The Spinster's Exploits

This is something I wrote a few decades back, in my first proper spanking relationship. It expresses my surprise that a mild spanking can be a directly erotic experience in itself – something I’d not expected and hadn’t considered before being on the receiving end of such attention.

I am across his lap, having my bottom spanked. I’ve not been ‘naughty’ and I am not being punished, but I am in his power (as he is in mine, but that’s not the issue here).

As we kissed and touched we both knew I needed to be over his lap. Sometimes I do so compliantly and sometimes I put up a token resistance, but once in place we both know I am staying over his knee.  The caresses, memories and our desires keep me there. I am supported by the sofa so all my concentration is on what is happening to my bottom – no distraction of balance or holding a position, just me presented to him for the first spanking of this time together.

I love the feel of the erotic and exploratory strokes over my skirt becoming slaps, building in their insistence so gradually I find myself being spanked. I feel entirely in his power and at his mercy, but feel nothing but arousal across his lap. Sometimes I receive the delicious slaps silently and still and sometimes with a moan and wiggle, teasing him, aware of my movement across his groin as I eagerly seek the next spank.

And as the spanks get harder I start to feel the pain and my movements across his constraining jeans are not quite so deliberate as I can’t help but try to avoid the more insistent spanks. An unexpected hard slap of my smoothly skirted behind has me yelling out in surprise and a sudden tattoo has me laughing, swearing and protesting at the same time. He laughs too, but doesn’t let up; simply holds me firmly as he reaches for the hairbrush and continues the onslaught on my now smarting bottom as I lie there in pain and erotic confusion.

The smacks of the wooden hairbrush build fresh fires, but slow burning and I find myself welcoming the glow in my bottom and deeper inside. Again I am moaning and welcoming, but know that I will always get the smack that sends me into ambivalence – the pain that makes me protest, while welcoming his power and the need for him to deliver it – the ‘oof’ of surprise, confusion, desire, resistance and welcome as I am propelled down by the spank and can’t help inviting the next.

And as I move from ambivalence to struggle despite myself, there is a pause. And I know he is about to raise my skirt… Although and because I know I will be spanked harder I reach another plateau of ambivalence as my pleasure in his arousal and mine wars with my anxiety about the harder spanking I am to receive.

I recall with pleasure the thought I put into dressing for him and savour the enjoyment he will get as he slides up then carefully folds back my skirt and takes in the dark stockings and carefully chosen knickers and suspender belt.

As he strokes me over my cream, silk French knickers, I know he is looking down my stocking-clad legs and my saucy brown ankle boots, admiring the slim, high heels and the outrageous sight I am across his lap with my skirt up.

The effect of my ample bottom and its elevation over his thighs has tightened the silk and as he strokes me I know my knickers have tightened and risen over my vulnerably awaiting behind. I sense him looking as he strokes me and comments on how red I am already and I know he can see so much of my bottom despite my knickers’ thin protection. And as he strokes, his fingers slide under my knickers as he chooses to expose or cover my lower cheeks at his whim while he admires his handiwork. And I want this sexy respite to continue forever as he admires, enjoys and savours what he has done and gives me such pleasure with his touch. And we both know that the pleasure is also knowing that he intends to spank me so much more.  And as I want him to continue like this forever, I am remembering the spanking I have just received and all the others and imagining those to come. I am longing to feel his hand more harshly across my thinly covered flesh, while anxious that already he has made my flesh sing and we both know he has hardly started.

And once again the first spanks are more like caresses, except on my sensitised flesh they cause me to wince as well as welcome. I am unaware of the scant protection afforded me by the thin silk and know that keeping my knickers for now is about our pleasure at the contrasts of my unveiling and the delayed eroticism of the moment he chooses to fully expose my well-spanked bottom for the final part of my first spanking of the day.

Despite the winces, the spanks are still welcome as he plays my desire, anxiety and ambivalence with firm slaps over and around my knickers and I relive and imagine what is to come. The pauses and rearrangement of the thin silk prolong my confused thoughts and emotions as I wonder whether I desire spanks or caresses more. The reverie is shaken as once again I feel the smooth wood placed on my upturned bottom and know that the heat is about to be turned up in his actions and across my flesh.

The sharp tattoo of the hairbrush in its sets of three across my now burning bottom has me once more struggling as my body automatically resists while I revel in his pleasure and determination.

And in the pause I recover, knowing there is more to come; once again needing the respite but already imagining him lowering my knickers…

And as I lie there acquiescent, I am torn between the need for the spanking to continue and the desire for more conventional attention. But despite the tenderness and apprehension I have a need to have my knickers lowered and feel my lover spank my bare bottom. I moan to myself as he thoughtfully caresses the bottom he tells me is so red. And I feel myself melt although I can’t help a token protest as he carefully peels down my knickers as I so helpfully raise myself enough for him to slide them to my thighs.

I lie there in pleasure knowing what a lascivious sight I am presenting over my lover’s lap, with knickers around my stockinged thighs, my reddened and spanked bum framed by my stocking tops and suspender straps.

I relive the moment of his taking down my knickers as I so often do – that moment of emotional and erotic melt-down, acceptance, trust and love, but am aware of the hand on my now fully bared bottom and know I am to be spanked more.

And much as I enjoy those moments of hastily pulled down drawers for a quick, hard smacked bottom I revel in this slow sensuous build up to my first bare bottomed spanking of this time together with the hours stretching ahead of us.

He knows how tender and apprehensive I am and the first spanks are almost caresses…but not quite. I am now too tender not to feel the pain of his firm, but measured slaps of my exposed behind. But the pain is just enough to sharpen my arousal and the eroticism of being across my lover’s lap with knickers down and having my bare bottom spanked.

And as always the spanking increases in severity until I feel I can take no more. And as I start to fight him I am informed I am to receive my final twelve…

And as always I accept the final spanking I am sure I don’t want and can’t take but know I need. It is always harsh enough to be feared, but never more than I can bear. And as I count down in my head I love and hate the sting of his hand, knowing the pleasure its execution and memory delivers.

And once again I am in his arms, overcome with desire and eager for distraction of his hands and lips, heightened only by the knowledge of the spanking I have taken and his plans for my now warmed-up flesh. As usual my knickers have thoughtfully been replaced. And as he gives me the attention I crave he tells me how red is my bottom and how many more strokes I am to take. I shiver in his arms as he thinks through the merits of paddle, ruler, belt or slipper and always the cane. As I protest hollowly we are already imagining me bent over table or chair, once again with the raising of my skirt and the lowering of my knickers to come.