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Spanking Stories - An Attorney OverturnedIt had been a long, hard day. Long because that's what happens when intense anticipation makes the minutes drag by. Hard because that's what he'd become every time he pictured the events of the coming evening. In fact, it had been downright difficult to conceal his condition a couple of times - like a high school kid with hormones out of control. Well, he was a teenager no longer... mid-forties and long past the days of the hair-trigger hard-on. Except for today. Today he couldn't keep his mind off her and every time he thought of her... boing! Tent city! It had all started this morning. Well, actually, it had all started about four months ago when she'd been hired to work in his division. She was at least fifteen years younger than he and, with a lush, tangled mass of dark hair and flashing brown eyes, a complete knockout. The kind of beauty he'd simply assumed he'd never have a chance with. But her sparkling personality and affable candor made her so approachable that they soon established an easy, bantering rapport. The banter was great fun and she had no trouble holding her own in that department. She was very sharp. Young, but already with a well established reputation in the exacting and demanding field of patent law. She not only knew her law but was quickly grasping the essentials of the technical work for which she sought, and usually won, patents. Patents that were the hallmark of success for industrial chemists such as himself. Over the first few weeks of her employment, he'd seen her only occasionally but had been impressed with the way she held her own among the technical staff. She refused to be intimidated by intellectual prowess or managerial rank and gave as good as she got in any exchange. Then, when he'd completed a project and worked closely with her for a few weeks to prepare the necessary patent applications, he'd been even more impressed. He'd finally asked her out two weeks ago. They'd hit it off socially as well as they had at work. Soon he began to sense another side to this proud and spirited woman. Occasionally at first, and then more and more frequently, her banter and her behavior took on the character of a deliberate challenge... a challenge that seemed to say, "Show me my limits". Beyond that, she even appeared to be telling him how to enforce those limits. It was almost as if she sensed his innermost secrets. And perhaps that wasn't particularly difficult for one attuned to his way of thinking. After all, the first time she'd used the word "spanking" in a casual remark, he'd been noticeably flustered. Following that, the term seemed to come up almost every time they talked and he became increasingly bold in pursuing the subject. He also became more open in expressing his views on the proper relationship between men and women. Views that, while allowing for parity in the work-place and in public life, left no doubt as to the dominant role a man should play in personal relationships. She never contradicted these views but she often seemed to push him to demonstrate his commitment to them in some more convincing manner. This morning it had all finally come to a head. Three of his patent applications had been returned due to technical inconsistencies and, in reading them over, it became clear that she had made changes in the final version without consulting him. Correcting the problems would not be difficult but the delay caused by the return would set the application process back several months. This in turn would affect his performance report for the current year and most likely the size of his bonus and raise. It would all come out more or less even next year but, as it was all so unnecessary, it was irritating to say the least. Then, when she came to his office to discuss the re submission, her attitude had irritated him even more. Her usually professional deportment was nowhere to be seen and she'd acted more like a naughty schoolgirl called to the principal's office. She had denied her obvious culpability and treated him like a stuffy old goat, called him that and a few other choice names, and generally been flippant about the whole affair. Provoked, he'd finally blown up, delivering a blistering lecture and ending the tirade with the well-worn phrase: "What you need, young lady, is a good, old fashioned spanking". During the lecture, her demeanor had changed completely. By the time he'd finished, she stood before him, eyes downcast and hands clasped before her in an attitude of submission. "You're right," she'd said softly on hearing his final remark, "I guess I do need a spanking. I... I feel terrible about what I did and the way I've acted and I really should be punished. Since you can't do it here, I suppose you'll have to come to my place tonight." Scarcely able to believe his ears, he'd fought to maintain his