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Red Cheeks part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Part 1
RED CHEEKS
by
Dave Reston
Petite blonde, age 24, 5'2",
105 lbs., 34-22-34, loves red
cheeks - especially mine! If
you're a man who knows how to tan a
naughty girl's bottom, give me a
spanking I won't forget. Send
photo and personal info to
Box 103SM.
The ad was in a local adults-only newspaper, and as soon
as I saw it I knew I had to respond. I'd fantasized for a long
time about spanking and being spanked, and had even spent an hour
in a "dungeon" to satisfy my curiosity about whether being
spanked - hard - by a woman would be the kind of turn-on I
imagined. But I hadn't yet met a woman who wanted to be spanked.
I knew I could find someone who, for a price, would let me do
just about anything, but even if I could afford it, the idea of
paying someone to submit to pain seemed, well, immoral to me.
But here, at last, was someone who might enjoy it!
I composed a short note and sent it, with a snapshot of
myself, to the paper's box number. The note included my
telephone number, and a few days later I came home from work to
find a message on my answering machine - call Gail at the number
she mentioned. I called the number and she answered. We chatted
a few minutes without mentioning her ad, and I knew she was
trying to find out what kind of person I was, whether I might be
dangerous. I told her about my job, that I was divorced, and
why, that I had two kids who lived with their mother but spent
two weekends a month with me. Finally she seemed satisfied that
I wasn't some kind of maniac. We talked about her ad and my
letter, and eventually agreed to meet for a drink the next
evening, a Friday.
After we hung up, I inspected the "toys" I'd gathered
over the past few years - several wooden paddles of different
sizes and weights, some with padded faces and some without; small
leather straps with buckles, for restraints, and some larger
straps without buckles, for use on, shall we say, the target
area; a hairbrush from which I'd removed the bristles, so that
one side was flat and smooth and the other side covered with
small holes; and the strip of Lucite and the birch cane that had
been used regularly on me and my younger siblings, from the time
we were seven or eight years old until we reached our early
teens. I didn't know whether Gail would want me to use any of
the toys, but her ad had sounded as though she was both serious
and experienced, so I guessed that she would be up for more than
a hand spanking. I cleaned everything out of my gym bag and put
the toys in it for inconspicuous transport.
The next evening I went to the small bar Gail and I had
agreed on, and I spotted her without difficulty; unlike a lot of
people who posted personal ads, Gail had been truthful about her
attributes. She was cute without being gorgeous, with a trim,
athletic-looking body and a surprisingly good tan for someone
with such fair skin. I felt very comfortable being with her. We
had our drinks, but the place was so noisy that we couldn't have
much of a conversation, and after we'd had a second round Gail
suggested that we go over to her apartment.
As I followed her up the stairs to her second-floor flat,
gym bag in hand, I couldn't help noticing how the muscles of her
ass bunched and relaxed as climbed the steps, and speculating
about what I'd see once a couple of layers of thin cloth were out
of the way.
Gail unlocked the front door and ushered me into a neat,
well-furnished apartment. After giving me a quick tour of the
five rooms she offered me another drink. I accepted, and she
made drinks for both of us before sitting down on the living room
sofa. We looked at one another for a long time without speaking,
until I decided to break the ice by asking how she'd come to have
an interest in spanking.
She said that she had had a very strict upbringing and
had been spanked often as a child, both by her mother and by her
stepfather. A few years ago she had realized that although those
spankings had been very painful at the time, thinking about them
later was "stimulating". I asked how old she'd been when she'd
last been spanked by one of them, and learned that her mother
hadn't spanked her after she was about twelve, but that her
stepfather had continued for another couple of years. Her mother
had finally made him stop because Gail was getting "too
developed."
I asked how old she'd been when she got her first
"voluntary" spanking, and was rewarded with a blush that extended
even into her scalp. Nervously, Gail admitted that she hadn't
been spanked since she was fourteen, but hadn't wanted to sound
naive in her ad. I reassured her that I understood this was an
experiment for her, that we would proceed very gradually and go
no further than she wanted to. Privately, I doubted that I would
be opening my bag of toys.
I told Gail I would do nothing without warning her and
giving her a chance to say "no", but that I thought it would help
prepare her mentally if she got into position across my lap. She
hesitated for a moment, then gulped the last of her drink and
stood up. Sliding to the center of the sofa, I reached up and
took her hand. I pulled her gently down until she lay across my
legs; her crotch rested on my right thigh and I could feel her
boobs pressing against the outside of my left thigh. Without
saying anything, I ran my hand slowly over the seat of her pants
and felt her whole body tremble.
