{ASSTR 16} Spanked, Deflowered and Impregnated {Big Billie} (M/f spank, c, sex)


Spanked, Deflowered and Impregnated

Or

Rachel's Atonement


By Big Billie

(c) Big Billie 2004. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain.


Author' Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for consenting adults; However, spanking sexually excites him, so he writes about it.


The things that I am about to write were best left unwritten; the events that I am about to tell should not be told. Yet despite this I have decided to relate how I came to marry my wife, and how our first child was conceived.

My name is Bill Faulkner. I am a committed Christian, and an active member of one of the biggest of our nonconformist faith groups here in the UK. My faith brings me not only eternal salvation but also employment, since I own a business that sets up religious websites and provides digital services for Christians. Some of the work I do myself, but most of it is farmed out to one or more of a large team of independent associates. I have thus succeeded in building up quite a large operation, so large, in fact, that two or three years ago I decided that I needed a secretary.

Since the salary that I could at that time offer was not generous, I tried my luck with an announcement in our local Church Newsletter. You know, "Secretary Required for Committed Christian Company," that sort of thing. Well, to my surprise, I had several applications, and I interviewed them all. The successful candidate was a girl of East African ethnic origin. Her family had sent her over to England for her education, and, having completed her 'A' levels, she was taking a gap year before proceeding on to university. As an active member of our Church she was already involved in voluntary work, and she told me that, for the next 12 months or so, she would like to work full time in a Christian setting.

I do not know how familiar you are, dear reader, with the inhabitants of East Africa, but I can tell you that they are beautiful people. A very great number of the ladies, in particular, are physically stunning. They have lighter skin tones that the ladies of West Africa, and the texture of their flesh is smooth and silky. To add to their charms, their faces are open and friendly, and they usually have stunning figures. But even more beautiful than their bodies are their immortal souls; they are gracious and generous beyond measure, with happy, bubbly, vivacious dispositions.

Well, such was my new secretary, Rachel; she was a delightful girl. Indeed, she was far too delightful for me to feel safe. She was just 18 years old when I took her on, and I would be lying if I said that her supple, youthful, dusky body, and her bright, co-operative, easy intimacy did not distract me from my work, even though (or should I say, especially since?) she was 15 years my junior.

Rachel was very good at her job; from what I have already written you can probably deduce that she had an excellent manner with customers and associates, both face to face and over the telephone. She had also received an excellent academic education at one of our top Ladies Academies. It is true that she had not been specifically trained as a secretary, but, to rectify this, I sent her to our local FE College for training on one afternoon a week, where she soon began to build up her typing speed, to master word-processing software and Tee Line shorthand, and to acquire other relevant secretarial skills.

Rachel left school at the end of July, took a holiday, and started working for me in late August. Until December all went well, but then she badly goofed on the job. It was only one goof, but it was a big one. She sent out a final late payment warning letter, threatening dire legal penalties, to one of our best and biggest customers, despite the fact that he had paid the bill some time before.

Well the good news is that I managed to smooth things over. I got Rachel to apologise profusely to the client over the telephone, and then I apologised profusely as well. It was partly my secretary's fault, I explained, but it was also mine for failing to supervise her properly.

"I'm sorry, Ken," I concluded, "I will reprimand the lass, of course, but I am afraid that, in the end, the blame must fall on me."

"Not to worry, Bill," replied Ken amiably, "We're Christians. We're into forgiveness and never calling to mind. Matter closed. Have a good Christmas."

"Thanks, Ken. You too."

"By the way," replied Ken, and he sounded uncharacteristically arch. "Is it Rachel who's been naughty, and who's getting the rocket?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Wow! Well enjoy yourself! I wouldn't mind correcting her myself!"

When I had put the phone down I looked at Rachel with a mixture of relief and exasperation. I did not know what to say, and for what seemed like about 30 seconds (but was probably a lot less) there was an embarrassed silence.