composure. She was actually inviting him to come to her house and give her a spanking! Excited though he was, he was still peeved enough to react sternly. "I'll be there at eight o'clock sharp, Jerri, and you can expect to get just what you deserve! Now, get busy on those forms and think about what's in store for you tonight." That had been mid-morning. By lunch his anger had dissipated and he was able to examine the whole thing a bit more dispassionately. On reflection, it was obvious that she had purposefully precipitated the whole scene. Her behavior was completely out of character with the professionalism she invariably practiced at work, even around him. No... her normal reaction would have been to recognize her errors and take brisk and efficient steps to correct them. That's undoubtedly what she was doing anyway and little harm would have been done by the time she finished. Still, the fact that she had staged this little charade was deserving enough of a good blistering and, now that he understood that this was just what both of them wanted, he was free to enjoy the prospect. So the afternoon dragged by, his thoughts constantly being interrupted by fleeting images of the approaching chastisement. Even the briefest thought of her bottom squirming beneath his punishing palm stirred his loins until, after a couple of close calls in which his embarrassing condition was almost discovered, he donned his lab coat even though he was not conducting experiments. Five o'clock came at last and he hurried to grab a quick dinner and do some shopping, then home to clean up and change. At eight o'clock on the dot, she answered the door to find him stern-faced but holding a bouquet of roses, a bottle of wine, and a small, colorful shopping bag. Greeting her warmly, he entered and handed her the wine and the flowers. "I'm glad you're here Joe," she said, just a little tremulously. "Won't you sit down? Would you like some wine?" "Thanks," he answered. "Yes, maybe a glass of wine would be in order before we get to more serious matters." When she returned with the wine they chatted almost as if there were nothing unusual about the occasion. Still, as the level in the glasses got lower and lower, she began to fidget and squirm with obvious anxiety. At the same time, he seemed to grow more assured, placidly savoring the fine Bordeaux and enjoying the quiet conversation. In her agitation, she drained her glass more quickly than the wine deserved and, as she lowered her glass, looked a bit startled to see it empty. Still, he seemed oblivious to her discomfort and the minutes crept by. Then suddenly, he was setting his empty glass on the coffee table and standing. "Jerri," he said as he stood looming over her, "we have something we need to attend to, don't we?" "I... I guess so," she stammered, almost in a whisper. "What did you say?" he demanded. "Yes," she replied, "yes sir." "That's better. Now, just what is that 'something' that we needs to be done?" "A... a... I just... I don't know," she said, now unable to utter the word she knew he wanted to hear. "You most certainly do know!" he exploded. "And you're going to say it and you're going to tell me why. Now, once again, what needs to be done?" "A spanking," she murmured just audibly. "Yes, what about a spanking?" he demanded. "Speak up, and tell me exactly what should happen here!" "I guess..." "Not 'I guess'," he commanded. "Look at me and tell me exactly, and in detail what you deserve." Blushing, she raised her eyes to his, and began the humiliating ordeal of prescribing her own punishment. "I... I deserve to be turned across your knees and... and be given a good, sound spanking on the b...b...bare bottom," she managed to declare in a reasonably loud but none-too-steady voice. "I should say you do," he agreed. "Now tell me why." "I guess... I mean... sorry," she said, hurriedly correcting herself. "I deserve it because I screwed up your applications." "You know better than that!" he corrected. "You did get a little too big for your britches when you tried to do technical work that's outside your area of expertise. But I'm there's no doubt in my mind you did it with the best of intentions. I'm sure you'll learn from the experience and it won't happen again. So let's try it again." "I deserve a spanking because I acted like a brat," she admitted. "That's more like it, and you're exactly right. You were a brat and, furthermore, I strongly suspect you behaved that way on purpose. But that's neither here nor there. You acted like a rebellious child so now you're going to be treated like one. Do you have anything else to say for yourself?" "I'm sorry, Joe," she said timidly. "Not nearly as sorry as you're going to be, young lady! Now, get yourself into the den and be quick about it. When I come in there I want to find you standing with your nose in the corner like the naughty little girl you've shown yourself to be. And