Guest Post – Story, by Anonymouse

May 27, 2014 by Devlin O'Neill

I stand partially in the doorway, hugging the frame. The edge of my thumb is planted firmly between my teeth as I worry the nail. My other hand is twisting the hem of my white t-shirt that barely covers the top of my jeans. My eyes are downcast, but I peek up at you through my lashes to see if you notice me standing there.

You look up from your book with a brow raised to question my interruption. You motion me forward and I inch slowly into the room, staying close to the door, dragging my bare feet. I want to run to your lap at the same time I want to run from the room. My embarrassment and the certain knowledge that I have disappointed you weigh heavily on my shoulders.

I finally speak. “You aren’t still so very mad with me, are you?” I look at you with the most pleading expression I can muster.

Your face softens, but your words remain steady, “I was never angry at you, baby girl. I was disappointed that you chose to ignore what I told you not to do. It was dangerous for you and everyone involved. You thought you would get away with it, and if Dan hadn’t told me what you did, I doubt if you would have ever mentioned it to me. That is being disrespectful and I think you know that. I don’t want to hear about your bad behavior from other people, I expect you to tell me. You know I won’t deal harshly with you, so you can’t claim you were afraid to tell me.”

I open my mouth and you raise your hand to stop me.

“No, we went over and over it this morning after Dan called me. I listened to your arguments and they were just excuses for doing what you wanted to do, regardless of the repercussions. You were being willful and stubborn yesterday afternoon, and this stops now. I won’t tolerate this kind of selfish behavior.”

I can feel my jaw tighten and my face flush as the anger surges over me. I stomp my foot. “So you aren’t even interested in my side of the story? You’re just going to take his word over mine. You don’t care about me, you just care about being right, that’s all that’s important to you!”

You lean your head back in your chair and close your eyes. I can see you taking deep breaths. Then your eyes open and they are as calm and gentle as they were when I walked into the room.

You sit forward in your chair. “Come over here to me.”

I come forward and you grasp my arms, pulling me to stand between your legs. Your hands go to the button on my jeans, unfastening it with an easy motion. You lower the zipper and I begin to whimper softly. You push your big hands into the back of my jeans, easing them down over my hips and thighs to gather at my knees. You shift me back as you rise to your feet. You hook your arm around my waist and carry me to the opposite wall where you turn me and gently press my nose to the surface. You bend slightly behind me and I feel your fingers catch the sides of my panties and lower them to meet my jeans. I feel your hand on the back of my head and you press a kiss to my crown. You murmur softly, “stand there, baby girl, and be good.”

You return to your desk and I can hear you open your book again. I know you are working, but I also know that your eyes caress me from time to time. You don’t speak to me, but you let me know that I am not here alone. You know how important that is to me. I’ve told you my fears and my secrets in the dark.

Time passes. I hear you at work on your laptop. I hear the printer spitting out sheets. I know you like to read hard copies of your days’ work. I hope that means you are finishing up, because even though it means a spanking is imminent, it will also mean that we can get back to normal, or what passes for normal with us.

Finally, I hear the lid close on your laptop and you turn your chair around to face me. You rise from the chair and, without saying a word, you leave the room. I hear you at the bar in the kitchen. You’ve dispensed crushed ice into your glass and I hear the crystal decanter clink against the edge of the lowball glass. You’re pouring yourself a drink. I hear the refrigerator door open and close. You come back into the room and return to your seat and I feel your gaze on me. I stand motionless, my hands at my sides, my nose still pressed to the wall.

The ice rattles in the glass as you set it down and I stiffen slightly as I hear you rise. I can feel you come right up behind me and your hand caresses my bottom.

“So pale and cool,” I hear you say softly to yourself. And then, “it won’t be pale and cool for long.”

You pick me up and carry me to the chaise that rests against a wall. You let me read here sometimes while you work. I can stay as long as I can be still, but that isn’t always very long. You usually send me off on a “job” that will keep me busy long enough for you to get some work done without the prattle that distracts you.

You sit down and set me upright on your lap. You’ve grabbed the bottle of water you brought with you from the kitchen and you open it for me and press it into my hands. I wrinkle my nose, but I know I’m going to lose this battle too. After several long swallows, you take the bottle back, twist the cap on, and set it off to the side of the chaise.