"I don't know," I said at last, not unkindly. "What am I to do with you? You only goofed once, but you did it in spades."

Then Rachel made a reply that stunned me.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. Then she paused and added, "You can spank me if you like."

Now the formality of Rachel's first sentence threw me. We had always been on Christian name terms, and she had never called me "sir" before. As for her proposition, well wow! Where did it come from? As you can imagine, it caused my mouth to go dry, my face to flush, and my heart to pound fiercely against my ribcage. I gazed, hard and long, into my young secretary's eyes. My head was reeling and, when my reply came, it was spontaneous, and it expressed my deepest sexual fantasies and my sharpest desires. 

"On the bare?"

"Yes, of course. I deserve it."

By now I was in a catatonic trance, and my actions were involuntary. My office chair was on castors; I slowly rolled it back from my desk and pointed to the floor with my right hand.

"O.K.," I said. "Stand here then."

Contritely and obediently Rachel carried out my order.

"Right," I continued awkwardly, by now feeling more than slightly foolish. "Over my knee then."

By now I was on the point of chickening out, and of making a joke of the incident. I certainly would not have dared to insist that the culprit bare her bottom. But I need not have worried. Without a word, Rachel pulled her knickers and tights down to the middle of her thighs, raised her pleated secretary's skirt over her back, and nestled down across my lap.

Oh, wow! There is only so much excitement, dear reader, that a gentleman into his early to mid thirties can take, and Rachel was pushing me right to its limit. I felt her trim, pneumatic tummy, and her firm, fit, muscular thighs pushing into my crotch, and my cock, already tumescent, grew rock hard, and pushed back vigorously against the weight of the gorgeous body and the luscious loins that were pressing into it. Then I gazed down into my lap, and the sight that greeted my eyes sent me into seventh heaven. There, perfectly presented to me, were Rachel's lower back, her big, firm, meaty, protuberant bottom, her long,  nubile thighs and her shapely calves and ankles. Her skin was flawless, a beautiful shade of mocha coffee with just the right amount of cream and brown sugar. Then, where the buttocks met the tops of the thighs, there was the roundest, plumpest, meatiest, sexiest and most protuberant bit of all, the bottom's stunning undercarriage. On the insides of the two thighs, where they joined the crotch, two concave hollows rippled and twitched. These, together with the outer edge of the vulva, formed a delicate, inwardly curved equilateral triangle filled with thick, curly, jet-black pubic hair. The skin on the vulva and inner thighs was darker than the rest, and from the midst of it I discerned, through the thick, hirsute pubic thatch, a thin line of delicate coral pink pussy flesh, where Rachel's labial lips pouted ever so slightly open.

Ouch! To paraphrase the poet John Keats, how rich did it seem at that juncture to die, to cease upon that moment with no pain, to go to my maker in such a perfect state of happy and excited bliss! But no! Like Keats's nightingale, Rachel's youthful, sumptuous body was not born for death; it was fashioned for life and for love, for pleasure and for procreation; and perhaps, before that, for a little saucy spanking action!

Now that I had Rachel's bare bottom at my command, however, I proceeded with caution. I knew that I could not coerce her to take chastisement. In the last analysis, this was a consensual spanking, and I needed her acquiescence to whatever I decided to do. On this one, warning bells were already ringing in my head, and I could see the likely headlines in the gutter press if things went wrong: "Prominent Christian in Saucy Spank Assault Rap," "Your Ass is Mine, Saith the Lord," and so forth. I needed guidance from my victim, so I started an interrogation.

"How hard do you think you deserve to be spanked, Rachel?"

"Very hard, sir; but I'm scared, so please don't be too severe with me."

"How many spanks should you get?"

"I don't know, sir, but until you make me cry I guess."

"Should I spank you with my hand, or with a hairbrush?"

"I deserve the hairbrush, sir, but it would really hurt. Please be merciful and use your hand."