don't you dare move until you're told to. Now scoot!" She scurried out of the living room and downstairs to the basement den that she used as a home office. Meanwhile, Joe went to the kitchen and poured himself another splash of wine, savoring these final few moments and giving her a chance to contemplate her fate. He was going to enjoy this and he knew she was too, but he was also going to make sure she began to learn her limits. After what seemed like an eternity to the lady lawyer who stood with her nose in the corner of her own home office, she was slightly startled to hear him enter the room behind her. Not a word was spoken and she burned to know the significance of the sounds behind her but dared not turn to satisfy her curiosity. What she might have seen was the classic but simple preparation of the punishment scene. A straight-backed chair was moved to an open area, a jacket was removed, and sleeves were rolled up. The mysterious bag was opened and a large, sturdy, flat-backed hairbrush was removed and placed on the floor to the left of the chair. Only when these arrangements had been meticulously completed did he speak. "All right, young lady," he rumbled ominously, "turn around and get over here." Hesitantly, she turned to see him standing, arms folded, in front of a chair near the center of the room. Her stomach fluttered as he fixed her with a scowl and crooked a finger, encouraging her forward. She approached him slowly, simultaneously dreading the moments ahead and craving the sensations they would bring. Then she stood before him, looking at the floor between them. Cupping her chin in his hand, he raised her face and looked into her eyes. What he saw there told him she was ready. "You know you need a good spanking, don't you?" She nodded. "And you know I'll enjoy spanking you, just as I know it is not only what you deserve but what you need?" Again, a nod. "Very well," he said abruptly, "assume the position, little miss smarty pants and get ready for the spanking of your life. You've behaved like a brat and your bottom is about to pay dearly for it!" Sitting, he guided her to his right and, when she hesitated for a moment, grasped her wrist and firmly pulled her toward him. A little awkwardly, she finally scrambled to place herself face down across his knees. The luscious bottom that he had so often admired was now arrayed across his lap, her tight skirt outlining and emphasizing its contours. He particularly appreciated the way she held her head up and arched her back as she lay well across his knees, causing her rear to jut prominently, and conveniently presenting the lower curves. While he enjoyed surveying her backside, the sight that greeted her only increased her anxiety. For as she settled herself over his solid thighs and placed her hands on the carpet, she came face-to-face with the substantial looking hairbrush and immediately knew both its purpose and its potential. She started to protest but thought better of it, reasoning that it might be best not to draw premature attention to the wicked implement. Perhaps he would forget about it entirely if she just didn't say anything. Soon, however, it was to be she who forgot about the hairbrush. He began spanking without further ado, swatting the seat of her skirt briskly but with moderate force. Her reaction was to squirm a bit, sometimes utter an almost inaudible "ow!" or "oh!", and occasionally look back over her shoulder at him with a slight frown on her pretty face. He knew that he was causing very little discomfort, spanking her as he was over the fabric of her fall-weight woolen skirt. He wanted at this stage only to cause a little stinging sensation and to move gradually toward more stringent punishment. Soon he would look on her unclothed bottom for the first time and would spank it soundly. But for the moment he would savor the anticipation and enjoy the sensation of her wriggling body across his lap and her firm bottom under his palm. From time to time, he would interrupt the spanking briefly to scold her about her behavior or chide her about the humiliating position in which she now found herself. During these little interludes he would often punctuate his thoughts or prompt her answers with a swift smack or two. Being unexpected, these would make her squeal and look back at him with a little pout. She quickly discovered that that pout inflamed him and inspired an abrupt and enthusiastic resumption of the festivities. Each time, the intensity of the swats increased as did the energy of her responses. Then, as if reacting to some unseen signal, he paused, placed his hand on her still gyrating bottom, and slid it downward to the hem of her skirt. She gave a little gasp as he began working it upward, revealing silky smooth thighs which he could not resist stroking as they were uncovered. She wore no stockings and the satin-softness was electrifying to touch. The