by Perry Symon Fowler
Jillian unbuckled the belt of her skin-tight Levis, her simmering green eyes flashing with helpless, emerald rage. Her wickedly girlish pout was tinted a hectic shade of pink: she'd just been ordered upstairs to prepare herself for a spanking over Barry's knee, and she knew from prior experience exactly how painful this encounter was likely to be.
It's so unfair, she thought as she peeled the blue stretch denim down her thighs. She'd had the worst day on record; disaster following disaster from the moment she reeled out of bed with the alarm shrieking in her ears. She'd come home in an absolutely volcanic mood, and Barry hadn't been impressed by the truculent undertone in her opening words. He'd sent her straight to her room the instant the conversation had veered towards an argument.
A twisting spiral of curly brown hair fell across her right cheek as she hitched her thumbs through her pink satin panties. Here she was; two months shy of her nineteenth birthday, and she still had to bare her bottom whenever Barry decided her behavior warranted a spanking. She didn't even deserve it this time; it was all his fault - asking how she was feeling in that patronizing tone of voice!
Blushing with sheer, feminine fury, Jill slipped her flimsy, shimmering pants down to her knees, revealing her magnificently full posterior with a sweep of rosy lace. Her fanny was a breathtakingly beautiful pair of alabaster orbs: soft and smooth and as pale as the moon on a clear winter's night. Barry often remarked on its flawless, milky perfection - especially when she was presenting it for an excruciatingly long paddling. His brevity was insulting beyond words. What right did he have to comment on her derriere - particularly when he was about to tan it the color of a ripe raspberry?!
He's going to spank me, she thought crossly, brushing aside the teasing strand of hair from her face. And I wasn't even naughty! It's just not right!
Of course, at the very back of her mind, she knew she had no cause for complaint. She'd been over his lap a dozen times since they decided to cohabit back in January. Spanking had been an essential component of their living arrangements, the central clause in their domestic contract. He'd warned her from day one that he wouldn't put up with any of her mischief: she'd be taken across his knee at the first sign of trouble. She still couldn't believe that she'd actually agreed to his terms.
Jill had always been a willful, independent young woman; she'd never met a man capable of taming her impetuous Celtic nature. Maybe that was why she'd determined to move into his spacey three-tier apartment (actually a renovated warehouse); the thought of having her errant young bottom well and truly spanked whenever she misbehaved had been as exhilarating as it was infuriating.
Jill stood with her feet slightly apart, bending from the waist so that her hair was stroking the carpet. Standing with her panties resting on her knees and her firm, white bottom thrust out on open display, she waited in gilt-edged silence for Barry to come upstairs and deliver her reward. She had to remain doubled over in the can-can position while he subjected her to one of his pre-spanking lectures and conducted a hands-on inspection of her nubile ivory bottom-flesh.
It was so embarrassing!
Her pulse was ticking in her throat like an overwound pocket-watch. Despite her dread and impotent, childish anger, Jill could feel the first teasing flutter of tiny wings at the base of her tummy. It had been nearly two months since her last full-blown spanking, two months since she'd been made to pull down her own panties and go over her roomie's muscular thighs with her lush, ripe tushie staring at the roof. She thought back to that night, close on eight weeks ago, when Barry had given her a thrashing right in the living room. They'd been out at their local watering-hole with a few friends, and she'd been wearing that long red spandex dress she'd bought last spring - the one that fit like a glove and had grown men weeping with desire at a single glance. She'd fallen into one of her trademark sulking tempers, and came within a whisker of ruining the evening for everybody.
She'd known she was in serious trouble when Barry took her by the wrist and told her they were leaving; he'd put up with enough of her ill-humor and lacerating backchat for one evening. The taxi-ride home had been an epic of suspense. Jillian had just about melted in her knickers imagining how red and sore her insolent little bottom would be once he'd finished with her.
Nor had she been disappointed in the least.
Taking her through to the living room, Barry had ordered her to bend over and pull up her dress so that the skirt was inverted over her head in a gleaming red tube. He'd then instructed her to take her shiny, red silk panties all the way down to her ankles, so that she was naked from waist to heel. She'd felt humiliated to the limits of her endurance: her deliciously plump cheeks had quivered with anticipation while she waited for Barry's huge, steely palm to descend on her defenseless hynie.
Following the customary, bald-faced scolding, Barry had taken Jill under his arm and launched into a stunningly painful hand-spanking which had her squirming and gasping for breath after only thirty seconds. He was a tall, powerfully-framed man with massive shoulders and biceps the size of basket-balls. Lifting her completely off her feet so that her high heels were dangling nine inches off the carpet, he'd lashed her frail, tender bottie until she was kicking her long, shapely legs in protest, her silky crimson dainties fluttering precariously from the end of one stiletto.
Unfortunately, five endless minutes suspended in the crook of Barry's elbow was merely the initial phase of her punishment. Making himself comfortable on the black leather sofa, he'd settled Jill over his knee with her hot, throbbing bottom raised towards the heavens. Dismissing her childish remonstrations against the severity of her penalty, Barry had lifted his steely right palm, and her spanking had really begun.
