Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Spanking Mad!

Psst, I'll let you into a secret. I love a good spanking story!

OK, that isn't really a secret, is it? But it's completely true. Spanking stories are my first love, and they will be my last. Spanking stories of the future and spanking stories of the past *fires up synthesiser*.

So the latest anthology to feature my writing, Ultimate Spanking from Xcite Books, is one I am devouring from cover to cover. And it is a banquet - a feast of flagellation, a cornucopia of corporal punishment etc.

My story is called Paying For It and concerns a girl called Kat who feels the need to call upon an unusual specialist service. Here is an excerpt:

‘Right,’ he said, and he stood up, took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I forgot to breathe, my wine glass frozen in my hand, watching him like a tiny mouse in the sights of a raptor. ‘If this goes well for you, then, Kat, perhaps we can come to a more formal arrangement. But first, I need you to put down that glass and fetch the straight-backed chair from the corner, please.’

My chest decompressed in an undignified rush. I rose on shaky legs and went to fetch the chair, which was plain old-fashioned wood with a very high back and no arms, in the Shaker style, I suppose, though I’m not sure that’s still in fashion. I could imagine Professor Strict – or whatever his real name was – as the preacher of some old-time religion, thumping the Bible in a kitchen with a similar light oak finish. Sending the girls outside to cut switches, oh yes, he had that look.

Shaker style was apt, because I was shaking, nay quaking, with the enormity of what I was doing. This was really happening. I could leave. I didn’t have to go through with it.

But he took my elbow, firmly but not painfully, seated himself on the austere chair of chastisement, and pulled me down over his lap in such a seamless gesture that I almost didn’t realise what he was doing. Talk about a shift in perspective. There, stomach pressed tightly to his expensively-trousered thighs, legs sloping down to the floor and head dangling perilously close to the shiny leather of his shoe, I truly felt the ignominy of my position. I was not even remotely in control of this situation, even though I was the ‘client’ and he the ‘service provider’. It was such…a relief. Yes. A relief. What happened next would not and should not be up to me. I wanted it to be up to him. And I knew he would not fail me.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to keep still? Or should I hold your wrists behind your back?’

‘I really don’t know. I’ve never…’

‘Alright. We’ll see how we get on.’ One hand cupped the tartan seat of my skirt, tapping it lightly and experimentally. ‘How’s your pain threshold?’

‘OK, I think.’

‘If you get to the point where you really can’t bear any more, you must tell me. Think of a word.’

My mind went blank. Think of a word? What sort of a word? Any old word?

‘Or should I think of one for you?’

‘Yes please.’

‘OK, the word is Antidisestablishmentarianism. Got that?’

I giggled and squirmed in his lap. ‘That’s too long!’ I objected.

‘You had your chance. Right then. I hear you’ve been a bad girl, Kat, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ I muttered, glad that he could not see my flushed face.

‘Didn’t catch that, Kat,’ he said, with a leisurely swipe of my behind that shocked more than it hurt. ‘Was that Yes? Or was it Yes, Sir? Which do you think is the right answer?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I squeaked.

‘Better. So what do you think happens to bad girls, Kat? Bad girls who come to my home?’

‘I think…they get a spanking, Sir.’

He rubbed my skirt over my bottom, the hem tickling my thigh so that I wriggled. ‘Is this irritating you, Kat? Perhaps we should get it out of the way.’ He raised the material to reveal my white cotton briefs, stretched tight over my vulnerable globes. ‘That was the right answer, incidentally. Well done. Can’t say it’s going to spare you any of what’s coming to you though. Speaking of which…’

Oh, on the thin cotton his hand raised the most resounding crack, making me jerk and yelp in surprise. The fabric was barely any barrier at all to his painful purpose, and he rained down a few more, glorying in the crispness and efficiency of his technique, for I was already whimpering and trying to rearrange myself to a less wide-open position on his lap – which he was having none of, of course.

‘You asked for this, Kat,’ he said warningly. ‘You know it’s what you need. You shouldn’t fight it, should you?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘No, Sir. That’s right.’ And his hand was being gentle now, rubbing at the site of the soreness, dissipating the sting. ‘This’ll help you take a longer spanking,’ he told me, ruining my illusion that it was all out of the kindness of his heart. ‘Short, sharp shocks are all very well, but I think a good, long session over my lap will be better for you.’ And with that, he repeated the initial fusillade, peppering me with hard smacks until I tried to cover my backside and, sighing deeply, he was forced to hold my wrists in the small of my back.

Many, many wonderful names also contribute to the book - you will find Monica Belle; Shanna Germain ; Philippa Johnson; Poppy St Vincent; Sadie Wolf; Rachel Kramer Bussel; Ashley Hind; Cyanne; Heidi Champa; Charlotte Stein; Robin Moreton; Amelia Thornton; Sandrine Lopez; Izzie French; Aishling Morgan; Laurel Aspen; Landon Dixon; Teresa Joseph and Philip Kemp.

Happy Spankings!

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