heavy, lined skirt was tight enough to present some difficulty as he began to ruck it up over her hips. But she wriggled, lifted herself a little, and the task was soon accomplished. Her panties were unremarkable in themselves - white cotton without frills or decoration - but were extraordinarily well filled, stretched tight as a drum over the full, round cheeks. Resisting the temptation to yank them down and immediately reveal their contents, he smoothed his hand across them, feeling a certain quivering as he did. Stroking downward to the soft, tanned thighs he heard the soft purring sound she made in her throat. He allowed himself to gently squeeze the base of each cheek, eliciting a wanton little wriggle, before getting back down to business. The sound of the swats was now appreciably less muffled and her reaction to them attested to their increased effectiveness. Each spank now drew a distinct yelp, accompanied by some rather lively kicking and squirming. There was also a much more satisfying resilience in the feel of each swat which, along with the sight of her shapely, bare legs, threatened to overwhelm his senses. In spite of the gyrations of her body, he had no difficulty in keeping her bottom squarely positioned and she did not attempt to cover herself with her hands. This allowed him to concentrate all his attention on the placement of the smacks. He kept them low on her bottom, generally alternating cheeks but varying the pattern and the rhythm, occasionally applying several quick, sharp slaps to one side or the other. These little flurries really seemed to get her attention as evidenced by more pouting glances over her shoulder and some particularly piercing squeals. The delightful sequence was repeated several times until the time seemed right to move to the next level. Pausing, he again stroked her bottom and gave each cheek an affectionate squeeze. "Well now, young woman," he said with a harshness of tone that contrasted sharply with the tenderness of his caress, "it seems to me that it's high time for your punishment to begin." "Begin?" she cried. "You've already toasted my poor tushy. How can you say it's time to begin?" "Well, for one thing," he replied, "I think the term 'bare bottom' was used to describe the spanking you need. For another, that impertinent edge to your voice tells me you haven't even begun to learn your lesson. So the only question now is whether my hand will prove sufficient or if that wonderful hairbrush you're looking at will be needed!" She felt her heart flutter at the mention of the hairbrush and once again her bottom shrank involuntarily. Obviously he was not about to forget about it and that might be very bad news for her poor backside. "Don't you dare use that wicked thing on me," she snapped. "I won't stand for it!" "No you won't," he agreed with a chuckle, "you'll lie across my knees with your pretty red bottom waggling in the air for it! And furthermore, if you're not careful with that mouth, you'll pretty much guarantee yourself a good therapeutic dose of hairbrush tonic." Another choice remark reached the tip of her tongue but she thought better of letting it go farther and settled for an indignant "Humph!". His reply was to slide his hands up along her hips under the bunched-up skirt and slip his fingers inside the elastic of her panties. Inch by inch he eased the waistband downward, slowly unveiling the object of his obsession. As a connoisseur of fine wine would sip a vintage claret, so he relished the appearance of each facet of her spectacular bottom. Gradually each hill and valley was exposed to his eager view until the entire tableau lay before him, her panties ignominiously bunched about her knees. The smooth skin was tinged the palest shade of pink and the round, upthrust mounds seemed to tremble a bit, perhaps with embarrassment. Indeed, her face was buried in her hands and her blush extended to the base of her slender neck. Goosebumps appeared when he stroked upward from her knee and her muscles tensed as it approached its goal. But as he cupped and fondled one soft, warm bottom-cheek, she seemed to abandon herself to him and to welcome his touch. It was several pleasant moments before he broke the sensual spell. