I was surprised, to say the least. As most everyone knew her name and had seen
her pictures all over the world, I was surprised that I had won the drawing to
give her the spanking she so obviously deserved and needed. In an effort to
raise money for her legal fees and such, a worldwide lottery was held. Five
dollars American bought the chance to soundly spank those gorgeous buns. I
figured the five bucks was worth it just for the fantasy. Over a half-million
dollars was raised and I was shocked to get the certified letter telling me I
had won. I phoned and identified myself, they wired me a round trip ticket and
two days later I was jetting to the West Coast. Her lawyer met me at the airport
and told me that his own wife had suggested the spanking and the lottery idea
followed. "Even though my client didn't commit the actual assault, nor was she
involved in planning it, she is guilty of marrying a man who's emotionally
screwed up. Everyone can see she's got problems herself and can only benefit
from some attitude adjusting. It certainly works on my wife, so I agreed that my
client would benefit. "We felt that there were likely many others who felt that
way and who would pay for the chance to spank her. Certainly raised a nice sum.
Not as much as her rival, but then, she doesn't have to work for it or talk with
cartoon animals to earn it. "I guess her aggressive attitude makes her seem more
deserving of some bun warming," he went on. "She chose to compete in a sport
where the image tends to favour competitors who are quiet and passive, traits
which obviously don't fit her character." "Well, I never paid attention to any
ice sport until this whole mess hit the news," I said. "I noticed that she had a
great body: petite, fit and, oh those thighs. I imagine she's got lot of
protective muscle in her butt." "Yes, but that means more nerve endings." He
went on to tell me that the spanking would be done in his home. She knew what
was in store for her. "I told her that even the admission of knowing about the
crime after the fact and saying nothing was going to blemish her future, that
she needed to change some of her behaviour and dysfunctional habits in order to
avoid trouble in the coming years. She's not happy about it, but she realizes
jail could be worse." He and his wife live in a large, expensive house. Only he
and his wife were there. And the "trailer-park babe" herself. But she was in the
basement where a comfortable sound-insulated room had been constructed. He
introduced me to his wife, an attractive blonde haired woman whom I had also
seen several times on television news stories. She remained upstairs while the
attorney led me downstairs. "Before we go down there, let me again remind you of
the ground rules. We'll be videotaping the entire session when you are with her.
You will wear a mask and under no circumstances are you to call her by name. She
won't know who you are, so she won't be calling you by name. "Don't break he
skin or inflict any permanent damage. Is this clear?" I acquiesced and, when we
reached the bottom of the stairs, he handed me a silver colored mask and flipped
some switches to turn on video recorders. "I'll stay out here and monitor the
session." He looked at his watch. "My wife will have dinner ready at 7:30, an
hour from now. That should give you time to 'introduce' yourself and give her a
taste of what's in store for her." "In the letter and on the telephone you
mentioned a paddle collection . . . . ." "Let's see how this session goes,
first," he said as he sat down at a console with video monitors. When I opened
the door, a small spotlight was the only illumination in the room, and that
light fell directly on the naked form of the athlete whose face had become
familiar to so many in recent months. The blonde hair was tightly drawn up
behind her head and she wore only a small cross on a chain which rested between
her small breasts. She was standing against a wall, holding, but not tied to,
straps which kept her arms high and wide. She stood with her bare feet about two
feet apart and it was difficult for me to keep my gaze from constantly returning
to take in the magnificence of those strong, naked thighs I'd dreamed about.
"Hello," I whispered. "Okay, I agreed to do this, but I don't have to like it,"
she said. I could hear her nervousness and the fear behind her words of
defiance. I directed her to the leather-covered vaulting horse which was
instantly spotlighted as she walked over to it. The attorney was evidently
watching from the control panel in the next room and I wondered where the video
cameras were. I had her bend over the shortened vaulting horse and told her to
hold on to the straps which I handed her. Stepping around behind her, I spent a
few moment admiring her lovely bottom, so muscular and firm, so inviting. I
felt, but resisted, the urge to plant an adoring kiss on each glorious cheek.
