Today, I finally wrote my second spanking story!! I've been meaning to write this for about a week now. The context is entirely true (aside from the name used). A neighbor/friend/coworker asked me to do a photoshoot of her on Brighton Beach. I explained it in the story, but suffice it to say that I'm still peeling from the severe sunburn I got that day. Just today my right leg finally decided to peel off entirely. I haven't had such a deep or painful sunburn in over a decade. I could barely sleep for about 4 days, during which time I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be great for this to happen?" I give it to you now.
...the irony is that I started another story at least a month ago, in which I would do the spanking--which is still the stronger draw to my libido and psyche, but my second completed story is another one in which a woman spanks a man.
“NO sunscreen?! None at ALL??”
“No, Ma’am”, I replied, nervously watching Allison’s blood begin to boil; her face turning a similar shade to my stinging, sunburned skin. Denise, my coworker and downstairs neighbor, had asked me to take photos of her on Brighton beach, next to Coney Island. After a few hundred photos, we relaxed on the sand for a couple of hours, commiserating about some of our horrific coworkers. As we got up to leave, Daniela pointed out that I was beginning to turn pink. It wasn’t until I entered my apartment building that I began to realize I was really sunburned. As soon as I walked in the living room of our apartment, and Allison saw the color of my face, her welcoming smile faded, and she demanded I remove my shirt. Together we discovered my chest and right arm were bright red, but my entire back was severely burned!
As tiny as Allison is, her emotions can coagulate to fill an entire room—especially her anger! I knew my face, too, was reddening even more than the sun had painted it. I also knew that a certain other part of my anatomy would soon be doing the same. Still, the subconscious decision to attempt to elude consequences asserted itself.
“Why the hell NOT?” she continued.
“The sky was so overcast, I hardly felt the sun at all! Our photoshoot took about an hour, then Denise and I just sat by the water and chatted about people we work with. She was in a bikini, and has fairer skin than mine, by far, and I never saw it getting red. I didn’t notice my getting any color at all until we were leaving.”
“Oh, so you were too busy watching Denise’s skin to take care of your own!”
“No, Alli…I didn’t mean it like that!” I could hear the pleading in my own voice, but couldn’t stop. “You know Denise and I aren’t like that…and I wouldn’t do that to you…” My brain could no longer form complete thoughts, yet my mouth continued to try. The trepidation over my impending doom was a huge distraction, but worse was the intrinsic terror that Allison might actually have her feelings hurt, believing I was, or would want to be, even remotely unfaithful. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and the very last thing I would ever want would be to hurt her!
I continued to stumble over words, while my eyes already began to well up, trying to assuage her suspicion, when she silently held up her hand. My flailing explanations silenced immediately, and I looked into her eyes, noticing peripherally that her expression had softened a tiny bit. She was still angry, but I could tell she trusted me. A flood of relief washed over me, followed by a tsunami of love for my diminutive girlfriend, the combination almost releasing the pent-up tears that had been threatening to rain down.
In a soft, serious voice, she spoke, returning to the matter at hand: “Your brother is about to get his doctorate in Meteorology. You have lived with him in Miami. You know very well that UV rays are still harmful when the sky is overcast, and that your family is prone to skin cancer. You packed sunscreen this morning, before you left the apartment. You deliberately chose not to put any on, and protect yourself.
“I love you very much. I worry about you, want to protect you, and hate to see you unhappy. It hurts me to see you in pain! Are you aware of that?” I nodded, feeling guilt tightening around my heart, like an Amazonian anaconda. She continued: “I’m very disappointed in you...”--my constricted heart dropped down low in my belly—“…for choosing not to take care of yourself. You are a part of me. Disregarding your own health and safety is disregarding mine.”
With that, the first tear broke free and dashed down my ruddy cheek.
After a quiet moment, Allison reached forward and took my hand. Without a word, she turned and led me to the corner, gently positioning me to face it exclusively. She silently walked away, leaving me to contemplate how she felt, and how I’d affected her. I had forgotten to consider what was coming next, concentrating so acutely on what she’d said, until I heard the nightstand drawer close in the bedroom. I felt her re-emerge in the living room, followed by the sound of her sliding the dining-room chair into the middle of the hardwood floor. Again, the room was silent.
