow tone of voice. I had twice been in that state myself.
I looked back at the lecturing Miss Flinn, wondering if I was truly losing my mind. Should I get up and leave right now? No, what if this is all just me hallucinating? I mean, this is public. Nothing sadomasochistic was going to happen here in a classroom full of students, was it? I grimaced. I sure hoped not. However mixed my feelings about the candy store and hitchhiking incidents were, I did NOT want something of that sort occurring in front of my classmates.
The class dragged on. I made a point of sitting quietly and doing exactly what she outlined on the board. Hopefully, this would all turn out to be paranoia. Or a daydream. Or both.
Half an hour into the class, she put down the marker and ruler she had been using for her diagrams and turned toward the class.
“So,” she said, “can anyone tell how to finish this equation?”
Dead silence. I had a fairly good understanding of how to do the problem, but I was not about to draw attention to myself.
“Hmmm,” she said disapprovingly, “it seems I must pick someone at random.
My heart sank as she started looking. I gritted my teeth, knowing what was about to happen…and was surprised when she never so much as glanced in my direction.
“Girl,” she addressed Heather, “what is your name?”
“Um…my name’s Heather,” she said nervously.
“Excuse me?”
Heather looked up at her, confused and somewhat intimidated.
“Heather,” she repeated.
Miss Flinn’s face darkened.
“Excuse me,” she said slowly, “but how did I say you were to address me?”
“Oh…Miss Flinn. Sorry.”
She paused for a moment. The TA kept glowering.
“I mean…sorry Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn’s eyebrows lifted only slightly.
“So,” she asked, “what is the final step in this equation, Heather?”
I wanted to blurt out the answer, but I knew I couldn’t risk that. I found myself wishing for a telepathic link between myself and Heather, so I could feed her the answer, but there was another part of me that was ghoulishly curious. What was going to happen? As I watched Heather stammer and look at her desk, trying her hardest to think, a selfish little creature inside of me wanted to see how this played out. It might have just been curiosity about whether this was connected to my earlier experiences, but in retrospect I think there was more than that.
“Heather, have you been paying attention to a single word I’ve spoken today?”
“Well…yeah…I just…don’t really understand it that well.”
Miss Flinn bit her lip, eyebrows narrowing again.
“Eek! I mean, I don’t understand it Miss Flinn.”
She said it, but it was too late.
“Girl, I am tired of your disrespect!”
Heather cowered in her seat.
“Come here.”
I had no doubts about what was going to happen now. Heather got up and walked bashfully toward the whiteboard. She was wearing blue jeans today, which made the contours of her big ass easy to see. I tried to stand up and do something, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. I felt myself growing hard in my pants. Goddamnit, was I just going to sit there and watch it happen?
Miss Flinn walked in front of the desk and pointed to it.
“Bend over.”
Heather’s eyes grew wide.
“What? Miss Flinn?”
“Bend over the desk, Heather,” she repeated, “you have repeatedly failed to address me properly, and there are consequences to be faced. Do it now.”
With a pleading look around the room for someone to help her (no one reacted), Heather moved very, very slowly toward the desk and lay across it. Her butt stretched under her jeans as she pointed her large backside into the air.
“I am going to spank you thirty times with this ruler,” said Miss Flinn, picking up the wooden ruler she had been using before, “after every stroke, you are to count up out loud. Failure to count a stroke will cause it to be repeated until you comply. When I am finished, you will stand up and thank me for disciplining you. And you will address me with respect.”
Heather cringed. She looked pleadingly back at the rest of the class, looking for someone to speak up and break this surreality. But everyone was paralyzed, in either mute shock or semi-consciousness.
“Yes, Miss Flinn,” she whispered weakly.
Miss Flinn stood to the right of Heather’s vulnerable backside. Lifting the ruler from the desk, she gently, surgically, pushed the wood against Heather’s jeans, positioning it right at the meatiest part of her ass. She stuck her other hand between Heather’s knees, forcing them apart.
She raised the ruler, and brought it whistling down exactly where she had been aiming.
“Ow!”
With a crack that made me wince, the ruler cut into Heather’s buttcheeks, making them bounce. I saw her legs tremble.
“I did not hear you counting!”
She swung it again, a little bit higher.