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself now?" he chided. "The very idea! An intelligent, accomplished, professional woman having to be treated like a naughty little girl. Just look at you, bare bottom uppermost across my lap, getting a spanking. Imagine what your friends and co-workers would think if they could see you now - with your skirt pulled up around your waist and your panties around your knees. What would they say if they knew you had to have your fanny paddled to teach you to act your age?" Mortified at the notion of others seeing or even knowing about her present position, she could only moan in answer to his question. Suddenly she felt shamefully exposed. The skin of her bottom crawled as she sensed his gaze and fully realized how ludicrous she surely looked. A smartly dressed business woman jackknifed across this man's knees, her ample bottom naked, waggling in the air, about to be spanked like a recalcitrant child. Then there was the tacit threat of the hairbrush. Literally under her nose, it seemed to mock her and, impulsively, she grabbed it and tossed it across the room. Immediately, she regretted her rash action and her stomach knotted with dread. "So," he barked angrily, "still determined to be rebellious, are you? I guess you what know what you've earned for yourself with that little tantrum. Now you can look forward to a nice hot session with the hairbrush!" "No! Please!" she cried. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Oh, please, not the hairbrush!" Her pleas were answered only with an ominous silence and a firming of his grip as he readjusted her position slightly. Crack! The sound of the first slap on her bare bottom split the silence and startled her almost as much as the sharp sting that suffused the right side of her rump. "Yeouch!" she screeched, bucking wildly. Crack! A second sizzling swat quickly landed on the other side and elicited another howl. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! The crisp smacks rained down on her bouncing bottom with an intensity that surprised and dismayed her. She kicked and struggled with renewed vigor but still the swats unerringly found the ripest curves of her gyrating buns. Now he was really beginning to hit his stride, raising his hand high and finishing each swat with an emphatic snap of the wrist. The sharp report of his palm as it made impact with her bared backside was immensely satisfying as was the sight of the rippling and bouncing of the rapidly reddening orbs. For several minutes the room reverberated with the clamor of resounding reports and strident yelps. Then as the spanking symphony reached its crescendo, he applied an especially emphatic swat right across the crease at the base of her bottom and, finally, paused. "I hope I'm making my point here, young lady." he said. "Oh, yes," she wailed. "Oh, please, my bottom's on fire. Please don't spank me any more." Indeed, her bottom was now a fiery red. It fairly glowed and when he ran his hand over it he could feel the heat radiating from it. "Maybe we are making a little progress," he allowed. "Do you think you've learned anything about the advantages of mature behavior?" "I... I guess so," she stammered. Smack! Smack! Whap! Whap! Whap! "Ow, wow, ouch! Yes! Yes! I've learned," she squealed. "That's better. Do you think you'll be able to come up with a little more constructive response the next time someone points out one of your mistakes?" "Yes. Yes I will," she quickly replied. "Very good. I think it's time then for you to fetch the hairbrush so we can get on with that part of your punishment." "No, no, please... Not the hairbrush! I won't do it!" WHAP!... Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!... WHAP!... WHAP!... WHAP! "You will go get that hairbrush," he promised, "and you will go back over my knee for a good taste of it. The only question is when. If you want some more with the palm of my hand, there's plenty where those last ones came from." When there was no immediate response, he again favored her with a barrage of searing smacks, much more emphatically applied than any that had gone before. Kicking and squalling, she struggled in vain to escape the hearty wallops. "Shall we continue?" he asked when, at last, he paused, "Or would you rather get the hairbrush and get this over with?" "OK," she moaned, "I'll get it. But please, not too hard." "Now you're being sensible. Get yourself up now, fetch that hairbrush, and be quick about it. And leave your skirt and panties right where they are while you do it." "No, please..." "Hush now," he ordered, helping her up, "and do as you're told! Just remember you brought this on yourself." Utterly humiliated, she shuffled across the room, hobbled by her panties which slipped down to her ankles. She quickly bent to retrieve the dreaded brush and held it before her with both hands in an effort to preserve her modesty as she returned. It was a charming if somewhat naive effort. For in her kicking and thrashing across his knees she had long since revealed more than would ever be seen as she made her way back to him with the short little steps necessary to keep from tripping over her panties. When she reached his side, she reluctantly placed the brush in his outstretched hand. Then, encouraged by a firm push on her stinging backside, she tumbled back across his lap. As she did, he immediately pushed her farther across his left thigh and clamped his right leg across the back of her knees. Her nose was now inches from the carpet and her bottom jutted up sharply. "I want you keep in mind the fact that most