He seemed quite happy with my bottom anyway, running a hand across the seat of my leggings. They were only thin cotton and I found myself wishing I’d gone for jeans, or the fleece-lined jogging pants I sometimes wore when I had no plans to leave the flat. Maybe I’d knit myself a pair of knickers for next time and line them with leather. Even the faintest tap of his palm made me want to vault forwards onto the floor. I was stiff and pent-up with nervous tension.
“We don’t have to do this,” Dexter reminded me. “Perhaps you should relax. I’m not going to kill you, you know. This is just a taster. You’re in control.”
I’m in control, am I? Upended over a strange man’s thighs with my legs swinging through the air and my bottom primed for a spanking. It was an interesting version of the situation, but then everything was topsy-turvy now. I was in UpsideDownLand, and Dexter appeared to be the reigning monarch.
“Right, stop kicking and get your feet down, please.”
The firm tone of his voice did what no words of reassurance could do, and I instinctively let my shoulders drop and my legs stop their scissoring ballet.
“Better. Perhaps we’ll have to work on presentation and posture. Next time.”
Oooh, next time. I quivered and moistened beneath the inadequate cotton crotch of my leggings. He meant business. Business with my rear end.
“Ouch!”
I overreacted to the first swipe, which was not hard, but came out of nowhere. His hand had landed on my arse. It was so loud! Much louder than I’d thought it would be. I yanked up my head and looked around me, worrying vaguely about the neighbours, though I was sure they were at work all day anyway.
“Did that hurt?” Dexter sounded surprised.
“No, not really,” I admitted. “Just…the feeling. It’s new. And it’s loud.”
“It seems louder than it really is,” said Dexter. “Though if you’re really worried about noise, there are quieter implements. Ironically, those tend to be the ones that make their recipient shout the loudest, though.”
“Oh, yes, that’s very ironic, ouch!” I said, caught once more by the strange, hand-shaped pain alighting on my left bum cheek.
“Your pain threshold is quite low. These are just pats.”
Dexter sounded disappointed, and I wanted very badly to dispel that disappointment, if that wasn’t too weird of me.
“Again—just surprise, Dexter. It feels…not at all bad.” It felt good! A rush of stimulating sensation across the globes and down into the valleys, making me push out for more, harder, more.
“You’re enjoying it?”
“I…well, yeah. Oh!”
Dexter tried a harder smack, and it did hurt, but not enough for me to want him to stop—nowhere near enough for that. So he tried a few more, his spanking hand travelling across each peach, down as far as my thighs, until I felt so deliciously warm and wet that I feared my leggings might soon melt. I squirmed in his lap, forgetting to worry about how I looked or what he thought of me, just letting myself fall into the heady sensation of submission. It’s so easy, I crowed to myself, grinding my hips and gasping more from arousal than distress. It’s so easy to take a spanking! Why would anyone not enjoy this? Why is it ever considered a punishment?
“Is this what you wanted?” Dexter asked politely. “Is this the way forward?”
“Ohhh yes, I think so,” I purred, and then, without warning, he picked up pace to a diabolical degree, slapping hard and fast across both cheeks and I began to squeal, began to dance in earnest, and now he’d answered my question. Now I knew why it would be considered a punishment. It was painful!
“Ah! Oh! Ah! Ouch! No! It hurts! Dexter! Oh! Ouch!” I was writhing strenuously, keen to elude his relentless hail of spanks, and I put up a hand in a desperate attempt to shield my bottom. He grabbed the wrist, held it tight above the small of my back, and stopped.
“That’s a real spanking,” he said. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Not like the fantasy version.”
“Yes,” I peeped, ashamed at my pathetically poor tolerance level.
“So what do you think?”
I couldn’t see him, still hanging off his lap with one arm twisted in his grasp, so my thoughts came slowly and without much coherence.
“What do I think? Of spanking? Or…?”
“Do you like it?”
“I think so.”
“Would you want me to go harder? Faster? To make it really sting? Because that was nothing, Lara. That was nothing at all.”