It's About Time by Lizbeth Dusseau, M/f Spanking
A second chance for a hot spanking romance!
From
Lizbeth's Big Book of Spanking Stories,
Volume II(c) Copyright 2005, all rights reserved
Ebook Version
“Dear Lauren, It’s been a long time. I’ll be in town next week, give me a
call if you’re interested. Will”
My heart skipped a beat as I read
the handwritten note, Will in town, wanting to see me after ten years. What
a wonderfully terrifying thought!
But
why after all this time was he contacting me? Was he single again? I was
divorced myself, just over a year. My husband, Craig, had been a very sweet
man but he was also very wrong for me.
During
all those years I was married to Craig, Will’s face had kept a determined
vigil in my mind. The memory of
that scoundrel surfacing with his roguish laugh and teasing brown eyes was a
haunting recollection of a time I should never have left. At twenty-two
years old, I was scared of the way he’d gotten inside me, the way his good
humor would disappear and his eyes would glow darkly and a scowl would play
across his face. I was scared that I’d lose myself and my identity in his
dominating personality, when like a cruel despot he’d demand my submission
to him. I was too strong-willed to yield completely, even if there was part
of me that wanted that more than anything. The last time we were together,
when he ordered me front and center, I panicked and walked away.
Every
day since, for the last ten years, a little piece of me has regretted my
hasty decision. I told myself over and over again that I could never live
with Will and his conditions; but in spite of what I told myself, my heart
said something different. Even marriage to a terrific guy didn’t quell the
remorse. Something was definitely missing in my life, and it seemed to be
exactly what I was scared of most!
Since
being on my own, the marriage finally winding down like a wind up toy, when
no one turns the key anymore, I’d been thinking of Will a lot, even though
the whole mental activity of imagining him seemed a little silly. I didn’t
know until this letter, where he was or what he was doing. But when his
message came right out of the blue, it sent my heart soaring like it
hadn’t since the last time it soared for him. I felt as if I was floating
on a cloud.
After
reading the note for the hundredth time, I put it down and rummaged through
my desk, pulling out a half dozen dog-eared photographs of Will and me in
outdated clothes, playfully posing for the camera. One hilariously
outrageous picture drew my eye in particular. Will had me poised over his
lap, his hand raised as if he was going to spank me.
I
recalled the day it was taken, we were having a party at the lake cabin we
shared. Several of our friends were there and we were all drinking beer and
kicking back, relaxing for an afternoon. Will and I were trading barbs as we
usually did, about something really inconsequential, when he suddenly
grabbed me and pulled me over his lap, slapping my bottom with a dozen
vigorous smacks. I blushed as red as a rose. It was all meant to be a joke,
with our friend Mark snapping pictures of us, we were all in a fit of
laughter when it was over. Yet, in the back of my mind, I wondered if the
others had any idea how real it was for me to be lying across Will’s lap,
submitting to an energetic spanking.
Will spanked me for the first
time on our third date, after an impassioned argument. I can’t even
remember what it was about.
“I
won’t put up with a headstrong brat!” he charged, after he flung me over
his lap and whacked my rear a few dozen times with the palm of his hand.
I
was shocked and completely humiliated. Afterwards, I pretended to be hurt
and pouted for an entire hour afterwards.
But the truth was, the whole thing intrigued me. Not to mention the
fact that it was one wild erotic rush. I’d never felt anything like it
before.
A
month and several lighthearted spankings later, I was moving into Will’s
cozy lake cabin. I was so much in love, even though our relationship was
sometimes very mysterious to me. Will was handsome, fun, sexy and
spontaneous; but he was also volatile and domineering, a fact that scared me
as much as it turned me on. Usually, he was pretty casual about things, but
at other times he seemed to rule our little domicile with an iron fist,
insisting that his rules were law. Those rules were pretty simple things,
like keeping the place clean, and food in the kitchen and dinner at a
certain hour. But if something wasn’t to his liking, he showed his
displeasure with little restraint, and he didn’t like one word of back
talk. All my childish antics, like pouting, whining and stomping my feet
only made my sessions over his knee all the more painful.
