The time we did the Schoolgirl Spanking

Amy had some work to finish at home this weekend, so we decided to head out early Saturday, and then come back and settle in to get some things finished. At least, that was the plan.

Amy showed me this great little restaurant she likes, and we had breakfast there, then went out for a look around the antique shops in the area. I wanted her in a skirt, so earlier that morning she picked out this outfit with a sweater, but I wanted a more schoolgirl look, so I had her replace the sweater with a blazer.

She looked quite sedate, although no one knew that she had this wicked little lace pair of boy cut panties on underneath.

We had a great time looking at some furniture from the 1950s, with me casually running my hand up under her skirt at opportune moments. She gets stressed out about that, as she is NOT exhibitionistic, and is worried that someone will catch her at a vulnerable moment. She told me a cute story about something that happened to her on a beach once when she was 18.

She lay face down on the beach getting a tan, with her top untied, when a rogue wave swept up onto her. She jumped up, startled, her breasts bare, right in front of an Australian man who was walking along the beach. Mortified, she tried to cover herself, with sadly (for her) less than perfect results.

The man strolled by again later, and when Amy saw him coming, noticed his smile and hid her face in her towel until she thought he had passed. She looked up to be sure he was gone, but saw him looking at her, and since he had caught her eye, he told her, “Young lady, you have superb breasts.” Amy found a new level of embarrassment, and once again hid her face in her towel, turning her signature brand of bright pink, no doubt.

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After a morning shopping, we returned home, where I had Amy stand in the corner.

I had her stand in the corner, and lift her skirt to show off her panties, which she finds quite humiliating.

Very lovely, and after a few pictures I put down the camera and gave her a proper spanking as she stood holding her skirt up.

Somehow, the spanking turned into me pinning her into the corner with my body, as I explored her with my hands, and Amy wriggled and tried to get out of my grasp. I eventually pressed her face down onto the stairs alongside this corner, and forced the lace panties to one side as I took her, then removed them and turned her over on the stairs and entered her again, with less protesting and struggling on her part.

Since I couldn’t get good purchase on the stairs, I took her by her hair and led her over to the couch, which served us well until exhaustion put an end to this phase of the proceedings.

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Fuck me the right way

Gosh, Richard’s last post was so romantic. Several things he said brought tears to my eyes. You’d probably be surprised, given the sentiment in which he wrote about watching me sleep, what happened next.

“she makes the soft, soft sounds of a woman who feels the need of a man come upon her.”

I probably did. I’ve realized since being with him that I make a lot of noises I’m not aware of – cooing, purring, moaning, even saying “nonono” while I’m being fucked. What woke me up was being fucked, hard, and then flipped over onto my belly. He was holding my ankles and pulling my legs down the bed.

“Lift up your legs.”

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I tried to think what position he wanted me in. He was using his no-nonsense voice, so I didn’t want to ask too many questions or god forbid complain.

I tried to lift one leg, but that wasn’t right. It just made him yank harder and he sounded annoyed.

“Keep your legs together. Lift them.”

I went a little limp and let him position me. As I wakened more, I realized that he was pulling me onto his lap. WTF??? It wasn’t even six in the morning! Was I really going to get a spanking?

I was.

He started spanking gently, moving from cheek to cheek. It tingled a little, but didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt kind of good. I have a hard time admitting that, but it did.

Then he started spanking harder. I moaned a little complaint. That wasn’t a good idea. He spread my legs and started spanking my pussy. That hurt AND it was embarrassing. Unfortunately, me being embarrassed makes both of us hot, and he has a radar for my embarrassment.

“I know you’re a good girl.”

He spanks my pussy so hard it stings.

“I’m not spanking you to punish you.”

He spanks my pussy again, harder, and I moan. His fingers rub along my clit, and then back, and he begins to play with my asshole. I can feel that his hand is wet. This means that my pussy is wet, and I know that he knows my pussy is wet. Even more embarrassing.

“I’m spanking you so that you know what it will be like if you’re bad.”

“If you’re bad, I’ll spank you like this, but much, much harder.”

He begins to spank my ass again, but harder. The thudding jars through my body, and I can feel both cheeks heating up. I am whimpering and pleading under my breath. Not pleading out loud, because that gets me into trouble. I don’t want any more trouble than I already have.

“Are you going to be bad?”

“No! I won’t be bad. I promise. I’m never bad. You know I’m never bad.” Then I sob.

Sobbing was a mistake. He loves it when I sob. The spanking gets harder.

As he spanks me, he explains to me in a calm voice that he expects me to be a good girl, and if I’m not, I will get a much worse spanking than the one I am getting now. I can’t really imagine a worse spanking than this, and I hate it that it is making my pussy so wet, especially when he spreads my legs to spank my pussy some more, or when he takes a break to run his wet fingers around my clit, then teases my cunt and my asshole before spanking some more.

After a while, the constant percussion puts me into a trance and I can sense when he begins to hit harder or to lighten his touch, but I don’t really feel it. I’m no longer complaining, I may be whimpering or moaning – you would have to ask him, because I don’t know. He stops to admire my ass, and stands me up and shows me in the mirror. It’s bright red, and I can see his fingermarks.

