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

You read the first half of my story "Late for a Spanking" from He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission. Now here's the second half. And soon I'll be adding the full text of some of my favorite stories that I've written to my website.



from "Late for a Spanking" by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I roll her slightly forward to get the best angle, then do the same to her left cheek. “Two, sir,” she responds dutifully. I keep going until ten, my palm stinging as the heat roars through our flesh. I pause there, rubbing my palm against her curves, ready to take things to the next level.

“Get up,” I tell her, unceremoniously shoving her off of me. My cock is pressing hard against my jeans, and I’m dying to whip it out and touch myself, even for a minute, but I know that could lead to dangerous territory. If her mouth goes anyway near my dick, as besotted as I am with Evangeline, I might not be able to resist, so I keep it in my pants, literally, and work out my arousal another way. She gives me that look again, the one that silently begs for more, the one that tells me, without even looking, how turned on she is. “Bend over the bed,” I tell her, and she hobbles up, knowing I don’t mean for her to change any part of her attire.

Not only do I like to see her bent over, but I also know this means her piercings press against her sensitive nipples, arousing her further. Her skirt has flipped back down to caress the curves of her ass, so I push it back up, noting how already in a few minutes the redness in her cheeks has faded slightly. I pick up the belt, wrapping its sturdy leather around my hand, then running it across her cheeks, tapping lightly. “Hmmm,” she moans, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed, as if lost in her own personal reverie. I need to snap her out of wherever she is right now and bring her back to me.

I push the belt to her lips, startling her eyes open. “Kiss it, then tell me what number’s next,” I demand.

Something breaks open inside me, swelling not just my cock but my insides, puffing me up, when her lips purse immediately. She gave the belt a solid smacker, then says in her most matter-of-fact tone, “Eleven, sir,” as if telling me what she’s made for dinner. Her eyes watch me, this time not so much begging as seeking, staring back at me an equal partner in our game. She knows just how much I like to spank her, and I know how badly she needs it, but both of us go along with this game anyway, adding to the thrill. Actually, making the thrill happen; without me on top and her below, spanking her would be no fun at all, something a machine could do just as well.

“Get ready,” is all I say as I move to the side so I can hover directly over her ass. Something about a woman’s bottom makes it look even hotter when raised the way she has it, so round and firm and tempting, like it was made with just such a kinky purpose, and no other, in mind. I let the belt whiz through the air once, its snap, crackle and pop music to my ears. I strike the air again, right next to her ass, and she squeaks, a high-pitched noise that sounds as beautiful as any melody. Then I strike her for real, slashing the stripe of leather against her flesh, searing her skin in a way my hand simply cannot do. “Eleven,” she chokes out in a robotic voice, as if it were not a number but the normal response when one has been struck dumb, literally. The pain blooms instantly on her skin, a pretty line that makes me want to lean down and kiss it. Taking away her pain is almost as enticing as causing it, but we have thirty four more whacks to go.

I let the belt lash against the area where her ass cheeks meet her upper thighs, that never-never land of sensual flesh that is disproportionately tender. Like when I’m fucking and trying to hold off from coming, I have to think about something else for a moment besides the beauty of her welting curves, her do-me posture, her have-me stance, her I’m-yours body language. Sometimes I wonder if the constraints on our spanking dates aren’t too much for either of us to bear. Evangeline has my heart, plain and simple, but my cock, my hands, my mouth, my power, those I would share with Laura, if I could. Instead, I must convey all that I want to do to her in these strokes, these beatings that take on so much more than their share of emotional energy.

She calls out the numbers as the belt slamms against her ass, spreading her legs just enough to give me a glimpse at what’s between them. I haven’t told her to, but I haven’t told her not to, and for the moment, I let it go, too pleased with the slick pink shine I se there to argue. I drop the belt at twenty-five, picking up the wooden paddle instead. I could insist on the blindfold, but I like the look on her face when she sees what I’m holding⎯half horror, half need. It’s like the look Evangeline gets right before she comes, like she’s tempted to push me away, to stay teetering on the precipice instead of dropping over the waterfall’s edge. I know my job is to urge her on, for the reward is always so much greater than the risk.

