by Ross Mariner
It was going to be a good spanking, but he knew that there would be much of it that he would not enjoy. Sandra would not enjoy it either, once the process was well under way. Are spankings good for you? That had been a question posed for discussion. He intended that this one would be good for Sandra, in the sense that bitter medicine can be good for the ailing patient.
Would it be good for him? He had to admit that some aspects would be. He would enjoy the closeness of the spanking, her warmth and softness pressed against him, his arm holding her in place. It would be impossible, he was sure, not to enjoy the visual effect of her voluptuously generous bottom that had always sent tingles through him, stirring places that refused to remain quiescent at such a view. He was a man, she a woman. Her body was pure femininity, and her bottom always a delightfully firm softness under his hand.
He knew that in the past she could lie across his lap for hours at a time, being petted, stroked and spanked. She had enjoyed his touch, and there was pleasure in a little pain, an exciting sting and glow had been the spice of their relationship in the past. It would no doubt return, although for the past few years they had been apart and she belonged to someone else. He had always gained pleasure from her pleasure and her spankings with him had been times of combined excitement, intimacy and comfortable indolence. Spankings had been their shared delight and pleasure, as they revelled in the delicious sensations of bare hands applied to bare bottoms, and although it was not a frequent thing, on occasion they had changed roles so each could experience everything about a sensual spanking.
Having a relationship along those lines, life had been good in the years they had been exclusive partners, despite the vastness of geography that separated them in their lives. Spanking was what had brought them together, and they were almost kindred souls. Discipline was seldom mentioned between them, and they were essentially agreed that spankings were about pleasure and not punishment, at least for them. Let others choose to play as they would.
Despite all that and a propensity toward leadership and equality herself, Sandra still had a streak of submissiveness that surfaced from time to time, just as there were occasions when the dominant side of her partner emerged from time to time. On one occasion she had said, "If I ever need a good spanking as a reminder, I hope you'll give it to me."
"If that's what you want, of course, But you'll have to ask me, make your need clear."
"I will," she had said. "Count on it." She had then talked a bit about a domestic discipline website to which she belonged. He had joined it for her sake but found it was simply not for him, so seldom looked at it after the first couple of visits, although once in a while he'd go there to read stories she had written, usually for the sake of one of the couples who frequented the website and had become friends of hers online.
There had been two occasions when Sandra had requested a serious spanking. He had obliged. She had gone over his lap after the traditional armless chair had been ceremoniously placed, had her bottom positioned and prepared, followed by a short, sharp spanking. A few dozen no-nonsense smacks had been applied. It had hurt. The effect was what she wanted, and for both of them the loving aftercare made up for the pain. Still, he had not enjoyed knowing that he had caused her real, physical pain. She had told him afterward that she was surprised at how much his hand that so often stroked and caressed her, could hurt. There had been tears in her eyes after those spankings but no crying. She was a woman, not a little child. Of course, the tears had been kissed away after, and all was well. More than well, in fact.
After the second of those, as they lay comfortably entwined on the bed in their hotel room, Sandra spoke his name, hesitantly, softly and with the rising inflexion of a question. "Yes, darling?" he had responded, stroking her as she purred.
"If I ever disappoint you, really seriously disappoint you, will you promise to give me a spanking, a hard one, as punishment, please?"
He had been somewhat surprised. "I can't imagine that, dear, but if it does happen, alright, but only if you really want me to. It will be up to you. Now, I don't like the word 'punishment' much. Maybe we could say a spanking could be the consequence, an expected and earned one, for an action that should not have taken place?"
"Okay. I don't really care what you call it, but I'd want and need a good spanking for something really bad that hurt you."
"If that's what you want, Sandra, it shall be. Again, though, it will be up to you."
It was not long after that conversation that she had boarded an Air Canada flight from Pearson International to somewhere in the Southern United States. They had both feared they had been together for the last time.
Until this time, from their first meeting in real life, theirs had been an exclusive relationship in matters of spanking and sex. It wasn't exactly planned, it just happened, and very early in the relationship Sandra had made it clear that she did not like the idea of his spanking any other woman. When a woman friend of hers had met them both at a gathering, the friend had asked him to give her the first spanking of her adult life. Sandra had strenuously objected and offered to do that herself, although her partner could watch.