Usually
he spanked me with the palm of his hand, a quick, brusque activity that
vented his anger against my bottom and produced hardly more than a wince
from me. But when he was particularly miffed and decided to wallop me good,
he’d remove a leather belt that was hanging on the wall—just for such
occasions—and doubling it in his hand, he’d order me over the arm of his
overstuffed chair. After a stern lecture, he’d haul off with a dozen
furious whacks across my fanny, and the pain would be intense. Sometimes, if
I really pissed him off, he’d raise my skirt or take down my jeans
and panties, and my naked rear would have to endure the stinging blows.
No
matter how he chose to punish me, at those moments, his temper played out
across my exposed rear end until he was spent, and all his anger was gone,
and he figured I’d paid for my errors. By then, I was spent, too, and
sobbing like a baby.
One
day I remember well, when we were building a toolshed behind the cabin, he
gave me the very worst punishment I’d ever had. It was bitter cold outside
and my frustration with waiting for Will to make up his mind, got the better
of me. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood either. I finally lashed out
about the dictatorial way he was ordering me around. That turned out to be
an unfortunate mistake!
“You
going to do this or not?” he demanded of me, after I’d told him I was
cold and didn’t want to work any more.
“I’d
rather go inside,” I said impudently. I leveled a stare at him with my
cold flashing eyes, and he returned mine with a terrifying stare of his own.
I
could tell by his look that I’d gone too far, but I never expected what
happened next.
This
time he didn’t bother to go for the belt hanging in the cabin. Instead, he
removed the one he was wearing, a thick two inch wide work belt. I looked at
him in horror watching him double it as he usually did so it hung menacingly
at his side.
Before
I had time to let the impact of his intentions sink in, he pushed me over
the sawhorse we were using, and pulled down my jeans. “Don’t you
dare,” I screamed, but he obviously didn’t care what I had to say as the
belt came down hard on my chilled rear end.
“Yikes,”
I screamed. I kicked my feet and tried to bolt, but his strong arm came down
to bring me back, giving me a firm shove against the unyielding wooden bar.
I gave up fighting as I realized how determined he was. Even though the
blows were furious, I wasn’t dumb. The punishment would only get worse if
I tried to get away again.
With
the leather bouncing off my bottom, I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
Hanging right out there in the open, it was not only more painful that usual
with the striking opposites of hot and cold; but there was the humiliation,
lest someone discover the shameful scene. It didn’t matter to me that the
possibility was very unlikely, as far away as we were from civilization, it
still felt as if I was “baring myself” in a public place.
I
howled like crazy, but as usual, my wretched cries were to no avail. Again,
I was fortunate that we lived some distance from any neighbors, for we’d
certainly have attracted an audience if anyone had heard my shrieks.
“Please,
stop, Will, I’m sorry, I really am,” I pleaded, but he continued, not
saying a word as he worked my rear. By the way the blows were raining down
on me, I was certain that when he finished, my behind would be blistered
from top to bottom.
“There,”
he said emphatically, when he was finally done. He pulled me roughly from
the sawhorse, and steadied me on my wobbling feet. “Pull up your pants,”
he ordered. I was sniffing, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.
“Don’t you get sassy with me again, girl!” he warned, pointing an
accusing finger in my face. I snuffed some more, thinking of all kinds of
nasty things to say to him.
“I
won’t,” I replied reluctantly. There was still a little edge in my
voice. His anger may have
dissipated, but I wasn’t sure mine had. I rubbed aching my rear through my
pants, and eyed him with a petulant glare. It was quite a sensation, the
stinging cold and the stinging heat side by side.
“Can
I go in?” I asked at last. I was even less in the mood to work than I had
been before.
