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Rendezvous at the Boozecan
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Subject: Rendezvous at the Boozecan
Having been moved to share, here's the story of my introduction to
spanking. I am *not* making this up, BTW, as Dave Barry would say. The
following is a true story:
About 15 years ago, I was told about a Toronto after-hours booze can
that was not overly careful about admitting people they didn't know. When
my other plans fell through one night, I made my way to the top floor of a
downtown industrial-type building, knocked on the steel door and, after
being scrutinized through a peep-hole, was admitted.
It was about 2 a.m. when I walked into a large room with a bar at one
end and a number of church-basement-type fold-up tables and folding chairs
scattered around. There were only a dozen or so serious drinkers there,
mostly keeping to themselves, so I bought myself a beer (about $6) and sat
down at one of the long wooden tables, almost directly across from a very
lovely, dark-haired woman of about 25.
I was interested, but saw right away that she had the glassy- eyed look
of the quite-drunk, so I made no approach. She didn't acknowledge my
presence, but gazed steadily down at the table in front of her, a
half-empty glass of something held loosely in one hand.
I sipped my beer for a few minutes, just looking around the joint, when
all of a sudden the woman across from me said in a low voice: "I'm so
stupid. I should get my mother to give me a good spanking."
Unsure that I had heard her right, I said "excuse me?"
The auburn-haired beauty raised her head and looked at me for the first
time.
"If you were my Daddy,' she said, "would you give me a good spanking?"
At that moment, I couldn't tell whether I was more surprised by this
weird opening line, or by the sudden pounding in my chest.
"If I were your Daddy, love, and you deserved it, I'd be happy to give
you a good spanking," I replied (well, wouldn't you?).
Christine - as I later discovered her name to be - scrutinized me for a
moment or two, then stood up. She was only about five feet and maybe an
inch, slim, but with a delightful, full-breasted figure molded into an
Earth-colored dress with a short skirt and tight top. Her thick hair fell
to just below her shoulders.
"Do you have a car?" she asked. I said I did.
She nodded and turned towards the door.
"Let's go then, Daddy."
Fifteen minutes later, we were in the elevator of a downtown high-rise,
riding up to the ninth floor. We had exchanged very few words during the
ride to the building, little more than introductions and perfunctory,
awkward pleasantries. She kept her eyes downcast during the elevator ride.
At the end of the hallway, she opened her apartment door and I found
myself in a small but neat one-bedroom flat.
She offered me a drink, and we sat on the sofa for a few minutes sipping
scotch and talking. I was surprised to notice that she actually seemed to
have gotten less drunk, although clearly thinking her own thoughts.
Suddenly, as if she had finally made up her mind, she got up and moved
directly in front of me, put her hands behind her back and stared down at
the carpet.
"I'm sorry for being so bad, Daddy," she said in a voice that was all of
a sudden more like a frightened 15-year-old's than a grown woman's. "Am I
going to get the strap?"
"Yes, Christine," I said. I'm afraid you are."
I know a cue when I hear one.
Christine led me into her bedroom - a small cream-colored affair just
off the living room, with a twin bed set against the far wall - and
stopped in the middle of the room.
Seeing that she was waiting for me to do something, I assumed a voice
that I hoped sounded stern and said, "OK, Christine, get ready. You know
what to do."
She did. She reached behind her and unzipped her dress, pulled it off
her shoulders, stepped out of it and kicked off her shoes. A moment later,
she was standing in front of me, a slim, pretty young woman in a white bra
and light blue cotton panties.
Not knowing exactly how she wanted me to proceed from there, I figured
I should improvise. "All right, Christine," I said. "Get ready now."
Instantly, she stepped over to the bed and lay on her tummy on the
green coverlet, then took one of the two pillows and pulled it towards
her, wrapping both arms around it and burying her face in the cloth.
My heart pounding a mile (1.6 kilometres) a minute, I looked down at
her lying there and wondered how many times in her life she had lain like
that, frightened or excited ... waiting to submit to some ritual only she
and her father understood.
I leaned over and bent close to the tangle of brown hair that poured
over the pillow.
"Christine," I said, "I'm going to strap you good and proper for your
misbehavior."
"Yes, Daddy,' she said, her reply muffled by the pillow.
I reached down and grasped the waistband of her panties and slipped
them down over her hips, exposing her small white bottom. Her cheeks
clenched for a second as she felt the cool air on her backside, then
relaxed.
I tugged the panties down to just above her knees, then undid my black
leather belt and folded it into a loop.
I raised the belt above my shoulder and paused.
"OK, Christine, get ready," I said.
The belt hissed through the air and fell with a loud smack across her
bottom cheeks. The girl gasped and her buttocks clenched tight for a
moment, then relaxed.
I brought up the strap again and whipped it across her backside, just
below the curve. Christine gasped again, and a sob broke from her throat.
Again, I raised the strap and brought it whistling down, this time
across the top of her thighs where they met her buttocks. Another
muffled, gasping sob came from the girl as her bottom cheeks quivered,
tightened, relaxed.
I've got to admit I was amazed at how much I was getting into this.
Seeing the red tracks the belt left across her buttocks excited me more
than anything ever had.
Several smacks later, Christine's muffled sobs became full- throated
cries - "Oh, oh no" - as her head flew up off the pillow each time the
belt slapped against her quivering backside.
After about 20 smacks I wanted to get a better feel for what I
was doing, so I placed my left hand on the small of her back as the belt
whipped across her bottom. I could feel the vibration of the blow and the
shudder that went through her body with every smack.
In all, I gave her about 50 licks, and towards the end, I was hitting
as hard as I could, the strap exploding against her now fiery red rear
end.
Suddenly she raised her head and looked back at me, her face
glistening wet with tears.
"Please,' she said in a quavering voice, "that's enough."
And it was over.
Christine lay sobbing into the pillow for several minutes while I
rethreaded my belt through my pantsloops, wondering what to say.
Then she sat up, her breath coming in broken gasps, and wiped her face
with her hand.
I shouldn't have bothered cinching up my belt, because she swung her
legs off the bed and undid the strap and unzipped my pants, then proceeded
to give me the best blowjob I've ever had.
Fair is fair, I guess she figured.
Afterwards, she said, "you'd better go now." At the door, she let me
kiss her. Her face was still moist.
"Can I call you sometime? I said.
"I don't think so," she replied.
I never saw her again.
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