“Ow…one, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Ow, two, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
My cock was harder than it had been in months, and starting to get wet at the tip. I felt terrible for enjoying it, but my libido wasn’t listening. Each stroke sent vibrations across Heather’s lovely ass, as did her legs when she kicked in pain.
After ten strokes, Miss Flinn told Heather to get up.
“Take off your blue jeans,” she instructed, “the rest of this spanking is to be conducted in your panties.”
“In my…in my…Miss Flinn…?”
“Indeed,” said the TA, her icy demeanor broken by a smirk, “I want to see your bottom turn red as it is being punished. Take off the pants.”
Heather looked at the class in terror. Everyone in the room was still silent. Most of them almost looked half asleep (some of them were completely asleep).
“Hey,” I addressed the boy next to me again, “hey, shouldn’t we try to do something?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Why don‘t you do it?”
Heather unbuckled her jeans and bashfully pulled them down. When I saw her tiny, white thong and what it was trying unsuccessfully to cover, I almost drooled.
“Young Lady,” said Miss Flinn, “is that a thong?”
Heather’s face was burning bright red. She looked at the floor.
“Yes, Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn shook her head, another cruel smile on her harsh, Indian face.
“Such clothing is hardly appropriate for one your age,” said Miss Flinn.
It was all I could do to not burst out laughing. Look who was talking! I covered my mouth with one hand to suppress the chuckles. The other had, without my noticing, slid inside my pants.
“Tell me, would you wear such panties if you were in a skirt?”
“Um…maybe, Miss Flinn.”
“Maybe? And what if your skirt was lifted by the wind, or if you fell down?”
Heather did tend to fall down a lot. It was a valid concern. She didn’t answer.
“Very well,” said Miss Flinn, “the last ten strokes will be administered on the bare.”
Heather moaned and looked ready to tear up.
“Bend back over.”
Heather got back into position. The thong slid deeper between her cheeks as she bent over, covering even less of her butt than it did before. Her round, quivering cheeks were pinkish in the middle, with lines from the ruler visible.
Miss Flinn got back beside Heather, and swung the ruler again. Without the jeans in the way, I could see the wood bite into her flesh. Her ass cheeks clapped together as they bounced and jiggled.
Crack!
“Mmmmmhhh…ahhh…eleven, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owww-twelve, Miss Flinn-oohh!”
Miss Flinn was like a machine, making each swing exactly like the one before it with perfect timing. As she disciplined Heather’s heaving flesh, new and brighter lines of red appeared across her helpless buns.
Crack!
“Thirteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Fourteen, Miss Flinn…eeeeh.”
Crack!
“Fifteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owwwww!…Sixteen, Miss Flinn.”
Her voice got higher and more desperate with each stroke. She began bouncing on the balls of her feet in between spankings. When the ruler connected, she jumped an inch or so off the desk and kicked. Miss Flinn paid no heed. She was merciless.
When she got to twenty, Miss Flinn leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of Heather’s thong. Was it just me, or did the strap look kind of damp? Slowly, she worked the panties down over her butt and let it fall to her ankles with her jeans. Now totally naked from the waist down, Heather trembled in pain and humiliation. Her naked ass was just like I imagined it; full, wide, and chubby, but not at all sagging. The bright red lines across her rump crisscrossed each other, leaving darker intersections where they met. Below this, a tangle of black pubic hair was visible.
The switching resumed just as it had before. At twenty-three, Heather was sniffling. At twenty five, her entire butt was a mess of overlapping red marks, some almost as high as the waist, some just above the thighs, but most of them right on the sit spot, which was just a few shades away from purple. My hand was working frantically under my desk, more precum staining my underwear.
Crack!
“Ow! Ow! Twenty-six Miss Flinn-ow!”
As I looked, I saw something glisten between Heather’s thighs. She was definitely wet. Her short, dark pubic hair was practically dripping.
The last four strokes came without breaking pace. Miss Flinn showed no sign of tiring as she finished dominating Heather’s poor buttocks. Heather was sobbing. Her buns were covered with lines of pink, red, and dark crimson. Her legs continued to twitch a little. On the other hand, the entire insides of her thighs were now glistening wet.
She pushed herself up from the desk, and turned her tearstained face to Miss Flinn.
“Th-thank you, Miss Flinn.”