Suddenly, I felt her hand gently, but insistently, grasp mine. Lightly tugging, she led me toward the side of the chair, and, still holding my hand, she sat down on it. She looked up at me, silently asking me questions. I could see hurt and worry in her eyes. I knew she needed for me to speak.
“I’m so sorry, Allison. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking, and I put myself at risk. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry I’ve disappointed you!” A second tear, this time from the other eye, escaped and fled. She pulled the back of my hand to her mouth and placed a gentle kiss on it. My constricted heart swelled, and made a valiant effort to break its bondage.
Allison released my hand, and used both of hers to unbuckle my belt, while I stood, completely still, both dreading and yearning for the punishment that was about to ensue—my release of guilt; her release of stress, followed by forgiveness; the justice; the balance; the starting over. She adeptly unbuttoned my shorts and let them drop to my ankles, then slid the Speedo I was still wearing down to my knees. She sat back, and I automatically crawled over her lap, making sure my still-alabaster bottom was directly facing her. I felt her small, warm hand lightly rest on my right buttock, then gently brush a slow, soft circle around my entire bottom.
Without warning, I felt Allison’s little hand suddenly disappear, and instantaneously come colliding back with a sharp, hot sting. The sound of the first swat echoed in the room, and reverberated through my entire body; from bottom to head and toes, and back again. It was immediately followed up with a barrage of stinging swats, each landing in a different spot than the last, covering my whole bottom with a smarting fire. The sting of Allison’s hand soon transformed into a deep burning, the temperature rising continuously at an exponential rate. As the intensity of the flaming palm increased, my body began to involuntarily twitch more and more, until my legs were thrashing and my knuckles were white, one gripping the leg of the chair, the other holding Allison’s ankle, trying unsuccessfully not to squeeze. Tears dripped from my eyes, making a small puddle on the floor, while mewling noises came, unbidden, from my throat.
I don’t know how long it had been before I noticed that the spanking had stopped, and Allison was kneading and rubbing my fiery bottom. With tear-laden eyes, I looked back at her, to find her staring at me, waiting for our eyes to meet. I could see that she was no longer angry—she had forgiven me, and was trying to force her love into me simply through the gaze of her eyes. At the same time, she looked into my soul and saw that I still felt guilty. She gave a quick nod, then turned her face away, reaching down to the floor under her chair. Before I even saw it in her hand, my bottom gave a quick flinch in anticipation of its old nemesis, the hairbrush that lived in our bedroom nightstand. Allison held it up casually as she looked into my eyes again, so I would inadvertently see it, then she let the flat back of the hairbrush rest against my bottom. For the first time since placing me in the corner, she spoke: “I love you” “I know. I love you. I’m sorry.” I replied, through tears and quivering lips. I turned my head to face forward again, and the hairbrush lifted from my aching bottom. As the hairbrush began to fall, over and over, on my burning behind, all of my senses were assaulted: my legs began to flail again as the brush struck the sweet spots; my briny tears blurred my vision and filled my mouth with salty flavor, as my crying became more vocal and my head began to jerk with each impact; my sense of smell became more keen, as always happens when my nose is obstructed—again, the result of my crying; and the loud popping of the brush on my bottom attacked my ears, then adjoined the repetitive pain throbbing through my bottom, to pound at and crack the shell of guilt that had hardened around my heart.
After an eternity of rhythmic fire and cathartic sobs, the debilitating guilt shattered, and my whole body collapsed. The pummeling hairbrush ceased to fall, and Allison’s loving hands again found my flesh. One hand gently rubbed my bottom, while the other reached down and stroked the hair on the back of my head. She cooed soft words and gentle sounds until the wracking sobs subsided, and I lied, limply, across her lap.
When I had returned to earth, and was ready for reality again, I climbed back up to standing. Allison held out her arms, like a parent does to a child, and I immediately fell into them, straddling her lap and holding her tightly. Once more, I whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry I disappointed you. I won’t do it again. I love you.” She whispered back at me, “I love you too.” Then, with a touch of mischief in her voice, she said, “Come on. Let’s go put some aloe on that sunburn, and some lotion on the other burn.”