Stacey remembered with each slap, with each sting of her upturned bottom. She remembered her excitement, remembered her father, remembered his excitement. She remembered how close she had felt to him as he spanked her, how barely in control he had been, the rage and love she had inspired in him, the intensity that had surged out past his usual self-control. She remembered being bad just so he would spank her, just so she could inspire those feelings in him, just so she would know she could. No, not really, that wasn't entirely true, she had enjoyed being bad for bad's sake, enjoyed sneaking out, enjoyed the giving and taking of orgasms, enjoyed it all for many of the same reasons, for control, for power, for fun.

Stacey remembered that fateful day, the day she had been caught blowing her boyfriend's best friend in the kitchen, the day her father did not spank her, but just shook his head, turned away, and left. Nothing she had done since then had caused him to take her over his knee. But of course that was long ago and she was way past an age when her father might spank her. She was older now, older and married, a parent herself of two almost-grown children. None of the men and women she had seduced since (or at) her wedding had spanked her, nor had her seduction of them provoked her husband into doing it. As the years passed she had stopped trying, had buried the memories, forgotten the pleasure, forgotten the feelings she had raised in her father, and the feelings he had raised in her, the feelings that returned each time Will slapped her ass.

Stacey's ass rose up expectantly to meet Will's hand, and her cunt contracted as she thought about dinner. It had been a rare opportunity, away from her husband and Will's wife, to spend an evening together out of town, out in public as a real couple. She had seized the moment, putting on an elegant dress so short that she could bend over and reveal her naked glistening cunt to him. For a second she had wondered if he would let her out of the hotel room when he saw what she was wearing, had pulled from his grasp and quieted him with a kiss, dragging him to the elevator and then into a taxi. The ambiance of the restaurant had been romantic, the food delicious, the waiter gorgeous. She had dined with flair, holding Will's gaze as she lingered over each bite, savored each taste, licked her lips dramatically, moaned appreciatively, and flirted with the waiter outrageously. Will had always loved her being bad, had encouraged her being bad, but as the evening had progressed she had gone beyond bad. She had moved into the zone, the zone of expectation, the expectation she had felt when she was young and she knew she was going to be spanked. She had needed it, needed the spanking, needed the pleasure and the pain. All through dinner she had worked for it, all through dinner she had schemed for it. All through dinner she had pictured this moment.

As Will's hand descended again, hard and stinging, Stacey gasped with pleasure. She remembered her feigned trip to the ladies room after ordering desert, the look she had given the waiter as she rose, the look the waiter had given her back as he followed her, the look that had passed between them when he brought their desert, a look Stacey made sure Will saw. She remembered eating desert, licking her lips, savoring the tastes in her mouth, tastes that were still there. The delicious tastes of come and chocolate, the delicious sensations of pain and pleasure were pushing her to the edge.

Will's hand moved between her legs and Stacey remembered the cab ride back to the hotel, her legs up, the dress around her waist, luxuriating in the wonders of his forceful hand against her clit.

Stacey could feel Will's out of control erection pressing up against her, heard his hard breathing, remembered with utter clarity the last time she had been spanked by her father, remembered the same sensations, remembered wishing for what Will was doing, one hand on her nipples and the other between her legs, remembered that last attempt to get her father to spank her, remembered how hard the waiter had been, felt the orgasm building in her as Will's hands moved harder and faster, felt the quivering in her legs as she remembered kissing Will, unzipping his pants, telling him about blowing the waiter, remembered Will grabbing her, remembered his expression of love and lust and a tinge of anger, remembered him sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her over his knee, pushing the dress up again and spanking her as she had yearned to be spanked for so many years, so many years of tension begging for release as the force and the shock and the pleasure rolled over her, primal, uncontrollable, shocking in its intensity as she screamed his name, sinking, spent, to the floor in front of him, taking him lovingly, gratefully, skillfully in her mouth, taking him as she had wanted to take her father, taking him as she had taken the waiter, sucking him long and slow, hard and fast, sucking his orgasm out of him as he called her his slut and his bitch and his little whore, exploding into her mouth, his hands holding her head, his head thrown back in complete and mindless ecstasy.