Keeping my hand on her ass, I asked her to tell me more
about her childhood spankings. Her mother, she said, usually
used a hard-soled bedroom slipper or a yardstick; her stepfather
had used his hairbrush when she was younger and his belt after
she was ten or eleven. Quick, impulsive spankings might be
administered wherever she happened to be when the cause arose,
and would be given through whatever clothing she was wearing.
Spankings like that were frightening because they were often
accompanied by rage, and embarrassing if her friends were around,
but not particularly painful because she was protected by
clothing and because the spankings were generally brief.
Serious spankings, Gail said, were administered in her
bedroom and were much more painful. Regardless of the time of
day, she would be sent to her room with instructions to remove
all her clothing and put on her nightgown, and would then be left
to contemplate the impending punishment for anywhere from ten
minutes to an hour. I stroked Gail's back with one hand and her
ass with the other as she spoke, and could feel her arching her
pelvis to push her asscheeks against my hand.
If her mother were going to do the spanking, Gail
continued, she would have Gail pull her nightgown up to her waist
and lie face down on her bed with her knees bent and her toes on
the floor. Her mother would then apply the slipper or the
yardstick to Gail's bare bottom. Most of her mother's spankings
consisted of no more than two dozen strokes, unless Gail moved;
her mother made no attempt to hold Gail in place, but if she
moved she would be ordered back into position and her mother
would start over. I slid my hand down the back of first one of
Gail's thighs and then the other as she described the way her
mother had spanked her, and noted appreciatively that her legs
parted as I touched her.
Moving my hand back to her ass, I asked Gail what had
been different about the spankings her stepfather had given her.
One difference, she said, was that he always made her take her
nightgown off, so that she was totally naked. When he intended
to use his hairbrush, he would sit on the edge of her bed and
make her lie across his lap, just as she was lying across mine
now. I could imagine the scene perfectly, seeing her naked body
trembling the same way it shuddered fully clothed under my hands
now. Her stepfather would spank her quickly ten or fifteen times
with his hairbrush, lecture her while her cries subsided, and
then repeat the spanking. Generally he would do this five or six
times, leaving her with bruises that lasted several days.
Once he began using his belt instead of the hairbrush,
her stepfather required Gail to kneel on the bed, head down and
bottom up in the air. She was required to count each lash out
loud, and if she moved the whipping would start over. Her
stepfather usually gave her ten lashes without stopping, covering
the backs of her thighs as well as her bottom, and then gave her
a minute or two before the next set. After two or three sets,
especially in the final year or two, he would make her spread her
knees far apart and would lash the insides of her thighs as well
as the backs. I asked whether her stepfather touched her, with
anything other than his belt, while she was in the spanking
position, and Gail blushed deeply again as she told me he'd never
touched her sexually, although he sometimes prodded her to make
her move to a different position.
Gail was breathing raggedly as she spoke, the words
tumbling out. I doubted that she had ever told these stories to
anyone before, and if she had told anyone, I was willing to bet
that the listener hadn't been able to see - as I could - how wet
the crotch of her pants had become.
"All right, Gail," I told her. "I think I understand the
significance this has to you. I'm going to spank you in just a
minute" - I felt her ass harden under my palm - "but first I want
to explain something to you." She sighed and relaxed.
"The problem with most voluntary spankings is that the
person being spanked knows how to make it stop. When you were a
kid, you didn't have that kind of control - your mother or your
stepfather kept on spanking until they were done, no matter
whether you thought you'd had enough or not. And that's the way
it's going to be when I spank you."
"But what if -", Gail started to ask in alarm.
"Wait a minute, let me finish," I said firmly. "That
doesn't mean you have no say in the matter. Before I do
anything, I'll tell you what I'm going to do, and we'll agree on
how many you'll get. If you don't agree, I won't do anything at
all, but once you agree, it will be too late to change your mind,
and I won't stop until the agreed number unless I decide you've
had too many. Now, how does that sound to you?"
She was silent for a moment. "All right, I guess," she
said slowly. "But what if it just hurts too much?"
"That's what will make it seem real," I replied. "And
the next time, if you want, we can agree on a smaller number."
"O.K.," she said shakily, "I sure hope I don't regret
this."
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