She reached down, wincing, and gingerly pulled her pants and panties back up. I smiled to myself. I knew exactly what that felt like! I was sorry to see her (clearly open and damp) vagina disappear back under her clothes, but I had seen enough. My hand kept kneading my dripping hard penis, mere moments from climax.
“Class is dismissed,” said Miss Flinn.
Immediately, everyone came back to life and filed out of the room. I quickly pulled my hand out of my crotch.
No one said anything beyond the usual chatter. It was as if no one else remembered what they had just seen. Well…almost no one. Heather was the first to run out the door, both hands itching to rub her butt, but waiting until she was out of sight.
As I stood up, facing a corner to hide my enraged boner, I looked back at the front of the classroom. There was no one there. Miss Flinn was gone.
…
I didn’t see Heather around the campus the next day. I considered knocking on her door, but decided that would just be too awkward. I felt horribly guilty. I ran into another girl from Calculus, and tried desperately to confirm what the hell had happened that day.
“Tuesday’s calc? We did more of chapter three, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I was talking more about the…uh…TA?”
She shrugged. “Weird. I thought yesterday was when Grodvikia screamed at us about cosine equations?”
“No, that was last Thursday.”
She thought for a moment. “Not sure. Those classes all kind of run together.”
I tried the same line of questioning with three other of my classmates. No one had any specific memories about Tuesday’s class. Even Professor Grodvikia, next time I got to talk to her, seemed to have an uncharacteristically fuzzy memory.
The next time I ran into Heather was two days later, when I met her on the way to our Thursday Calculus.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up?” She returned brightly.
She seemed perfectly normal as we made our way to class, except I noticed her getting nervous as we got close. We entered the room to see Professor Grodvikia standing, as boring as ever, by the whiteboard, writing out today’s assignment. As far as I could tell, nothing strange had ever happened.
But when Heather sat down, she winced.
“Woah!” I shouted, grabbing the handrails to keep balanced, “watch it!”
Turning around, I saw a girl getting up off the ground. One of her shoes was untied; it looked like she had tripped on the laces. Did I mention she was klutzy?
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She said, picking herself up off the stairs. She looked sheepish and embarrassed.
“Its alright,” I said, chuckling a little, “are you okay there?”
“Yeah,” she said, “thanks.”
She was a short girl, maybe five foot three, and full bodied, just a pound or two shy of chubby. Her hair was short and glossy black, and her face was round and open.
“So much for making impressions,” she said as she got to her feet, “I thought I’d at least make it downstairs without almost killing someone.”
“Who me?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes way more than that to kill a badass like me.”
I puffed out my chest. She laughed. Hers was a deep, throaty laugh, one that you can tell is genuine. I liked making her laugh.
“What’s your name?” I asked, helping her up.
“Heather,” she said, “Heather DuCourcey.”
“Cool,” I said, “I’m Jake Ramone.”
As we continued down the stairs, she absentmindedly rubbed her bruised ass with one hand. It would have been hard not to be interested in it under the best of circumstances, but the rubbing made it near impossible. Heather was wide shouldered and wide hipped, with large, globe-shaped buttocks that rippled under her hand. I later learned that she, like most girls, was insecure about her body, and thought that big butts were always a sign of fatness. God do I hate women’s magazines.
We chatted until we got to the ground floor, at which point she went down to the basement laundry room and I left for my first class. We said hi again when we met in the lobby that evening, and discovered that we had Intro to Calculus together the next day. I had made my first new friend at school.
…
Intro to Calculus was taught by Professor Grodvikia, a middle aged Bulgarian woman with a short temper and a poor grasp of English. She stood in front of the whiteboard for an hour, saying things I could barely understand and getting frustrated when anyone asked a question. Being a math person, I was more or less able to follow by reading the book. Heather, who sat a few seats away from me, however, was not a math person. Just two weeks into the semester, I was already helping her with our homework. Not that I minded.
