by Perry Symon Fowler
It was close on eleven-thirty when Gwen stepped off the bus. The air was gusting with the sudden chill of a premature winter; she had to hold her skirt down against the cold, driving crosswinds. Leaning slightly into the gale, she made her way along Lachlan Avenue towards the terrace apartment she shared with Sean and Melissa. It was a handsomely appointed Victorian edifice, newly renovated under the Heritage scheme. They'd been exceptionally lucky to land the contract; the Conservation Society was notoriously selective in its screening process, and art students were considered notoriously inadequate house sitters.
Still, they'd survived the gauntlet of interviews, filing applications and tendering references. The Society had eventually approved their submission - most probably based on Sean's professional and academic qualifications. In the seven months since they'd moved into the Terrace, Gwen had come to learn that Sean Donaghue was an extremely capable man, one who was used to getting everything he wanted.
Everything.
Opening the front door, Gwen paused before the staircase, tilting her head upward in surprise. Her cheeks started tingling with sudden embarrassment. Sounds were drifting down from the living room; a medley of familiar, indisputable noises which invariably set her heart cantering in her chest. She wavered in the entryway, listening to the swift, staccato slap of man-palm on tender young girl-flesh: the sharp, unmistakable sound of a good, hard spanking.
Gwen had to repress a nervous giggle: there could be no doubt as to whom was having her saucy little bottom smacked. Melissa was in fine voice this evening. Her cries rose and fell in keening octaves; splitting the air like the shriek of a banshee. Gwen covered her mouth with both hands, a deliciously wicked vision of her roomie's fanny dancing through her mind.
She wavered in a perfect stalemate of indecision. Her best friend was having her firm, round bottom spanked in the living room - if she went upstairs now, it would be worse than catching them in bed. Melissa would be utterly humiliated, shamed beyond all endurance.
Of course, that was precisely what Lissa wanted: to be caught over Sean's lap with her dainty pink panties clustered down around her knees. That was one of the covert thrills of sharing the Terrace, where a nice, long spanking was never far away.
Gwen nibbled her lip, desperately trying to keep a straight face.
Much as she hated to admit it, she was eager to glimpse the spectacle. The thought of seeing Melissa's plump, clenching bottom-cheeks tanned beet-red had her heart cantering in her throat. She felt both aroused and curious. A moist, cloying heat was insinuating itself between her thighs, her breath was quickening in swift, shallow spurts.
Lissa's voice pealed out over the stairwell: a long, piercing wail of agonized protest, as high and sweet and clear as a child's.
"Aooow! AAAOOOWW! Please, Sean, it hurts, IT HURTS!"
Gwen bit the tip of her tongue, trying to contain the hysterical laughter bubbling up from the well of her tummy. The suspense was too much for her: she had to see, had to peek over the banister and witness her friend's ultimate disgrace. She adored Melissa, loved her like a younger sister, but the temptation was irresistible.
She had to see!
Closing the front door behind her, Gwen took a deep, calming breath and started up the stairs. The screams and yelps gained intensity with each furtive step. Sean was a big man, broad shouldered and muscular, his arms as buffed and smooth as polished steel. His hand was broad and flat and harder than granite. The pain must have been quite unspeakable.
Of course, it was no more than Melissa deserved. She'd been unforgivably insolent over the last month or so, engaging in every conceivable form of mischief, testing the limits at every available opportunity. She'd frequently challenged Sean to curb her willfully provocative behavior. Gwen herself had been just as guilty, neglecting her studies and following her friend from rave to nightclub without a thought for the future.
The stairway opened directly into the living room. Gwen halted at the top step, dropping all pretense of discretion as she surveyed the tableaux unfolding before her astonished, incredulous gaze. Forewarned was never truly forearmed; she could never prepare herself for this festival of humiliation - no matter how many times it took place.
He's spanking her!
Melissa was draped over Sean's lap with her nude, previously ivory bottom cheeks staring at the ceiling in mute shock. Her scanty nylon underpants were stretched about her dimpled knees; her lean, shapely legs were kicking in mid-air. She was wearing the long, white socks so popular amongst the college set at that time. Her pretty young derriere was a mass of splayed, scarlet handprints, crisscrossing both cheeks from a variety of angles.
Gwen covered her mouth once again, her eyes as wide as saucers. Melissa's bottom was a marvel of beauty; sweet and luscious and splendidly formed. Sleek and wide and wonderfully full, it glowed and pulsed with a subtle, pink luminosity, a gentle flush which flowed over the soft curves of her buttocks and half-way down the length of her thighs.
Sean's palm swept down over that magnificent, heart-shaped posterior, whipping the fleshy globes with breathtaking force. Melissa humped and floundered on his lap, wobbling her cheeks in agony. The skin turned snowy white with each explosive clap, flaring up a searing, angry red before the next blow descended. Gwen could see the shock-waves rolling down the girl's tapering legs as far as the knees.
He's spanking her! Gwen thought again, taking a single tentative step into the living room.
Sean was seated at the centre of the room, planted comfortably in one of the ornately carved straight-backed chairs; Melissa was lying over his long, powerful thighs in the classic 'jack-knife' position. Her lustrous black hair was brushing the carpet, her impudent young bottom-tops were raised and ready for punishment. Sean's right arm was streaking down in a blurred, whistling arc, flailing her crimson, jiggling hynie with ruthless, rapid-fire strokes.