of what you're about to get is a result of that little tantrum when you threw the hairbrush. Otherwise, I was just going to give you a few swats to give you something to look forward to if you misbehaved again." Helplessly draped across his knee, Jerri could only groan and clench her bottom cheeks with dread and trepidation. Her worst fears were soon confirmed. She felt his body shift as his arm raised. Then... SPLAT! The room echoed with the explosive impact of the broad-backed brush and a stinging blaze blossomed through her writhing rump. Seconds passed before she felt his torso turn again and she gritted her teeth in anticipation. SMACK! Another swat detonated across her backside and she kicked wildly, bawling at the top of her lungs. A steady cadence was established, much slower than the tempo he'd employed with his palm. Now the full effect of each swat was felt and there was a moment of dread before the next was delivered. As she'd known it would, the hairbrush took her to a new level of sensation. The intimacy of flesh against flesh was now removed, replaced by unyielding wood and an extra few inches of leverage that multiplied the force of each swat. The burning sting commanded her full attention and each new stroke added its embers to the glowing coals that burned her bottom. He applied twenty or so good, solid swats, alternating buns, gradually increasing the force, and taking all the time necessary with each to assure that it landed flush on the fullest swell at the base of her bottom. Even with his right leg locked across hers, it required some effort to control the wriggling and twisting as she strove to somehow throw off the sting and avoid the next smack. Then he paused. For some moments she continued to struggle and gasp, expecting at any instant another searing swat. At last she regained her composure, propped herself up on her hands, and looked back at him with a questioning and decidedly dismayed expression. "Are you th-th-through?" she stammered. "Do you think you'll remember what the hairbrush feels like the next time you feel a rebellious impulse?" "Oh, yes... yes! Please don't spank me any more with that awful thing. My poor bottom couldn't take any more!" "Your bottom will take all I decide to give it, young lady. Is that clear?" "Yes sir," she whispered. "Only please, no more. I'll be good, I promise." "I think you a few more are called for, just so you'll know what a real hairbrush spanking would feel like." "No! Damn you, don't you dare! Let me up now. That's enough!" "Just as I suspected," he growled, "still rebellious. That little outburst will cost you ten more good swats!" "Noooo, damn it!" she wailed, twisting and pounding the floor with her fists. "Turn me loose!" In answer, he released her legs and, encircling her waist with his left arm, swung her around astride his left knee. Her panties were still tangled around her ankles and he deftly slipped his left foot over the tightly stretched garment. Now she was effectively fettered atop his thigh, her buns spread and her body held under his arm. She continued to splutter and protest as he moved her into the new and even more vulnerable position. He held her body in a grip of iron while she thrashed desperately to escape. Then, deliberately and inexorably, he raised the hairbrush high above his shoulder. Sensing the movement, she felt a tide of trepidation wash over her and froze, head held high, teeth clenched and eyes tightly closed in anticipation. SPLAT! The broad back fell flush across the base of her left rump-cheek, flattening it and sending ripples upward as well as down her thigh. A howl of anguish split the air. Unable to kick because of the binding panties, she bucked her hips wildly, unaware of the lewd display she was presenting. SPLAT! The second swat landed on the other side with similar results. Wildly she clawed the air, pounded the carpet, and shook her head in frustration and distress. SPLAT!... SPLAT!... SPLAT!... SPLAT! Each swat was widely spaced and perfectly placed, and each elicited a harrowing squall and frantic squirming. SPLAT!... SPLAT!... SPLAT!... WHAP! A tremendous wallop marked the finale and the reaction was appropriate. She wailed, thrashed, and finally reached back with both hands to try to rub away the scalding sensation that permeated her posterior. Gently now, he maneuvered her back across both knees while she continued to rub her rosy rear, gasping and groaning. Dropping the brush to the floor, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bottle filled with a soothing lotion. He squeezed out a liberal portion, spread it on his palms, then smoothed it tenderly onto the burning buns. She sighed as the balm began to extinguish the conflagration. What followed as he applied more of the creamy liquid and his hands began to stray, was the perfect ending to a perfect evening.
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