Once, a long time ago, I dated a boy who wasn’t a great date. But I’ll never forget the evening he did something that changed my life. One night we were lounging on my bed, making out a little bit, and he sort of forcibly rolled me over onto my stomach. I thought hmmm, okay, this is getting interesting. Then he did the most unexpected thing. With one of his meaty mechanic’s hands, he swatted my bottom, fairly hard. What happened next surprised me even more — I moaned and got very, very turned on.
I’ve never really experienced a moment like that since — that is until the weekend before my birthday. Hornboy and I have been voyeuristically visiting these sex parties — high fetish fashion (yet somehow casual), very private, invite only, a totally pansexual crowd. Couches and bondage racks, BYO beer and wine, part speakeasy, part S/M play party. We go, and we watch. The we go home and turn into rabid sex bunnies. Too shy to play, too curious to look away.
But something in me finally broke when we attended the soiree before last September 22. It’s a birthday thing, you must understand — something about getting a little bit older and feeling like there are just some things that must be tried before everything sags unforgivably, or a digit gets lost in a machine, or the world ends or something.
We were sitting on the couch at the party, watching the many couples paddle, bind, spank, finger, lick, suck… Hornboy looked impressive in a toned-down black uniform, and I was in a mod mood: go-go boots, extreme mini dress with geometric patterns, short-billed cap, dramatic eyes and pale lips — and no panties. We sipped wine and watched, and then performances were announced in another room and everyone cleared out. We’d seen the performances last time and found the S/M play space to be a far more entertaining view. Sitting there, I looked around the room and there were only four other people there besides us. I felt like it was now or never.
I blurted, "Maybe you could spank me for my birthday." Hornboy blushed and smiled,"I’d love to." I set my wine glass down. "No one’s here. Maybe we could use that leather bench." I motioned to a high spanking bench in the middle of the room. Hornboy gulped, "Um, you mean now?" I grinned, feeling shaky, "yes, no one’s here." Hornboy sat perfectly still, perched on the edge of the couch. He was as nervous as I was. I stood up, and he stood. We smiled like teenagers. I led the way to the bench.
The bench was high, and had weird metal legs in front that required me to stand with my legs askew, spread wide, and lean far over at the waist. This was an extremely compromising position, though my back (and my exposed backside!) was on display to any spectators — I couldn’t see the rest of the room. It was scary, even though everyone at the party was a total stranger. I felt Hornboy’s hands on my waist; his feet nudged my feet even wider apart. He firmly pushed me all the way down onto the bench. I could feel the cool air on my hot bits, with no pubic hair to impede even the slightest draft. Than it came — thwack! Hornboy’s big, rough hand spanked my bottom.
He continued to knead my cheeks and massage my outer labia, interspersing with gentle and firm spanks. I held on tight to the bench. The pain, heat and arousal all clouded my mind; I couldnt tell if there were more people in the room now, or no one. The minute I started to worry that someone would see me, see my dress hiked up over my round and red bottom, another hard, hot spank would jolt me back into my body.
"Are you counting?" Hornboy asked after several minutes. "Um, no" I giggled. He leaned over me, nuzzled my neck and cheek, kissed me and smiled. "Start counting."
I did. Well, kind of. I started counting the *good* ones, the ones I really liked. Hornboy would lean over, smooch me and ask, "what number are we on?" and I’d reply "twenty!" Several spanks later he’d ask, and I’d giggle, "twenty-two!" He’d laugh and keep spanking. I got wetter and wetter, and soon the spanking number almost reached my birthday age. Darn, I thought — but then I just repeated the same number! Finally, I was really aroused, and I could tell Hornboy was too, but my bottom had reached its limit. And we hadn’t discussed any of this, so going further was too huge of a step. I finally said the magic number to end the glorious, elegant spanking. Hornboy helped me up — my ass was on fire! We hugged and kissed, and retired to the couch and our wine. Hornboy liked that I was in control of the spanking limit; he knew I could finish the count at any time. We decided with a clink of our wine glasses that we’d use that nifty trick again. And if my face wasn’t red enough, we got compliments on the spanking! Happy birthday to me.
Spanking is an interesting thing. Some of you know that I’m very close friends with Alison Tyler, and she sure can write a hot spanking story (like the opener in Taboo). Over lunch, we were discussing web culture and spanking. Know what happens when you type spanking into a search engine? Yes, you get lots of porn and adult erotic spanking sites. But you also get sites that are downright creepy. And I don’t mean just the "Wisconsin Single Christian Spanking Swingers" pages, either.
Take for instance the new fact I learned that spanking your child is prosecutable in Wisconsin and 27 other states. And in protest, there are sites dedicated to upholding the need to spank children, sites instructing in detail the proper way to spank, that you should never use your hand (use an implement). And of course, since it’s prosecutable, they explain how to hit your child and not leave marks. Praise the lord. Don’t forget World Corporal Punishment Research.
Yet, while these sites are unsettling, indulge your imagination for a minute. Just take out the horrifying underage aspects, remove the children and insert consenting adults… well, think about it.