One Tuesday in mid October, I came to Calculus a minute or so late to discover that everyone else was present…except Professor Grodvikia. This was odd. She was usually the embodiment of punctuality, and got annoyed when students were even a few minutes late. I smiled a bit. Maybe she’d stop being so uptight about lateness after this.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and in walked a person who could hardly be less like Professor Grodvikia. A tall, olive-skinned (possibly Persian or Indian) woman, maybe twenty five years old, strode purposefully across the room. The shocking part was what she was wearing; she had a skintight, black leather top cut into a low V-collar at the front, held together at the sides by straps. On her lower body she wore matching black leather short shorts, polished so they sparkled, that looked almost too tight to move in. Finally, a pair of high heeled black boots adorned her petite ankles and feet.
“My name is Miss Flinn,” she said sternly, without a trace of emotion on her face, when she reached the professor’s desk, “I am a Teaching Assistant for Professor Grodvikia. Since the Professor was not able to make it today, I will be teaching this class in her place. You are to regard me as your instructor for this course for as long as I stand in.”
What the…? I hadn’t heard anything about a TA, and even if I had, there was no way in hell the school would let them show up to work dressed like that. I looked around at my classmates. All of them seemed to be in mute shock.
“Understood?”
Her hazel eyes flashed. “Understood,” everyone quickly echoed.
“Um…Miss Flinn?” Someone raised their hand.
“Yes?”
“Um…what’s with the dominatrix stuff?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What ‘dominatrix stuff‘ are you referring to?”
Her eyes bored into the kid dangerously. I was sitting across the room, but I could still tell I’d have trouble thinking straight under that piercing glare. He didn’t answer.
“Any other questions?”
She let her hands rest on her leather-clad hips. She had a slim figure, but an athletic one. Her face had soft features, but her expression and demeanor more than made up for it. Due to the deep V-shape of her black leather color, the inside cleft of her breasts was visible. They were a nice upper medium size, and pear shaped. I couldn’t decide whether this was titillating, or terrifying. Everyone else seemed shocked into silence.
“Excellent,” she said softly when more questions were asked, “now we can begin the class.”
She wrote some formulas on the board, and we began taking notes. She went quickly, and was only slightly more approachable than Professor Grodvikia, but at least her English was fluent. When her back was turned, I glanced over at Heather with a look of utter confusion on my face. She returned the expression.
I turned to the guy sitting next to me. “What the hell?” I whispered.
He shrugged. “Dunno, man,” he said, sounding strangely groggy, “weird shit’s gotta happen sometimes, I guess.”
I stared at him openmouthed for a second, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant. A moment later, I noticed something familiar about that slow tone of voice. I had twice been in that state myself.
I looked back at the lecturing Miss Flinn, wondering if I was truly losing my mind. Should I get up and leave right now? No, what if this is all just me hallucinating? I mean, this is public. Nothing sadomasochistic was going to happen here in a classroom full of students, was it? I grimaced. I sure hoped not. However mixed my feelings about the candy store and hitchhiking incidents were, I did NOT want something of that sort occurring in front of my classmates.
The class dragged on. I made a point of sitting quietly and doing exactly what she outlined on the board. Hopefully, this would all turn out to be paranoia. Or a daydream. Or both.
Half an hour into the class, she put down the marker and ruler she had been using for her diagrams and turned toward the class.
“So,” she said, “can anyone tell how to finish this equation?”
Dead silence. I had a fairly good understanding of how to do the problem, but I was not about to draw attention to myself.
“Hmmm,” she said disapprovingly, “it seems I must pick someone at random.
My heart sank as she started looking. I gritted my teeth, knowing what was about to happen…and was surprised when she never so much as glanced in my direction.
“Girl,” she addressed Heather, “what is your name?”
“Um…my name’s Heather,” she said nervously.
“Excuse me?”
Heather looked up at her, confused and somewhat intimidated.
“Heather,” she repeated.
Miss Flinn’s face darkened.
“Excuse me,” she said slowly, “but how did I say you were to address me?”
“Oh…Miss Flinn. Sorry.”
She paused for a moment. The TA kept glowering.
“I mean…sorry Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn’s eyebrows lifted only slightly.
“So,” she asked, “what is the final step in this equation, Heather?”
I wanted to blurt out the answer, but I knew I couldn’t risk that. I found myself wishing for a telepathic link between myself and Heather, so I could feed her the answer, but there was another part of me that was ghoulishly curious. What was going to happen? As I watched Heather stammer and look at her desk, trying her hardest to think, a selfish little creature inside of me wanted to see how this played out. It might have just been curiosity about whether this was connected to my earlier experiences, but in retrospect I think there was more than that.