Then I have to get up and go to work.

How I took her anal virginity

I’m writing this in the early morning, about 5 am. Amy is stirring in the bed beside me, so I have one hand on her,and she is hugging my arm while she sleeps.

So.

I type now with my left hand.

Her breathing is deep,and even.

She rests naked under the duvet. When I move my hand gently on her she makes little happy sounds. I find her nipple, already partially erect, and as I cradle her breast she awakes enough to kiss my arm faintly.

She may not remember this moment by dawn.

She settles again.

I watch her in the darkness.

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I know so little about her.

She showed me her high school yearbook last night. A pretty 18 year old in a tiny sundress, president of her sororiety – did I spell that last word right? She’ll let me know. She spells everything right. She is scary smart.

I read her last post. I knew she was an anal virgin; I didn’t know she had had someone try to fuck her ass though, and stopped them. I was sure she had told me she had never done it because no one had ever been interested. So somewhere the story got confused. Like I said, so much to learn.

god.

I’m teasing her nipple gently and she’s moving just the tiniest little bit under my touch, and giving a breathy little whimper as she squirms.

I will learn a lot about her by what she writes here. There are so many accidental secrets between us, and stories we have yet to share. Good stories, and dark ones. I know the first time she had sex she was date raped. I don’t know much about it other than that.

But we will learn.

We talk of many things, science, religion, sex; even sealing wax and kings. Her mind she calls a monkey mind; always active. When I tell her a story I rarely finish it, as it always spurs a new thoughts in her own head that bursts to get out. If I am patient, I get the chance to speak again and finish what I am telling her.

If I am wise, I keep silent and learn more about her.

She has awakened briefly, and now presses against me. My hand slowly strokes her bare shoulder and back.

I am deeply in love with her.

I remember talking to her on the phone after my first month of knowing about her, and long before we ever met. We talked about D/s relationships, and something she said about service made me say she might want to be a slave. Neither of us wanted that; her to be a slave, nor me to have one, and yet here we are.

We are both learning.

About each other.

About ourselves.

She is awake now; her back to me. My hand discovers a fully erect firm nipple, then another as I slowly explore her breasts. Her naked ass wiggles warmly against my leg, and she makes the soft, soft sounds of a woman who feels the need of a man come upon her.

Dawn is coming.

But we begin, as any couple, in the dark.

How to find a submissive woman

When Amy first told me “I am for you,” I didn’t get it.

I heard what she was saying, and she explained the concept to me, but what I missed was what she really meant by that.

I’d known too many “submissive” women before.

I’d seen them on bdsm dating sites, laying out what they were looking for in a mate, what they wanted him to do for them, what they wanted to do for him, what they wanted to do for play, etc.

Quite frankly, I didn’t see them as submissive. I saw them, or at least their needs, as what would be dominant in a relationship.

I’d dabbled in Gor. But Gorean behavior had too many conceits and rules. You had to talk a certain way, behave a certain way, socialize a certain way. There were codes of behavior, codes of honor, rules for how your slave was supposed to greet people. Codes about how to capitalize a master’s name, and how to lower case a slave’s. Rules about how to discipline your girl, rules about how to train her, how to give her tasks to better herself, yadda yadda yadda.

Fuck that.

I’m not so much for following someone else’s rules.

Before I met Amy, I did some hard looking at myself and what I wanted in my life. I’d always adapted to my partner, and made sure their needs were met, even if it meant suppressing my own. Classic enabling behavior. I came to the conclusion that I would rather have no partner, than be in a relationship where I had to change who I was for anyone else. I could see past relationships that had not worked, and I could see that changing myself and denying what I wanted would ultimately destroy that relationship.

I decided I didn’t want a primary relationship.

I wasn’t closed to the idea, I just figured I’d never find that perfect match, the woman who wanted what I wanted. I figured they would all come with preconceptions and needs that they would expect me to adjust myself, to compromise, to meet those needs. And I was done with that.

Now, this was an exciting realization for me. I could be totally open and free about what I liked, I didn’t need to impress anyone with anything. I didn’t have to be “Domly” or sensitive, or anything. I could just be myself, say what I thought when I thought it, and move forward in my life. It gave me a natural, unforced dominance that didn’t depend on anyone else.

I wasn’t even looking for a partner.

Then Amy came along. God. Like a tractor beam. OK, so maybe not an appropriate Star Trek analogy, but Star Wars anyway. Close enough. It’s all spacey spacey themed, anyway.

Yeah, Amy attracted me, powerfully so. Smart, funny, very comfortable with herself. Not to mention gorgeous.

We IM’d, we phoned, we talked about bdsm and D/s and all sorts of topics. We both knew one thing, we didn’t want 24.7 D/s. I didn’t want a slave I had to micromanage, and Amy didn’t want to be dominated outside the bedroom.

Or so we thought.