Wow, oh wow! This was exactly the reply that I was hoping for, and when I heard it I gasped with relief, and in eager anticipation. No. I did not want to bruise Rachel or to hurt her too badly; I did not want to slap her with a hairbrush. I wanted to smack her gorgeous, protuberant bare bottom with my flattened hand, and to feel her taut, firm, nubile bum flesh shudder wobble and quiver under my fingers and palm. I wanted to press my flattened hand into her meaty, youthful rump, and, if I could work up the bottle for it, to grope tantalisingly between her upper thighs, and across, around and into her hairy love slot. But did I have the nerve to do it? Would I be equal to the challenge? Well, still almost apoplectic with excitement, I determined to give it my best shot.

"O.K., Rachel, here's the first. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Well, I still could not believe what was happening. I thought that at any minute I might wake up, and be dragged back to a cold, harsh, prosaic reality. As if in a trance I raised my flattened right hand high into the air and contemplated its intended target. Yes, right there, I concluded, right across the meat of the seat just above the tops of the thighs and adjacent to the vulva, where the flesh was at its meatiest and sexiest. Right across the back of that beautiful, dark, tight, hairy, stunning little box! Come on! Do it! Now! Don't chicken out! Go for it!

CRACK!!!

Yes, dear reader. Eventually, screwing my courage to the sticking point, I did go for it. I slapped Rachel's bottom, and I slapped it hard. As the slap hit home a crisp high-pitched crack rang out and re-echoed around the room. I felt a sharp, delicious sting across my fingers and palm, followed by a delightful shuddering and wobbling under my flattened hand. I saw Rachel's buttocks quiver, and, through the slot between her bum cheeks, I noted how the fanny hairs on and around her vulva were scattered and blown by the breeze from my descending right hand. I then left my hand in position against its target, pressing it into the hot and tingling bum meat. Next, after several seconds, although I scarcely dared to do it, I rubbed my fingers around and into Rachel's hairy vulva, and, for a brief nanosecond, between her pink, pouting pussy lips.

"Ouch," yelled the victim, temporarily nonplussed at the unexpectedly sharp initial sting and, over the next 4 or 5 seconds, at the escalating tingling. "Hey, that hurt!" "Yes, my dear! I know. It's supposed to," I explained patronisingly.

I left my hand in position for about ten seconds, and then I resumed my interrogation.

"Did you deserve that, Rachel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you been punished enough now, or do you deserve another one?"

"I deserve another one, sir."

"O.K. Are you ready for it?"

"Yes, sir."

CRACK!!!

And so it went on. It was a long, leisurely spanking, firm but not excessive, sexy and amusing rather than severe. After every smack I gave Rachel the chance to call the proceedings to a halt with my "Have you been punished enough" question. I thought that, after about a dozen firm swats, I would have broken her and it would all be over. But no! She was a game girl, and she kept asking for more.  As the spanking progressed, I got bolder and bolder with my indecent probing and groping between her legs, and I noticed, after a while, that the victim started to gasp and moan at my saucy and indecent touch-ups. By now I was trying to go easy on the culprit by spreading my slaps all over her bottom, but I always returned to the plump, protuberant buttock meat at the back of her cunt, the plump, nubile undercarriage that was the epicentre of my sexy assault.

Then, after about 2-dozen wallops, I noticed something else. As I probed between Rachel's legs and into her unshaven haven, her vulva got wet, and my fingers became sticky from her lubricating juices. At the same time she started flexing her hips and raising her buttocks high in eager anticipation of the next stinging but arousing smack from my descending hand. As a result, Rachel's buttocks were pushed apart, her dark inviting vagina was shoved up into the air, and her cunt lips opened wider and wider to display 2 increasingly thick and prominent strips of coral pink inner pussy flesh, ripe, pouting, and vulnerable to further probing attacks from my eager fingers. Then Rachel started moaning ecstatically and writhing with pleasure, grinding her pubic mound against my rock hard cock as it stood engorged and erect in my tight-fitting underpants and trousers.