Instead, I placed both of my hands on her butt and squeezed the flesh. At first
her muscles tightened, but after several seconds they relaxed and gave way for
the massaging action of my fingers. She let out a loud sigh, as if she were
bored. Annoying and definitely defiant. "I thought this was supposed to teach me
something. Are you just teaching me that you're some sort of pervert who gets
off rubbing asses?" The first swat was hard and loud. I knew that there was a
limit as to what a bare-handed spanking could deliver but I applied a forceful
blow to shock her. I knew it would sting her into a quick silence, at least for
a moment. "Oww!" she yelped, quite startled. The sharp sound of flesh-on-flesh
didn't reverberate off the walls, but it was loud. The muscles in her butt and
thighs quivered beneath her skin, and the pink imprint rose on her cheek. She
inhaled quickly, but said nothing. I rubbed long enough to relax the tense
muscles again, then administered another stinging slap to her other cheek,
raising a matching pink imprint. This time, there was no sound from her other
than the sharp hissing of air as it rushed out of her mouth. Again, her thighs
quivered as did her well- developed butt. Years of falling on ice had made that
an area of high resistance but I had come prepared. "I guess you know my asshole
ex-husband used to punch me and beat me. I learned to take a lot of pain that
way. If you're waiting for me to cry before you'll stop, you've got a long wait,
bub. Unless I fake it. "Oh, boo hoo, mister, don't spank me anymore. {sniff}
You've made your point. I promise to be a good girl from now on and to stay away
from emotionally immature jerks like my ex. "There. Satisfied?" she said, her
voice changing back to a bratty, irritating, recalcitrant tone. While she had
been talking and putting on her act, I had donned a latex glove and smeared it
with the menthol-scented cream which would sensitize her flesh. "Oh, damn,
that's cold!" she said, startled yet again at the feel of my hand on her
backside, rubbing soothingly. "Hmmm, that feels good, ya know? Kinda warm. It
smells like stuff I get rubdowns with. Is it?" My reply? WHAP! "AoowH!" she
cried, genuinely stung. Quickly she stood, letting go of the hand straps and
grabbing her own stinging buns. "Shit, that hurt!" "Bend over," I told her
sternly. She didn't move fast enough to suit me so I took hold of one of her
wrists, went to the other side of the vaulting horse and cinched her wrist. She
was struggling but I returned and secured a strap to her left ankle. The straps
weren't tight at all, giving her plenty range of motion, yet still she was bent
over, that ass wonderfully poised and beckoning. "I told you not to let go."
Then I brought my gloved hand up high and brought it down on that delectable
derriere. WHAP!! She jerked hard against the straps and she couldn't stifle the
cry that came from deep within. Again and again I covered her cheeks with my
hand until they were flushed scarlet and her sobs were real, not fake. But this
was only a warm-up, so I released her foot and reached beneath the horse and
freed her wrist from the strap. "You may stand," I told her. Again, her hands
went to her rear, but the contact this time was no longer comforting. She
groaned at the contact and jerked her hands away. When I saw her face, her blue
eyes were shedding real tears. While I joined my hosts for a delicious dinner,
they en- lightened me on a few things. "She received so many threats, she feared
going out in public," the attorney explained. "We already owned the house next
door, so we constructed a connecting tunnel and she lives in that house. She has
several fitness machines and a hot tub there. Her close friends come and go and
she goes for evening jogs from there without trouble." "In disguise, of course,"
his wife added. She said that all the publicity had a depressing effect on the
23-year-old, but she's tough. "She knows the mess won't ever be forgotten but
sooner or later the media hype will. She just wants to drive her truck and ride
her motorcycle and go shopping without the mob of photographers." "In the
meantime," the attorney continued, "she has bills to pay and a life to lead. She
wants to invest all she can now because she knows she'll likely never get the
chance to make as much money. There just isn't a big demand for former athletes
in her field, regardless of public opinion." "The friends she hangs out with
seem to be fine," his wife commented. "But like so many people from
dysfunctional back- grounds, sometimes she's attracted to mixed-up people. Like
her ex-husband. She's obviously grown up a lot in the last few months. I think
she's turned 180¿ as far as being attracted to that type." "Yes, but even she
acknowledged that there was still some sort of attraction to the brooding,
sinister types." "So, what made you decide on spanking as a measure?" I asked.
"Her therapist agreed that she was consciously aware of why she had made those
wrong choices in the past. Continuing the therapy would have been reinforcing
but repetitive and definitely expensive. With no big contract offers, that would
have been a financial drain she couldn't afford." "She has known for years that
my husband and I were involved in the spanking scene. We discussed it often.