Their first time together was a couple of nights in a nice, waterfront room in a resort hotel less than an hour from the Buffalo airport where they had met, avoiding the exorbitant landing fees of Pearson, Toronto's monster airport. The hotel had provided a bar and fine dining, a gorgeous view of the Toronto skyline that had grown from invisibility during his childhood visits to this area, to something as impressive as Manhattan, though unique, with a character of its own. In the years since he'd played in the barn at his uncle's farm a few kilometres from the luxury hotel, giving and receiving illicit spankings with his cousin and her girlfriends while hidden from adult view, Toronto had come of age. The TD Centre, First Canadian Place and Commerce Court had risen tall above the horizon. Surpassing them all was the CN Tower which grew upward until at last it became the tallest free-standing building in the world. No longer would a sailor crossing from Niagara, St. Catherines or Grimsby, have trouble finding the way to Ontario's capital city.
Aside from refreshment, fine food and a view, the Beacon Hotel offered a king-sized bed, a variety of chairs and all the necessities for play.
Sandra and her new partner had played. They had bonded. For a few years they looked neither backward nor ahead, but enjoyed every moment together. Spankings never became routine, but they did discover their preferences, delighted that the two concepts were almost identical. The preferred position, except for the odd playful swats given and received by both of them on the spur of the moment, was traditional - across the lap. The armless chair was tried and duly assigned for use only for short and serious, or more likely semi-serious, spankings. The position with head and feet dangling was not comfortable for any length of time, but the spanking angle of the receiving behind was perfect with the legs down, permitting a wide, strong, swing. This was a useful way of dealing with matters like the night she drank too much wine, something her strict Utah-based religion forbade, or when, as she returned to academe, and her assignments were left incomplete. Her new partner, friend and sometime Dom had been a professor and a principal. The two requested 'discipline' spankings made use of the same position. The chair was for a no-nonsense spanking.
Most of the time, however, they found that with the spanker seated, back supported, on a bed or couch, the person being spanked could lie comfortably during a smack-bottom session. On more than once occasion, Sandra had fallen asleep. This became the standard for their affectionate, sensual play. The bed, too, had the advantage of making changes of position for various purposes quite easy and natural. A change of role or a more intimate form of contact could be arranged with little effort and no loss of physical contact.
As for toys and implements, both preferred the intimacy of bare hand on bare bottom, although occasionally for the sake of variety a wooden spoon or hairbrush joined the action for a moment. They were aware of other things, but neither possessed a collection of toys at that time. As is often the case, Sandra had far more experience with spanking and more serious levels of BDSM than he. Although some women will disagree on personal grounds, it is usually much easier for an attractive woman to find a man willing to spank her bottom than it is for a man to find a woman willing to lie across his lap. Sandra had, for almost a year before escaping, worn a dog collar imposed by her Master, to whom she had become a slave. On returning to the scene, she had been glad of the contrast and the new emphasis on pleasure and sensations.
Such was the background on the tearful evening when that Air Canada flight had lifted off and headed south. It had been five years since they had met.
Sandra had managed to re-awaken desire in the husband who had refused to touch her for several years. She had become pregnant, and in due course her third child was born. Despite this, she had managed to maintain her hold on her elderly Northern friend and stayed in touch. It was during this period that her prophecy came true. She did manage to disappoint and hurt him. She hurt him badly. Very badly. After several years, he was still striving to deal with the problem she had caused him, and the end was not yet in sight. Of course he had forgiven her but not forgotten. He could not forget. Each month there was an ominous reminder of what had been done.
There had been a number of futile attempts at a reunion, but she had managed to cancel each one close to the moment of meeting. At last, however, conditions were right for her. The plan was Sandra's. There was to be a conference of teachers in her chosen field of pedagogy to be held in Toronto. It was almost obligatory that she attend, and there were no questions or problems about it at home. He doubted, still, that she would really meet him.
His phone rang one morning, and it was Sandra. After the expected startled and incoherent response on his part, they talked briefly. "I'm at the airport, Pearson," she said. "The convention bus is leaving in a few minutes, and I can't miss it. Can you get to Toronto today?"
"Is the Archbishop of Canterbury an Anglican? Our old motel?"
"Perfect. The convention is not far away. Remember what I said about disappointing you before we parted?"
"Of course."
"That's still what I want, alright?"
"If you are sure. It is up to you."
"I'm sure. Can I find you there about 5 o'clock?"
"I'll be there, Sandra."
"Good. May I spend the night?"
"Was Joseph Smith a Mormon?" He sensed her smile at that.
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