The pain only lasts for a few moments, her ass smarting, but the pleasure will keep Laura going for days. I hold the toy that resembles a ping-pong paddle, only thicker, with holes to let air through, then tilt my wrist and let it fly against her reddened cheek. “Twenty-six,” comes out muffled as she absorbs the blow. I pause, trailing the backs of my fingers along her skin, then pinching a bit between my thumb and forefinger. I kneel down behind her and pull her cheeks apart, staring at the forbidden fruit of her pussy.

I need her to come, but I can’t interrupt the flow of our play. I deliver the final blows with the black leather paddle, the simple yet stern one, its shiny surface too cheerful for the kind of sting it delivers. Her voice rises and falls as my arm does the same, until her ass rivals her lips in terms of redness, even after she’s gnawed on her lower lip while taking her punishment.

If she were Evangeline, I’d simply pull down my zipper, get behind her, and shove my cock deep into her waiting hole. She’d convulse instantly around me, tears of joy filling her eyes but not tipping over, while I marveled at how her heat seemed to travel into my body. I’d try, but fail, to wait, and simply pump my hot lava into her tight tunnel, the explosion truly feeling volcanic. But she’s Laura, my play partner, my standing spanking date, my toy, even though she means no less to me where it counts.

Because it’s her and not my girlfriend, I will wait to jerk off until she leaves. But she can’t wait, and we both know it. “Lie down on your back,” I order. It takes her a few seconds through the haze of arousal to get into position, but I let her have them, knowing the crisp, clean sheets are rubbing against her sore ass. She goes to remove her panties, but I still her hand. “Keep them on,” I say, sliding them down to her ankles and hearing the fabric strain and rip slightly. I don’t care. I stand between her legs, holding her feet apart as she looks up at my towering presence, my erection practically undoing my zipper on its own. She used to be tentative, taking light swipes at her clit, only really indulging in her masturbation ritual until a good half hour had passed.

Now, she gets right into it, shoving three fingers deep inside while her other hand tweaks her nipples into tight, fierce points. “That’s it, fuck yourself for me, Laura. That’s your reward for taking your spanking like a good girl, even though you were late and had no excuse and are really a very bad girl to the core.” I like to punish and reward her at the same time when I can, plant a seed of doubt so she’ll give me some reason to keep on spanking her, besides the obvious. “Picture my cock sliding into your mouth, right now, me climbing on top of you, your wrists tied above your head, your lips open and ready. Your friend Kira is fucking your pussy with a dildo at the same time, and I’m pinning you down with my dick so you can’t move except to enjoy being filled in two holes at once.” I know my words are getting to her from the way she clenches her fingers, the way her face convulses, her eyes fluttering open to look at me, then shutting when the intensity gets to be too much. I wait, feeling triumphant when her climax seems to glide over her, making her curl up into herself. I let her go, let the panties slide off as she does what she needs to do. I’m absolutely turned on, but also wistful, wishing I could touch her and help take her to that higher place.

She gives me her panties as a present, a souvenir to sustain me until next time, a little secret for me to hide away, a compromise between my allegiance to Evangeline and my unquenchable need for Laura, and her sweet ass. “So I’ll see you next week, at six, right?” I ask as she steps into her gargantuan shoes, the height making her look older, wiser, but still just as needy of a spanking. She nods, and I grab her chin, holding her face and gaze steady. “Don’t be late, or you may really get what’s coming to you,” I warn, trying to summon the proper vengeful tone. I can’t quite get there, though, because no matter how late she is, I’ll still want, no, make that need, to spank her, still lust after her and dream about her ass even when I have my girl’s firm curves right before me.

And no matter what I use on Laura when she’s bent over, no matter how firmly I plant my hand upon her skin as she’s asking for it harder and stronger, she knows who really holds the paddle in this relationship. She’s got me exactly where she wants me⎯on top, looking down at her, my hand raised, my dick hard. And if you want to know the truth, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.