This may sound over-simplified, but she needs and wants a strong, intelligent,
self-confident man, but she has always settled for the emotionally weak men of
less intelligence because, I think, she believes she doesn't deserve better. And
she does. She's talented, beautiful, smart . . . ." "The lottery concept was her
idea," the attorney said. "Really?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "She had
offers to do nude layouts, but the idea of being ogled by thousands of
masturbators didn't thrill her, and the monetary offers didn't seem to be enough
to offset the obligatory sanctimonious moralizing that was sure to follow." He
went on. "One of her friends happened to tell her that there'd been a discussion
on The Internet about how she needed to be spanked. She knew that people on the
Information Superhighway are intelligent and she figured to get the word out
that her ass was available for a good spanking." "And the videotapes?" |I asked.
"Primarily for security: hers, ours and yours. The tapes will verify that she is
consenting, that she's free to come and go as she likes, and that you aren't
inflicting any serious injury. "There's a second reason, though, and I waited to
mention it until we had a chance to talk about it." He paused to pour himself a
glass of wine. "As you can imagine, she's had offers from several private
collectors. Even we were amazed at the amounts being offered by some noted
people. So far, we've not decided anything, but I have a contract here for you
to study. Quite simply, we're offering you $10,000 up front for your role in
this tape, with provisions for a percentage of the sale price if and when we
sell it to a private collector." By 9:30, we had completed our discussion and I
returned to the recreation room. She was waiting, having spent the last several
hours in the other house. She had worked out, prepared and eaten dinner, and
showered. She wore a floor-length, trans- parent gown and her hair hung
naturally. A lovely picture of innocence clothed only in gossamer. I had chosen
from my host's large collection of implements two paddles, which she eyed with
curiosity and fear. She watched me walk over to a straight back chair which we
had placed near the padded horse. I sat and placed the paddles in the floor.
"Uh, listen, I really don't need this," she said quietly, and nervously,
attempting to talk her way out of the arrangement. "You already got your kicks.
I got spanked. We have the video to sell if we want. You have your money. Why do
I need a paddling now? I looked at her and saw that she had the act down very
well, having developed her manipulative skills over the years. With her face
framed by her soft, blonde hair, and with those blue eyes filling with crocodile
tears and her girlish, quavering voice and pouting lips projecting innocence and
naiveté, it was easy to see how she had been able to work her way into and out
of situations all her life. But not this one. "Lie over my lap," I told her. She
sniffed, a whimper came from her throat and she pouted as she walked toward me,
but her eyes betrayed the insolence inside. They were almost flashing defiance.
She stood beside me and began to remove the gown, but I told her to leave it on.
As she stretched out across my lap, I put my arm across her back. I lifted the
gown, exposing that wondrous ass and reached down for the first of the two
paddles, a thin, wide paddle about 3/8 of an inch thick and a little over 4
inches wide. This paddle would sting sharply and get her attention quickly. I
rubbed her smooth, hard cheeks, cool to the touch compared to the warming they
were about to receive. I lingered, enjoying the experience of fulfilling this
desire to administer these corrective measures to this lovely, misguided and
misused, young woman. My arm rose high. The silence was palpable as she held her
breath. The muscles of her thighs and butt quivered in anticipation of the
inevitable. WHOOSH -- CRACK!! She almost levitated as her body jolted at the
impact. "OH, DAMN!!" she managed to gasp as blood rushed to the impact area,
turning parts of both cheeks scarlet almost instantaneously. "Oh,
shitfuckgoddamn!" I heard as she felt the genuine pang of that swat. But there
was more to come. I waited about fifteen seconds, allowing the complete effect
to set in. She had time to feel the sharp pain and for the muscles in her rear
to harden in reaction. I raised the paddle, targeting the area where her bubble
butt met her thighs, where there yet lingered a faint panty line indentation.
CRACK! So much for the panty line. Her right hand appeared to protect her rear,
but I grabbed it and held it firmly in the middle of her back, glad that I was
able to keep her off balance enough so that she couldn't get the leverage to
stand. Her thighs were too muscular and her legs just not long enough for her
feet to touch the floor, so her wailing and her thrashing legs were the only
ways she could react. The red area on her butt had almost doubled in size and in
the fifteen seconds after the swat, she cast aspersions against my family
lineage as well as accused me of being -- well, a man of questionable moral
integrity, a sexual deviant of extraordinary depravity, and other imaginative
characterizations. CRACK! That blow had a bit more force behind it, though I
knew she wasn't feeling the blows deeply. But the pain certainly grabbed her
attention and stopped her tirade, at least temporarily. CRACK! I no longer
waited for fifteen seconds. I knew that the thin paddle would only have a
limited effect on that athletic ass and now swift, loud stings were probably
most effective. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Each swat was followed
by a high-pitched cry. No longer was she yelling insults. She was focused on the
pain in her backside, a pain I knew was dulling as her skin was being numbed by
her own endorphins. And as an athlete, she was accustomed to working through
pain. Before she could fully realize what I was doing, I dropped the paddle,
gripped her waist, stood and hurriedly carried her to the padded vaulting horse.
