Erotica, "Late for a Spanking," part 1, from He's on Top

Some Friday smut...part two TK. From He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission, in which I write from a male POV, as I do on occasion. Not a true story, but inspired by my problem with punctuality.



Late for a Spanking
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Laura is late. There’s no escaping the fact that the clock tower outside my apartment has just loudly chimed six and my spankee has yet to show. I walk around my bedroom, running my fingers over the implements I’ve set out in preparation. There’s a tiny slapper, a small, patent-leather nothing of a toy, one whose bark will always be worse than its bite. There’s a ruler, an extra-long, coated one, for maximum impact. There’s a shiny black paddle, stern and strong, like me. There’s one with fur on one side, for when I want to soothe her, or just lull her into a false sense of security. There’s a strap, my belt, a wooden paddle. I probably won’t use them all on her, but I like to have them ready, just in case.

I pace around, trying not to get too angry. Our spanking dates are about fun, about mutual enjoyment as she bends herself over my knee or splays herself across my lap. Sometimes I sit in a chair, completely clothed, while she strips before me and then lies down, her long, black hair brushing the floor. I have to wait for her to become totally still; she’s that perfect blend of nervous and excited that makes her body gently hum and quiver.

I pick up the strap and slap it against my hand. The noise and sting bring me back to earth. I look at the clock and see another ten minutes have passed. We’ve talked about this countless times; I’ve tried to instill in her the importance of punctuality, not just when she’s meeting me, but generally. It’s rude to be late, it insults the person you’re meeting by prioritizing your schedule over theirs. She always nods contritely, and I give in to her, even though once I almost sent her home without her dear spanking. My cock was pleading with me to go through with it, though, and I did, though the lesson might’ve sunk in more had I been a stronger man.

My dates with Laura are about spanking and spanking only. You see, even though I’m dominant to the core, I’m in love with a sassy, whipsmart submissive named Evangeline. She knows she’s got me wrapped around one of her tiny, delicate little fingers, and I actually like it that way. On the surface, I call all the shots, telling her when she can and can’t wear panties, supervising her nipple piercings, exerting control whenever and wherever I can. I know it makes her wet when I give even the slightest command. “Spread your legs farther apart,” I’ll whisper in her ear on a crowded subway train. She’ll turn and give me an infuriated, but utterly aroused, grin, as she does it. She’s only playing at being mad because now her panties will be wet, her pussy seething, her mind racing for the rest of the day as she wonders what else I’ll tell her to do later that night.

We have an open relationship, but the door isn’t flung all the way wide. We keep it partly cracked, just ajar enough so other women, like Laura, can get in and get the spankings and punishments they, and I, crave. But, horny as they make me, Evangeline has forbidden me from fucking them. I’ve managed to work that energy and want into my scenes, even though it’s sometimes very hard to resist those wet pussy lips I’m allowed to stroke but not enter. Laura’s the worst of all, the biggest temptation, and sometimes she gets spanked extra hard because otherwise I just don’t know what to do with all the pent-up arousal. Evangeline wins too because when she comes over after I’ve played with Laura, I fuck her so hard she can feel it for days afterward.

I finally sit down on the bed, my hand lightly resting on my crotch. There’s no real way to simulate spanking a pretty, willing, needy girl’s ass when you’re by yourself. Watching videos just doesn’t quite do it for me; I need flesh and blood, I need to her hear beg, I need to look down at her face and see the answers written across her features. At six forty-five, my doorbell finally rings. I have to admit, I've pretty much given up on her ever showing up. Maybe we'll never see each other again, and while I'll be disappointed, what can I do? So I’m partly surprised, partly aroused, and partly annoyed when I open the door to see her standing there blowing her sweaty bangs up off her face, looking contrite and bedraggled but still goddamn sexy. She’s pushing thirty but dresses like a schoolgirl⎯literally. She has on a pleated plaid skirt, strategically ripped fishnets, big black platform shoes, and a skimpy little white tank top and no bra, letting anyone who cares to look see the twin barbell piercings adorning her nipples. Her hair is in two braids, black eye makeup smeared around her eyes, red lipstick emblazoned across her mouth. Those lips are so tempting, even more than her ass; I’ve had many a fantasy about sinking my cock between them, letting her do what I’m sure she’s brilliant at.

Just the way she makes her sorry face, her mouth open, eyebrows up, hip cocked, makes me want to fuck her. Since I can’t do that, I let my annoyance show. "What took you so long?" I snap, blocking her entrance with my body, even though part of me longs to grab her and give her a hard, solid kiss.