Laying in with his entire shoulder, Barry had whipped her fanny with a patient, meticulous hand, targeting the delicate curve of flesh overlapping the thigh and buttock. Ignoring the girl's yelps, shrieks and cries of outrage, he had polished Jill's backside for a good ten minutes, working up a merry pink flush which had extended halfway down to her knees. His long stroke technique was heartstoppingly thorough; by the time he'd finished, Jill's tail was burning with the fierce, wavering heat of a late July sunrise.
Hearing Barry's footsteps ascending the staircase, Jill snapped instantly back to the present. Her discipline was at hand, so to speak; he was coming upstairs to give her spoilt little bottom the nice, long spanking it so richly deserved. She felt her breath catch in rising panic; the ominous sound of Barry's final approach always made her weak at the knees. Much as she loved these periodic excursions over her boyfriend's lap, she invariably viewed her imminent punishment with extreme trepidation.
The bedroom door opened and Barry strode in; a loping, masculine figure in faded blue jeans and an ancient, creaking brown leather jacket. He was an arrogantly handsome young man with long, dark-brown hair and neon blue eyes that never failed to capture the gaze of every female in his immediate vicinity. He crossed the floor with the easy, confident grace of a man who can have literally any woman he wants.
Jill bit her lip to control the waves of tension flooding her system. Rage and fear stormed through her belly in equal proportions. Barry was the most arrogant, conceited, egotistical creature she'd ever known, and now he was going to spank her; put her over his knee and smack her bare bottom as if she were nothing more than a disobedient child!
"Well, here we are again," he observed in his driest voice. He stood looming over her with his arms folded across his enormous chest, looking down on her fanny from a great height.
Jill bristled at the smooth note of contempt underscoring his voice. Her naked, chubby bottom-cheeks shook with repressed ire as she struggled to keep her mouth shut.
She managed to maintain a smoldering, hair-trigger silence while Barry subjected her to a seemingly interminable tongue-lashing. Jill hated these unending, sarcastic lectures; they reduced her to the level of some unruly brat awaiting swift justice. Barry's scoldings always ended with her being taken over his knee: once his spiel began, Jill knew that her spanking was inevitable. Worse still, he often drew the scolding out to increase her anxiety, knowing exactly how to tune her like a musical instrument.
"Now," he concluded, bringing his hands together with a sharp, resounding crack that made her wince, "I assume you know you've got this coming, young lady?"
"Yes," Jill replied in thinly disguised rage, her face glowing with a subtle, pastel radiance.
"Good. You know what comes next, Jillian."
"Noooo," she moaned through clenched teeth, "it's not fair, Barry! Don't make me say it! Please!"
"You know how much you need this, Jill. Don't make me tell you twice."
Swallowing the last bitter morsel of her self-esteem, Jill took a deep breath and replied, "I've been a terribly naughty little girl, Barry. I need a well smacked bottom. Put me over your lap and spank me."
"With pleasure," Barry remarked serenely.
Taking her hand in an unbreakable grip, Barry led her over to the spanking chair. She tottered along taking tiny baby steps, her legs constricted by the glistening underpants laced about her knees. She was almost swooning with desire now; these last few seconds before her spanking were unspeakably erotic. She felt ready to collapse at the lightest stroke of his hand across her firm young bottom.
Barry sat down on the chair and stretched Jill over his lap amidst a gale of noisy objections (strangely, she offered no resistance whatsoever). Ignoring her with a practiced ear, he settled the girl into a comfortable position, allowing himself a clear, unobstructed swing at her pale, unprotected bottom. Placing one large hand on the small of her back to prevent her wandering too far, he paused a few seconds to indulge himself in a lingering view of her utterly magnificent posterior.
Jill's bottom was perfectly round and gloriously full. Mirror smooth in texture, it trembled like liquid ivory. Soft and flawless and breathtakingly beautiful, her luminous, heart-shaped buns yearned for a good, hard hand-spanking. Barry shook his head in frank admiration; sweet and trim and milky-white, it was easily the most spankable bottom he'd ever seen.
"Dazzling," he whispered under his breath.
Reminding himself that business preceded pleasure, Barry shifted his weight slightly to the left, preparing to raise his right arm. Jillian's cheeks clenched convulsively, ready to receive the first burning hand-print on her faultlessly nubile rear. Barry lifted his hand.
Lying over her boyfriend's thighs with her nose suspended inches from the floor, Jillian shivered as the heavy, black shadow of finality settled over her. The moment had finally arrived, Barry's hand was poised at mid-swing, and there was no escape. She clutched her buttocks together in quavering expectation.
Barry's wide, open palm swept down, slicing the air like a speeding bullet.
Jill gaped in shock as Barry's hand bit into her soft, defenseless bottom. The pain was sharp, sudden, and enormous, a bright flare of scarlet agony which covered her entire derriere and reverberated halfway down to her knees. Her eyes widened until they looked ready to pop out of their sockets.
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