You look deeply into my eyes. I stare back. I’m trying not to show defiance, although I still feel some. I still feel, deep down, that I didn’t do anything wrong and that you are just being mean and spanking me because you can. Your mouth quirks – I must not be hiding it as well as I’d like.

You turn me easily in your arms. I force myself limp, letting you do the work. Besides, there’s no point in fighting you for control. You always win. You lay my upper body out along the chaise. With your right hand, you completely remove the jeans and panties you so carefully positioned earlier. You place my legs on the chaise with my bottom centered directly over your lap. You raise your left knee higher than the right, raising my cheeks ever so slightly. You smooth your left hand from my neck all the way down my back to my waist where you curl your arm and hold me firmly against you. My arms are bent, my hands covering my eyes. It’s an old habit that is hard to break. If I can’t see, bad stuff might not be happening.

There is silence for a long moment and I know you are looking at me. I can feel myself quivering. I can feel movement and I brace myself for it – CRACK! That sound rings in my ears and I cry out with shock and pain and I can feel myself getting ready to cave in to your demands. Your demands that I Behave! That I show some Control! That I don’t act like a CHILD! The spanks rain down harder and harder, my right hand jerks loose from my face and it flies back to protect my poor bottom, and you stop and gently but firmly grasp my hand and place it against my side where your hand can hold it out of the way.

My cries are growing louder and the tears are falling faster. I didn’t even realize I was crying. When did that start? With the first spank? With the tenth? My legs are jerking and twitching and my right leg has fallen to the floor. You take advantage of my parted legs to aim strategically placed spanks to the inside of my thighs. Oh! That stings so badly!

I’m begging now, “I’m sorry, Papi, I’m sorry, I won’t do it anymore, please, Papi, I’ll be good! I’ll be good, Papi, please stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I’ve curled my upper body around your hip. I wrap my arm around your waist, hugging myself to your warmth and strength.

There’s no fight left in me. I am completely drained. You slow and then stop and rub the sting from my bottom and your hand. The heat coming from both is tremendous. You pry my arm from around your waist and you pull me upright into your lap again, tucking me against you. Your arms come around me and you stoke my hair and rub circles on my back while you bend your head down and murmur soft words in my ear. I soak the front of your shirt as I hold myself to you.

After a few minutes the tears dry and I tell you, with my head down and in barely a whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I disappointed you. I don’t know why I act like that. I’ll be better, I promise.”

You tip my face up and kiss my lips and I know I’m forgiven. My lips feel soft and hot and I know my face is flushed. You kiss me again and again. Your hand slides over my hip to the soft, hot, wet center of me, and your fingers stroke along the length of the heat. I feel a moan start deep in my body and it works its way up and out and I make a sound in your mouth. I clamber off your lap and kneel between your parted legs. I fumble with your belt and you have to help me unfasten it because my hands are shaking so hard. I manage the buttons on your trousers and you rise up slightly so I can work them and your boxers down your thighs. I grasp your hard length in both hands, and ,as I lower my head, I look up at you from under heavy lids. I watch your eyes as I take you deep in my mouth. Your head drops back, and I set to work sucking and pulling and sucking and pulling. Slowly, so slowly.

You groan and then you grasp me under my arms jerking me upright. You lift me onto your lap, holding me up over you as you slowly ease me down onto your hard cock. I am so wet that I pull you deep inside of me with little resistance. You grasp my sore bottom with both hands and use that as leverage to move me up and down your length. After the third trip down, I can feel my muscles begin to contract and by the fifth slide, I feel you spill into me and we fall over the cliff together.

Much later, we have managed to work our way upstairs and we’re lying in the bathtub together, you with a beer and me with a Pepsi. The water is beginning to cool, but neither of us wants to move. My back is against your front and your arm is wrapped around me, holding me close.

“So,” you say with grim satisfaction, “that’s one lesson you won’t soon forget.”

I twist around and look at you over my shoulder. “What was the moral of that story again?” I ask with an innocent expression.

You dunk my head under the water.

The End.