“Heather, have you been paying attention to a single word I’ve spoken today?”
“Well…yeah…I just…don’t really understand it that well.”
Miss Flinn bit her lip, eyebrows narrowing again.
“Eek! I mean, I don’t understand it Miss Flinn.”
She said it, but it was too late.
“Girl, I am tired of your disrespect!”
Heather cowered in her seat.
“Come here.”
I had no doubts about what was going to happen now. Heather got up and walked bashfully toward the whiteboard. She was wearing blue jeans today, which made the contours of her big ass easy to see. I tried to stand up and do something, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. I felt myself growing hard in my pants. Goddamnit, was I just going to sit there and watch it happen?
Miss Flinn walked in front of the desk and pointed to it.
“Bend over.”
Heather’s eyes grew wide.
“What? Miss Flinn?”
“Bend over the desk, Heather,” she repeated, “you have repeatedly failed to address me properly, and there are consequences to be faced. Do it now.”
With a pleading look around the room for someone to help her (no one reacted), Heather moved very, very slowly toward the desk and lay across it. Her butt stretched under her jeans as she pointed her large backside into the air.
“I am going to spank you thirty times with this ruler,” said Miss Flinn, picking up the wooden ruler she had been using before, “after every stroke, you are to count up out loud. Failure to count a stroke will cause it to be repeated until you comply. When I am finished, you will stand up and thank me for disciplining you. And you will address me with respect.”
Heather cringed. She looked pleadingly back at the rest of the class, looking for someone to speak up and break this surreality. But everyone was paralyzed, in either mute shock or semi-consciousness.
“Yes, Miss Flinn,” she whispered weakly.
Miss Flinn stood to the right of Heather’s vulnerable backside. Lifting the ruler from the desk, she gently, surgically, pushed the wood against Heather’s jeans, positioning it right at the meatiest part of her ass. She stuck her other hand between Heather’s knees, forcing them apart.
She raised the ruler, and brought it whistling down exactly where she had been aiming.
“Ow!”
With a crack that made me wince, the ruler cut into Heather’s buttcheeks, making them bounce. I saw her legs tremble.
“I did not hear you counting!”
She swung it again, a little bit higher.
“Ow…one, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Ow, two, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
My cock was harder than it had been in months, and starting to get wet at the tip. I felt terrible for enjoying it, but my libido wasn’t listening. Each stroke sent vibrations across Heather’s lovely ass, as did her legs when she kicked in pain.
After ten strokes, Miss Flinn told Heather to get up.
“Take off your blue jeans,” she instructed, “the rest of this spanking is to be conducted in your panties.”
“In my…in my…Miss Flinn…?”
“Indeed,” said the TA, her icy demeanor broken by a smirk, “I want to see your bottom turn red as it is being punished. Take off the pants.”
Heather looked at the class in terror. Everyone in the room was still silent. Most of them almost looked half asleep (some of them were completely asleep).
“Hey,” I addressed the boy next to me again, “hey, shouldn’t we try to do something?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Why don‘t you do it?”
Heather unbuckled her jeans and bashfully pulled them down. When I saw her tiny, white thong and what it was trying unsuccessfully to cover, I almost drooled.
“Young Lady,” said Miss Flinn, “is that a thong?”
Heather’s face was burning bright red. She looked at the floor.
“Yes, Miss Flinn.”
Miss Flinn shook her head, another cruel smile on her harsh, Indian face.
“Such clothing is hardly appropriate for one your age,” said Miss Flinn.
It was all I could do to not burst out laughing. Look who was talking! I covered my mouth with one hand to suppress the chuckles. The other had, without my noticing, slid inside my pants.
“Tell me, would you wear such panties if you were in a skirt?”
“Um…maybe, Miss Flinn.”
“Maybe? And what if your skirt was lifted by the wind, or if you fell down?”
Heather did tend to fall down a lot. It was a valid concern. She didn’t answer.
“Very well,” said Miss Flinn, “the last ten strokes will be administered on the bare.”
Heather moaned and looked ready to tear up.
“Bend back over.”
Heather got back into position. The thong slid deeper between her cheeks as she bent over, covering even less of her butt than it did before. Her round, quivering cheeks were pinkish in the middle, with lines from the ruler visible.