Gwen stood entranced at the top of the stairs, totally incapable of tearing her eyes away from those trembling, agonized buttocks. After all these months, she still couldn't believe it was happening. This was the age of feminism and equality; men couldn't simply assume the right to lower their partners' knickers the way they did a few decades ago.
Meantime, her closest girlfriend was pleading for clemency as her pretty little bottom squirmed and reddened beneath a hail of stinging, scathing spanks. Melissa bucked her hips left to right, desperately attempting to elude Sean's intractable iron hand, begging his forgiveness in her tiny, chastened voice:
"Please, Sean, please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I promise... "
Gwen caught herself smiling despite Melissa's sobbing entreaties. She was actually enjoying this ordeal of shame, reveling in the thrill and exhilaration of her roomie's searing discipline. She'd had this coming for weeks now. Anyway, Gwen knew her friend far too well to be fooled, by her seeming recalcitrance.
The facts were speaking for themselves. Melissa's trim legs were open; the moist, vertical lips of her femininity were clearly visible. Her inner thighs were slick and glistening: while Gwen couldn't see Lissa's face from where she was standing, there was no denying her level of arousal.
The spanking continued, Melissa writhing and struggling over Sean's knees, Gwen watching from the banister, her head spinning with excitement.
Sean glanced up, seeing her for the first time. His hand froze in mid-swing; the spanking came to an abrupt halt.
Ohh!
An awkward silence enveloped the room. Sean caught her gaze, his expression poised midway between anger and amusement. He lowered his hand to Melissa's left buttock, nodding slowly as if answering an unspoken question. Five seconds passed, six, seven. Lissa wept quietly over his knee, whispering her anguish to the empty air:
"...please Sean, it hurts, it really hurts, I'm sorry now, I promise I'll be good, Sean, please..."
Gwen's attention meandered between Sean's face and Melissa's sizzling cheeks. She felt like a very small girl who'd committed some terrible faux pas at her first party. How was she going to explain herself? They'd caught her spying on them, invading their covert passions like some sleazy tabloid journalist. Worse than that, she'd viewed Melissa's punishment with baleful, gloating delight. She groped for some droll, witty remark to break the stasis, suddenly desperate to alleviate the tension.
Unfortunately, her mind was a clean, white page.
"Enjoying yourself over there?" Sean asked mildly.
Melissa's flaming buttocks clutched and flicked in nervous expectation.
"I - I - well - yes ... I mean..." Gwen sputtered, still unable locate that dry, lacerating one-liner which would put everything to rights. Her lips moved, words toppled out in an incoherent jet; strings of meaningless syllables signifying nothing. Melissa's bottom looked so huge and brilliant, so ... vulnerable. Gwen could think of nothing else. And Sean was regarding her with that stern, measuring glance, the one that always chilled the blood in her veins.
Her eyes rolled about the room in sudden panic.
Was Sean angry with her too?
Yes, almost undoubtedly.
He sat awaiting her answer, his fingertips drumming out a triple beat on Lissa's swollen plump cheeks. His smile was thin and sharp and frighteningly patient. Gwen found her hands drifting protectively to her hindquarters, as if in premonition of approaching torments. The image set off a disturbing (but highly provocative) chain of thought. She'd been just as naughty as Melissa over the past month and a half. Sean had warned both of them to keep their behavior down to an acceptable level only last week; he'd taken enough of their backtalk, truculence and wily, girlish deceits.
"W-what are you d-doing?" she asked in a kittenish tone, as if the answer wasn't as self-evident as a political broadcast from the Ministry for the Bleeding Obvious.
"He's spanking me," Melissa sobbed from over Sean's lap, her voice pregnant with unshed tears. Her burning, outraged cheeks shivered in agitation, quivering all the way down to her knees. Sean raised his palm and absently slapped her behind, ignoring her words as if they didn't matter in the slightest - which of course, they didn't. Melissa screamed, jittering her melons in response. Her panties slipped a few notches, creeping invisibly towards her ankles.
"We had a slight difference of opinion," Sean growled, his eyes glinting below the deep, black slashes of his eyebrows. "Isn't that right, Lissa?" He administered another quick, stinging smack to add enthusiasm to her answer. Melissa shrieked in surprise, kicking her tiny feet convulsively as Sean's hand connected.
"Wh-what did she do?" Gwen heard herself ask in the querulous soprano of a six-year old. Sean fixed her to the wall with a penetrating glance.
"I think you already know, Gwendolyn."
Gwen opened her mouth to object, immediately sensing the implication in Sean's overly-casual statement of fact. Her words tangled at the back of her throat, the best she could manage was a guilty, strangled gasp. She'd been Melissa's partner in crime for weeks now; she knew exactly what her friend had done to earn such extreme corporal retribution, what they'd both done to deserve long, hard spankings on their bare bottoms.
"I - Sean ... w-we..." she stammered, incapable of completing a rational sentence. He was going to spank her, she was sure of it; he was broadcasting his intentions in the rigid set of his jaw line, the stern, unforgiving cast of his posture. Her panic was rapidly assuming the parameters of full blown hysteria.
"Sean, I didn't do anything!" she managed to warble, knowing precisely how she'd look, draped over his lap with her panties around her calves.
"Really?" Sean replied, lowering his voice to a menacing rumble. Gwen fought for self-control. What could she say, how could she explain her recent spate of lies, tricks and misdemeanors?
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