This short story is an entry in the 2001 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
There was a post here maybe a year or so ago about an object (a leather strap actually). The writer wrote about it in wonderful detail until you could almost taste the saltiness of the leather.
I was thinking of that today because sometimes implements are so vivid in my head I can hardly think of anything else. That's what's happening this morning. What a way to wake up!
I'm not sure this is really a story -- but hey, maybe someday it'll be real life. <shiver>
For IrishRed who triggered these thoughts with the Top/top comments. :)
Thursday Thoughts
By
Right now I'm being haunted by the image of switches. I can imagine walking through the woods fearfully, knowing what he's looking for, seeing each tree with a little tremble. Feeling vulnerable in my skirt. Wondering if there's anyone around as I see him break a slender branch off and start to strip the leaves from it.
I imagine him turning to me, handing me the switch and then bending to take my knickers down, then off. Leading me to a fallen tree, laying a rug over it and waiting. My heart would pound and I'd feel the unexpected breeze beneath my skirt. I'd consider fleeing and discard it as impossible. Tremble as I pressed my stomach against the log, feeling him raise my skirt high onto my back.
There'd be talk of course, but I can't think of what it would be. Something to let me know this was being done to correct me. Would I cry yet? Perhaps. The first stroke would sting sharply, like being cut. More would follow, enough so I'd try to rise and have to be held back over. The sting would torment my legs, my bottom and I'd cry then sob frantically.
He'd finally stop, leaving me with a bottom covered with lacy red welts that itched to be rubbed. But that isn't allowed. My skirt would fall back as he lifted me up and sat himself on the log to comfort me. I'd make his shirt wet with my tears as he patted and rubbed my bottom, reminding me I couldn't.
He'd hold my hand as we walked back through the woods to the car. I'd long to rub but know I couldn't. In the parking lot, I'd worry about a passing breeze lifting my skirt and showing my marks. I'd be sure everyone could see I'd been crying.
The welts would burn into the car seat as he drove us home.
The End
© Copyright Summer, 2001 to <mijita@newsguy.com>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.
Reviews
Musicman <rcarrol(at)gte(dot)net>
Very hot. Plays just like RL encounters I've had. I enjoyed this one.
Jodi <ladiejj(at)webtv(dot)net>
The interesting thing to me about this story is that the style of the writing and description of the action do a great job of showing the reader that this is very much a fantasy. Something that has yet to happen. The author does a good job on focusing on her thoughts and feelings.. and though he is in the story, he isn't the main focus. The author does a great job of using descriptions to make this story very visual... «the unexpected breeze» and the «lacy red welts» This story is written in a concise manner to capture a flood of emotions and desire.