By now I could see that Rachel was very close to orgasm, and the last thing in the world that she wanted me to do was to stop my saucy trip hammering. But, unfortunately for her immediate gratification, I had other plans. Nevertheless, I started with the by now familiar mantra.

CRACK!!!

"Did you deserve that, Rachel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you been punished enough now, or do you deserve another one?"

"Please, please, sir. I deserve another one. Give it to me, please!" And she sounded very eager and very determined. Meanwhile I paused for a few seconds before delivering my punch line.

"Well you are not going to get another one, young lady. That was number 39, the maximum penalty prescribed in the Pentateuch. What was good enough for Leviticus is good enough for you. You have been punished enough, and now it is over.

Well, that put the cat among the pigeons!

"No, sir, no! Please! Don't leave me like this," yelled Rachel helplessly, as she writhed and squirmed helplessly in her sharp frustration and unrequited passion. Then, when she realised that she would not get what she wanted by temper tantrums and kicking her legs, she abruptly changed tack. She got up from across my knees, turned over, and sat with her legs akimbo, facing and astride me.

"O.K., sir, you win. But that was only the punishment. What about the restitution? What price to I have to pay you to recompense you for the damage I have inflicted?"

Hey, I thought, this is an interesting turn to the conversation. Let's go along with it.

"What recompense do you suggest, Rachel?"

"Well, Ken is one of your most important customers, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"And, as a result of my foul up, you might have lost him?"

"That's right."

"Oh, wow! So I have been a very naughty girl, haven't I?"

"Yes."

At this point Rachel smiled at me sweetly and innocently. What she did next, however, was anything but innocent. She reached her hands down to my crotch, zipped open my flies, groped inside my tight-fitting trousers and underpants, and skilfully eased and manoeuvred out my hard, engorged cock shaft.

"I think that this calls for condign and exemplary restitution, sir," she grinned archly. "The price for the atonement of sin is the maidenhead of a nubile East African virgin." At which point, Rachel raised herself up, held open her pouting pussy lips, and tucked my throbbing cock head in between the entrance to them.

"Don't you agree?" she asked ingenuously. Well, by now I was so excited that all I could do was grunt helplessly; I was well out of control. Rachel was now calling the shots, and all I could do was to surrender and go along with whatever she decided to do.

"Bill," she said tenderly.

"Yes, love."

"I'm frightened. I think that this is going to hurt. Please pray for me." Well, it was one of the strangest prayers I have ever offered up, but pray for her I did, and I begged God that Rachel's deflowering would not be too traumatic and painful.

"O.K., Bill. I think I'm ready. Are you?"

"Whatever you say, love."

"O.K., then. Here we go. On the count of three! One... Two... THREE!!!" At which Rachel emitted a loud, high pitched scream pulled her legs from off the floor and brought her pouting vagina down, with the full force and weight of her body, onto my stiff, eager, receptive truncheon: "AAAAAAGH!!!" she yelled. My engorged, tenderised cock head felt the thin skin flap of my lover's hymen snap and tear apart. Soon my stiffened shaft had sunk several inches into Rachel's moist vaginal channel. Meanwhile, I could contain myself no longer. No sooner had my wedding tackle entered Nirvana than I ejaculated, pumping wedge after wedge of sperm into my lover's newly breached love tunnel. Not that either of us was suitably dressed, or rather undressed, for Aphroditic antics. Rachel still had her skirt on, and her tights and panties halfway down her thighs, and I was still wearing all of my clothes, including my trousers and underpants.

"Oh, Bill! That hurt! That really, really hurt!" wailed Rachel in agony, and for the next ten minutes or so we lay clasped together while I did my best to comfort her. Meanwhile, the blood for her deflowering flowed down from Rachel's vulva and stained the crotch of my trousers a deep, dark red.