I’m a simple man. I wanted a woman I could throw to the ground, kick her thighs open, and fuck. I’m not much for anything elaborate. And I’m not much for routine, or rules, or protocols. Catch her, throw her down, fuck her.

Pretty simple.

I didn’t want to be all focused on her needs, wondering if she is enjoying sex, if she is satisfied, if she feels good. I wanted a woman I could use. One I could force. One that could say “No”, sure, but that “no,” wasn’t going to get a whole lot of attention. Well, none.

I didn’t want a “brat,” either. A woman who misbehaves to get attention.

Boring.

Nor did I want one who needed to be spanked, disciplined or hurt in anyway. I like hurting. I just want to do it when I feel like hurting her, and not when she feels like being hurt.

Amy repeated to me a few times, the “I am for you,” idea.

Like an idiot, I kept blowing it off.

Then I got it.

I realized that what Amy liked was to be whatever her partner wanted. This wasn’t just words, typical slavespeak, etc. This was a vanilla woman, only the slightest acquaintance with D/s, and yet she knew that sher wanted to be whatever her partner wanted. Her needs were met by meeting his needs.

Let me emphasize that.

Her needs are met by meeting his needs.

Good god.

I told Amy she was dangerous. That a man could destroy himself with a woman like that. She didn’t understand that. She still doesn’t. She sees herself as the most innocuous little creature. I think she’s fucking dangerous.

But she spoke the truth about herself.

I use her, I make her masturbate, I force her to cum, I hurt her, I take away her air, I put hurty clampy things on her, I tie her up. I call her a slut, I ass fuck her. I do stuff that she likes, and that I like. I do stuff that she doesn’t like, but that I like. I do stuff she hates and dreads, but that I like.

I use her.

And I adore her. Did I need to mention that? She gets insecure only when she thinks she isn’t meeting my needs. I have no doubt she would do anything she could do for me if I asked her. She gives me absolute power. Fortunately, I am already absolutely corrupted, so no changes there.

She’s a woman I didn’t have to change myself for, one who loved me for what I am, Sadist, bad man, whatever it is that I am, she loves. And obeys.

Her needs are met by meeting mine.

My perfect mate.

I hate being called a slut and I love being called a slut

I fell asleep early because I took an antihistamine for my allergies. I woke up slowly, feeling my breasts being handled from behind, first gently, then building up to rough pulling and tugging. I think my own moaning may have woken me. I could feel his cock hard against my ass and as I became more conscious I wondered if I was going to get my ass fucked.

I’ve only been ass-fucked twice now; I’m practically still an anal virgin. He’s very experienced, thank goodness, because I was really nervous about it. It was awesome. I think I should ask him to post some pointers here, because a couple times in the past someone has attempted to ass-fuck me and it hurt like hell and I put an immediate stop to it. He would be doing the world a favor, at least that part of the world that would like to take an ass for a spin, to share some tips.

I didn’t get my ass fucked. I can tell it’s gonna happen again soon, though, because he’s getting more and more focused on that…region. Even after two completely untraumatic, very hawt ass-fuckings, I’m still trepidatious about it. Instead, I got flipped onto my back and my thighs shoved apart with his knee. It took two or three times for his cock to ram completely into me and then sweet jesus. I started rocking my hips in rhythm with him, then grabbed his back and bit down hard on his shoulder. I was moaning and scratching and biting and bucking and after what felt like hours I had worn myself out. (I’m generally worn out from almost four weeks of three-times-a-day fucking minimum.) He slowed down too, and we fell back asleep.

I was woken up AGAIN about an hour later. This time I couldn’t completely wake up. It felt great, but I could barely move from being tired and achy. It makes him hot when I’m somewhat unwilling but yield to him, so my lack of response didn’t bother him at all. He whispered in my ear that I could just lay there, it was okay, but he was going to fuck me and cum in me anyway. And he did. And we fell asleep again.

And a couple hours later, I was woken up AGAIN. He was rock hard and playing with me. Jesus, this guy is in his forties. He must have been *terrifying* when he was younger. My breasts are very…sensitive isn’t the right word, because I like intense handling. I guess they’re responsive.

Anyway, he was playing with my breasts in exactly the right way to make me crazy, and I was thrashing around on the bed. Then he told me to masturbate while he played with them. He was talking to me the whole time, telling me how much he loved my breasts, and what a slut I was, and how I needed to cum for him. I hate being called a slut, and I love being called a slut, and him telling me I had to cum pushed me right over the edge and I exploded into the mother of all orgasms. He immediately pushed into me and started fucking me while I was still feeling aftershocks from cumming.

(I want to add here that I never even *talked* about masturbating when I was married, much less masturbated in front of someone, so this is all new and a bit intimidating for me.)

He fucked me for a while and I think we both must have eventually passed out from exhaustion, because we were woken by the alarm at 6 am and I could barely lift my arm to turn it off.

I’m a morning person but this morning it was really hard to get my motor revving. He made me coffee and helped me get dressed and now, at 10 am, I’m finally beginning to feel my brain stirring.

Tonight: kids are with their dad, so we’ll have a wilder time.