"The train was delayed, and I forgot something in the house . . ." she seems to be making excuses, her voice getting whiny. When she looks up at me, her eyes blaze both apology and defiance. I know she hadn’t been deliberately late so that I’d spank her harder; we don’t need to play those kinds of reverse psychology mind games. She’s genuinely tardy, as Laura often is; she just assumes whoever’s waiting will be patient and forgive her. All her friends have gotten used to it, considering themselves on “Laura time” when they’re meeting her. Even I, for the most part, have adapted, but our spanking dates are special. I’ve made it clear that she’s to treat them with the utmost importance and care, if she’s truly dedicated to our play.

Just because she wasn’t late on purpose, though, doesn’t mean she’s above trying to tease me into going easy on her. She steps forward, pushing me until I relent and let her inside. Then her hand goes automatically to my cock. “Miss me?” she asks with a smirk as she massages my dick. The rules of our relationship are clear; I can spank her, and we can be naked together, but Evangeline doesn’t want me touching her private parts or her mine. We’ve found ways to push the limits of those restrictions, but I take care to abide by them, even though it’s maddening sometimes to watch her pussy get wetter and wetter as I smack her ass and not be able to feel just what I’m doing to her.

I grab her hand and shove it behind her back. She’s a feisty girl, and immediately tries to fight me, plunging us into a mock wrestling match I’m destined to win. “Aren’t you even going to say you’re sorry?” I ask, pinning her down so her hands are raised above her head, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy as she surrenders to my superior strength. I know that even that little bit of immobilization has her aching to be spanked⎯and fucked.

“Maybe,” she says, her voice rising in the sexiest lilt I’ve ever heard. Even if she didn’t have the slamming body and completely masochistic nature she does, her voice could do me in every time.

“Maybe? Oh, I think more like definitely. I’m going to make you say you’re sorry, girl. You were forty-five minutes late! I really should’ve just left, and your punishment would’ve been to go home with your bottom just as pale and bare as it is right now. But I’m going to make you pay, don’t you worry,” I say, my cock stiffening as I speak the stern words. She sticks her tongue out at me, but rolls over quite willingly when I let up on her arms and nudge her over. I decide to start off right there on the floor, pulling off her shoes and tossing them into a far corner, where they land with a thud.

“You’re going to get forty-five whacks⎯one for every minute you were late. I know, you think that’s nothing, but those won’t all be with my hand, I’m not that dumb,” I say as I push her skirt up. I yank off her fishnets, the tearing sound ringing pleasingly in my ears. Usually she gets totally naked, but her skirt is so short I can practically see her ass, and the image of the tiny garment shoved up above her lower curves, with her white cotton panties around her knees, is too hot to resist.

My dick is pressing upward against her stomach as she does her best to make me come in my pants, wiggling and squirming. I shove my fingers through her mass of sleek back hair and tugged, watching her neck bend backward just so. I tug harder, just enough to make her body ripple in pleasure. “Stay still, Laura; you’ll like this better. You’re going to count for me, and if you mess up, we’ll have to start over, but I know you won’t mess up,” I say somberly. She gazes back at me with a look that wouldd wrecked a lesser man, her moist lips slightly open, her eyes wide and luminous, her nostrils flaring, her need to be spanked, by me, etched as strongly into her skin as a tattoo. Over the course of our relationship, I’ve figured out just what sets her off, and I know how to take her into that magical sub space with just the sound of my voice and a simple tug on her hair or snap of my fingers.

I let go of her hair, catching the gentlest of sighs pass from her lips. Her ass is right there, all mine for the taking, wide and round and pale and perfect. She’s got just enough meat on her bones to make her rump perfect for spanking; girls who are too thin make me worry I might truly be hurting them, and I like asses that are wide enough to cover a range of smacks, ones where I need to hit them a few times to cover the entire cheek. I place my left hand on her lower back, letting my thumb just graze the upper edge of her asshole. I’d love to press it against her sweet puckered hole, but I save that for Evangeline. With Laura, it’s all about hinting, dancing just around the edge of our desire, getting the most bang for our buck, if you will.

I press down against her body, ensuring that she won’t jerk when the first blow lands. Then I raise my hand and bring it crashing down against her right cheek, hearing the boom, seeing her skin go from pale to pink in moments. “One, sir,” she says, her voice loud and direct. It always starts off strong, like she’s trying to show me just how powerful she can be even spread across my lap. By the end, I’ll have her whimpering out her numbers⎯if I’m doing my job right.

Go read part two and then read the rest of the deliciously dirty stories in He's on Top