Miss Flinn got back beside Heather, and swung the ruler again. Without the jeans in the way, I could see the wood bite into her flesh. Her ass cheeks clapped together as they bounced and jiggled.
Crack!
“Mmmmmhhh…ahhh…eleven, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owww-twelve, Miss Flinn-oohh!”
Miss Flinn was like a machine, making each swing exactly like the one before it with perfect timing. As she disciplined Heather’s heaving flesh, new and brighter lines of red appeared across her helpless buns.
Crack!
“Thirteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Fourteen, Miss Flinn…eeeeh.”
Crack!
“Fifteen, Miss Flinn.”
Crack!
“Owwwww!…Sixteen, Miss Flinn.”
Her voice got higher and more desperate with each stroke. She began bouncing on the balls of her feet in between spankings. When the ruler connected, she jumped an inch or so off the desk and kicked. Miss Flinn paid no heed. She was merciless.
When she got to twenty, Miss Flinn leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of Heather’s thong. Was it just me, or did the strap look kind of damp? Slowly, she worked the panties down over her butt and let it fall to her ankles with her jeans. Now totally naked from the waist down, Heather trembled in pain and humiliation. Her naked ass was just like I imagined it; full, wide, and chubby, but not at all sagging. The bright red lines across her rump crisscrossed each other, leaving darker intersections where they met. Below this, a tangle of black pubic hair was visible.
The switching resumed just as it had before. At twenty-three, Heather was sniffling. At twenty five, her entire butt was a mess of overlapping red marks, some almost as high as the waist, some just above the thighs, but most of them right on the sit spot, which was just a few shades away from purple. My hand was working frantically under my desk, more precum staining my underwear.
Crack!
“Ow! Ow! Twenty-six Miss Flinn-ow!”
As I looked, I saw something glisten between Heather’s thighs. She was definitely wet. Her short, dark pubic hair was practically dripping.
The last four strokes came without breaking pace. Miss Flinn showed no sign of tiring as she finished dominating Heather’s poor buttocks. Heather was sobbing. Her buns were covered with lines of pink, red, and dark crimson. Her legs continued to twitch a little. On the other hand, the entire insides of her thighs were now glistening wet.
She pushed herself up from the desk, and turned her tearstained face to Miss Flinn.
“Th-thank you, Miss Flinn.”
She reached down, wincing, and gingerly pulled her pants and panties back up. I smiled to myself. I knew exactly what that felt like! I was sorry to see her (clearly open and damp) vagina disappear back under her clothes, but I had seen enough. My hand kept kneading my dripping hard penis, mere moments from climax.
“Class is dismissed,” said Miss Flinn.
Immediately, everyone came back to life and filed out of the room. I quickly pulled my hand out of my crotch.
No one said anything beyond the usual chatter. It was as if no one else remembered what they had just seen. Well…almost no one. Heather was the first to run out the door, both hands itching to rub her butt, but waiting until she was out of sight.
As I stood up, facing a corner to hide my enraged boner, I looked back at the front of the classroom. There was no one there. Miss Flinn was gone.
…
I didn’t see Heather around the campus the next day. I considered knocking on her door, but decided that would just be too awkward. I felt horribly guilty. I ran into another girl from Calculus, and tried desperately to confirm what the hell had happened that day.
“Tuesday’s calc? We did more of chapter three, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I was talking more about the…uh…TA?”
She shrugged. “Weird. I thought yesterday was when Grodvikia screamed at us about cosine equations?”
“No, that was last Thursday.”
She thought for a moment. “Not sure. Those classes all kind of run together.”
I tried the same line of questioning with three other of my classmates. No one had any specific memories about Tuesday’s class. Even Professor Grodvikia, next time I got to talk to her, seemed to have an uncharacteristically fuzzy memory.
The next time I ran into Heather was two days later, when I met her on the way to our Thursday Calculus.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up?” She returned brightly.
She seemed perfectly normal as we made our way to class, except I noticed her getting nervous as we got close. We entered the room to see Professor Grodvikia standing, as boring as ever, by the whiteboard, writing out today’s assignment. As far as I could tell, nothing strange had ever happened.
But when Heather sat down, she winced.
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