“You
can do anything you’d like,” Will said. He was noticeably more
congenial, giving me my licks always had that effect on him. And this time,
he was looking particularly self satisfied; he must have known the special
ache he caused snapping his belt across my freezing cheeks. “Just don’t
dirty the house with those,” he warned me, looking down at my mud-caked
boots.
I
looked down at them too, but I didn’t say another word as I turned and
walked away.
An hour later, Will was at my
back with his arms around me nuzzling my neck. I was standing at the kitchen
sink looking out at the lake. I’d tried to ignore him when he first came
in; I was still angry. But I couldn’t really ignore his warm face against
mine. His little act of tenderness seemed to wipe away my remaining hurt.
“Let me see your behind,” he purred in my ear.
I
leaned back against him, “You scoundrel,” I purred back. I reached
behind me to the warm spot between his legs where I could feel him getting
hard. “Were you out there all this time with your dick stiff?” I asked.
“Not
exactly,” he replied. “It got that way thinking how nice it was to see
your ass end bright as a cherry amid your goose bumps.”
He
pulled at my jeans again, but this time so he could fondle my sore cheeks.
“Ooo, nice lines,” he said, noting that his belt had left a few tiny
welts on my skin. “Is it painful?” he asked, squeezing it roughly.
“Ouch,
you ass! Of course it is!” I exploded with a lighthearted protest, while I
turned around with my pants dropping to my ankles. For a while I rubbed
myself against his swelling jeans, moaning with pleasure as he rubbed back.
Finding his zipper, I tugged down, pulling out my favorite plaything.
Taking it in my hand I jacked it hard a couple of times, and listened
to him moan in return. Pushing me toward the kitchen table, he laid me down
against it with my hips hanging at the edge, my legs spread wide waiting for
his next move. Knocking at my juicy door, he eased right in, filling me with
the most delicious feelings. I squeezed him tight from within, and listened
to his moan vibrate through him.
Damn!
He pumped me hard, with one long stroke after another. My loins were soon as
burning hot as my ass had been. And as for my ass, the banging against the
rough hewn kitchen table made it hurt all the more; but by that time, it
only added to our lusty fuck.
As
he penetrated me, I pushed back against him so he was inside me to the hilt.
Then for good measure, he grabbed at my ass cheeks as if he wanted to add
insult to my already injured bottom.
“Ah
yes, baby, fuck me,” I screamed, succumbing to a flood of searing passion
running from my pussy everywhere. “Oh, gawd, yes!” I shouted exploding
in orgasm.
About
the same time, his own cry lifted into the steamy kitchen air, though I
don’t remember much about that, being wrapped up in my own private
pleasure. We churned against each other for some time, then I must have
drifted off to sleep, at least for a few seconds. The next thing I remember
was him gently lifting me from the table and our stumbling into the bedroom
where we collapsed on the bed.
“I
think if you keep being such a petulant little brat, we’re going to have
lots of fun,” I remember him saying, as he ran his hands through my hair.
I
was in some dreamy “nahnah” land and moaned my agreement as I drifted
into sleep. At such moments I was totally content.
These
were always the best times, snuggled next to each other, letting all the
emotion and physical release wash over us. His nasty temper, his commanding
air, his picky little rules and most of all the cutting swats to my rear
didn’t matter in those soft moments. In fact, I knew then, that all that
tempestuous foreplay just made our sexual interludes even better.
I don’t know why I gave it all
up, the reason slipped my mind as I read Will’s note fingering it
tenderly. I’m sure it was a rash, impetuous moment, when I wasn’t
thinking clearly. Probably over something really stupid. I do remember that
Will was in an absolutely dictatorial frame of mind and we’d fired off
enough angry sparks to light up the 4th of July.
I often wondered how much that moment altered my life, what we might
have been together if I had stayed. But maybe it just wasn’t the right
time or place, maybe we just needed distance and growing up to make things
really work.
Maybe
I should call, I thought, as I put down the note and nervously reached for
the telephone. Maybe this will be the right time, this time…
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