Soon, however, my trousers were to be stained with something else. My ejaculation had made my erection rather floppy, but my cock was still stiff enough to keep possession of Rachel's cunt. Then, slowly, it recovered its hardness, and resumed its amatory predations. It was a deliciously tight fit between cock and cunt for two main reasons. Firstly, Rachel was a newly deflowered virgin with a stunningly tight vagina; secondly, her tights and underpants constricted her thighs and stopped her from opening he legs very wide. Thus, even while my cock was semi-flaccid, it was held firmly and delightfully in place, well inside my paramour's unshaven haven.

Well, I had had my pleasure, and I now concentrated on pleasing Rachel. I stayed in her as long as I could while she, still sitting on my lap, thrust her vulva at me and cavorted around in gay abandon. Our lovemaking went on for another half an hour or more, during which time Rachel enjoyed 3 orgasms. Then and only then, and taking my lead from my lover, I came inside her for a second time and we both subsided into exhausted ecstasy. By now my trouser crotch was spattered with vaginal juices, as well as with blood.

That night I took Rachel home with me, and she has stayed there ever since. That night we had a meal delivered, and we ate it in bed. Then we lay together naked between the sheets making long, slow, luxurious, passionate love. Over that Christmas and New Year period we spent a lot of time in bed, and I was shocked at the intensity of my bodily enjoyment. Oh, wow! It stunned and nonplussed me. I had no idea that carnal pleasure could be so sharp and addictive. I was completely bowled over, and I was certain that Rachel was the lady with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

After that things moved quickly. The following spring we discovered that Rachel was three months pregnant. In early summer we were married, and in mid-September our first child, our daughter Catherine, was born. Meanwhile we had moved into a bigger house, to accommodate the growing family that we had planned.

Well, there you have it. That is the story of how my wife was bedded and wedded. But was I the predator or the prey? Well, dear reader, you have probably worked out the answer to that one already. But you see, you are more worldly wise than I am. I saw only the generous, honest, openhearted African girl in whose mouth, I thought, butter would not melt. Ingenuous fool that I was, I did not realise that no one is craftier, more devious or more resourceful than a lady in love, even an honest and openhearted one. Despite her tender years Rachel had decided that I was the one for her; she firmly set her cap at me, and after that my number was up.

Let me, dear reader, explain. For as long as I can remember, from my earliest childhood, spanking has turned me on. I am usually too embarrassed to talk about my kink, and before we got married I certainly never mentioned it to Rachel. But I subscribe to, and post stories on, the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup, my email gets Google news alerts under the search terms "spank" and "spanking," and I have a number of spanking sites saved in my Internet favourites. Rachel now admits that she had got wind of this, and that her "you can spank me if you like" line was not spontaneous, but part of a carefully hatched plan. She refuses to divulge to me the details of her preconceived sting, but one or two things strike me as odd. For example, Rachel's best friend in the United Kingdom is Ken's daughter, Sarah, whom she met at our Church youth group. So were Sarah and Ken implicated in the plot? Was the letter to Ken premeditated, and sent on purpose rather than in error? Was there even a letter at all, other than the copy that Rachel filed in our office? I am not sure, but that telephone comment of Ken's was strange. Do you remember? He said that he would not mind correcting Rachel himself. Well, that was way out of character. It was far too saucy for Ken, who is always the proper and perfect gentleman, the soul of understated discretion. In short, it makes me smell a rat. The more I think about it the more I am convinced that a charming Machiavellian minx, ably assisted by interfering if well-meaning friends, stitched me up beautifully. Not that I am complaining, of course.  Now, instead of lying alone at night I share my bed with a stunning, youthful trophy wife; and after the loneliness and isolation of my bachelor days I am now the happy father to a beautiful family. But, you know, I still feel miffed and annoyed at how easily and effortlessly I was manipulated and gulled. When I complain, however, my wife makes her standard reply.

"I'm sorry, darling! You can spank me if you like!"

"On the bare?"

"Of course!"

And I do too!