She was almost rag-doll limp, having just emptied her lungs with a cry, but even
as I laid her out and quickly moved to attach the straps to her, she became
aware that she could move. Her calves were against my shoulder as I reached
under the stand to grab her wrist. I could feel the muscles tense and I slipped
the strap over her right hand a fraction of a second before she jerked her hand.
I quickly secured her ankles and then walked around to slide the remaining strap
over her left hand. The exertions of the last few minutes had made both of us
hot and sweaty. I unbuttoned and removed my shirt as I took in the sight of her
damp gown, more transparent now, clinging to her struggling body. Once again she
had begun yelling invectives at me, haranguing me with a vitriolic
tongue-lashing that would have shamed many truck drivers. I walked to a nearby
table and poured myself a glass of ice water from a pitcher I had put there. I
drank and walked back and dropped to sit on my haunches beside her head. Her
hair was damp but still lovely. Her eyes were electric, full of spite and the
turmoil and energy that needed to be directed to positive purposes. "I
understand that you have been with the behavioral people and you know what your
mistakes have been. You know what sort of behavior is proper from a normal human
being, let alone a woman who has been a role model for thousands of
impressionable minds. These disciplinary measures are to drive home the altered
pat- terns." She looked at me with those tear-filled eyes. "But I didn't do
anything wrong," she whined in that familiar voice, repeating the phrase she had
used so often in so many situations. And successfully. But no more. "Yes you
did. You chose the wrong man to marry, just as you've often chosen to associate
with people who lack your intelligence and potential." I stood, and as I talked,
I crossed the room to retrieve the second paddle. "I don't doubt that you want
things to go well and that you want happiness and success. The shadow of prison,
the ominous images of trial judges, negative worldwide publicity, expensive
fines -- all certainly should influence you to change your comportment and the
direction you will take in life. These physical sessions will serve as
reminders." I walked behind her and, with the paddle, lifted her gown to expose
her red cheeks. I then poured some of the ice water over the inflamed flesh. She
yelped in shocked surprise and her rosy butt shivered and the skin immediately
tightened. I let water drip on her back and watched her squirm as the ice water
rolled down her body. I tossed a few towels on the floor to soak up the water. I
set the glass aside and took up my stance. My right arm held the paddle at full
extension while with my left hand I caressed that toned, hard butt of hers,
feeling muscles relax after their spasm. THWACK! Her scream was piercing. She
had probably never felt its like before. She jerked and strained mightily at the
straps, but could do nothing except feel and vocalize her feelings. "No, no, oh
God, please, no," she said, between loud sobs. She'd felt that pang deep, far
deeper than the epidermal sting of the earlier spanking or paddling. I waited
long enough for the impact to reverberate through her entire body before I
landed the next power stroke. THWACK! "AAIIEE!" Her focus was now clearly
confined to her vulnerable ass. No longer was she directing her anger at me. She
wasn't even feeling anger, as the hurt had her complete and undivided attention.
THWACK! "N-O-O-o-o!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Soon enough, and all too
soon, even her shrieks stopped as her voice gave out and the pain dulled to a
throb and her lungs could no longer force the cries out of her. I eased the
force of the blows and paused longer between them. Her entire ass almost glowed,
so scarlet was it. I knew she would be sore and tender for some time. I poured
more ice water on her inflamed rump. She moaned and squirmed weakly at the
pleasure/pain the chill in- stilled. Then I gave her more applications of the
wood, and again followed by pouring water on the strike zone. She was too
exhausted to return to her house, so I released her from the straps and the
attorney's wife and I helped her to a spare bedroom. She remained to help the
young athlete prepare for a night's sleep and I joined my host. The next morning
she was, of course, quite tender from the night before, but nevertheless I was
able to administer a last over-the-knees, bare-handed spanking to her with her
panties down, though she was too sore to wear anything over her burning butt,
and would be for several days. I took my time, reminding her the entire time
that more of the same could easily follow if she ever showed signs of
misbehaving again. When I boarded the jet to return home after the fantasy trip,
I had in my pocket some photographs of my hand on a well- spanked butt, a rear
that ached far more than what all her bruising spills on the ice had. I have a
hunch that she might be searching for a relationship with a man who can manage
her and can administer the sort of spankings her fine behind deserves and needs.
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