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By Marcia Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)

Like getting kissed one moment and being spanked the very next, Michael took me out to a lobster dinner that night, then hurried home to one of his stupid basketball games.
Deciding I was too full and aroused to be angry--I really love lobster--I sat in my favorite position, between his legs, with my cheek resting on his thigh. I pretended he knew I was there. Playing with the cuff of his pants, thinking of our adventures the night before and how wonderful he looked, I snuck a peek at his craggy face. Then I realized what my real problem was and wondered if I had taken my pill.
He felt my eyes. "What?" he said, trying to look at me and the TV both.
"I was just thinking how much I love you."
He said, "I love you too, Marcia, but let me watch the game. The Sonics may actually win for a change."
I touched the bare skin of his calf. "I know how to excite you more than that game," I said.
He almost looked down. "Really? How?"
"Like with a striptease," I said, "and one of your special treatments on my bare rear end? Paddle me with the ping-pong mallet? Or flog me on my tummy and boobs with the whip?" I ran my index finger up the inside of his thigh. "You could even use the leather quirt on my you know what."
He almost looked interested. "I don't know," he said. "I get carried away and you know how lax you've in using your safe word."
I feared the battle. "I'll only let you spank me until I'm excited, okay? Then you can flog me until I'm ready for the quirt. I won't be bad. Honest."
He looked hard at the TV, then at me. He sighed. "Okay. I'll change and let's see how successful you are with your dance. No hard-on," he warned. "No spanking."
I agreed. Boy did I agree! The hormones were in my bloodstream tonight.
While he changed, I lay his choice of instruments on the couch, then went around and lit half a dozen candles. I talked to myself under my breath. I was so excited. He returned and flopped down on the couch's end, letting his robe fall open to expose his flaccid mouse.
Instant disappointment.
I almost asked: Don't you love me, Michael? But instead I got up and started the music.
I had worn a lacey blue cocktail dress to dinner. With a deep-plunge back, spaghetti thin straps, and a bodice that did nothing to conceal my boobs, it felt incredibly sexy. Beneath it was a silk half-slip, my panties and bra--from Victoria's Secret, of course, and silk as well--my garter belt and my nylons.
Turning off the lights, I began dancing to Jane Monheit's incredible voice. When I was eighteen years old and on my own, I danced at a strip club downtown. Not long, and never totally nude, but long enough to learn how to dance. And how to remove my clothes. Moving my hips and my bust slowly, I lowered the zipper down my back, and let the dress work its way off my body. It puddled at my feet. I have the perfect body for dancing, Michael says, and I use it to best advantage. Especially when I ovulate, which I definitely did that night. Reaching back, I released the catch on my brassiere, danced for a while holding it in place. Michael was getting aroused.
Letting the straps fall off my shoulders, I held the cups in place, making a point of keeping them there while I removed my garter. I used my toes to pick the garter up and toss it in Michael's lap. He was much harder now.
Five minutes later I was in a state. I let the bra fall into my crooked elbows, danced for him bare-breasted for a while (only size 34C, I am not the biggest girl in the world, but they are my best weapon), then slid off my panties and went down on all fours, then to my tummy. I crawled to Michael, nipples touching the floor; both they and his penis were rock hard. I had won.
Draping myself over his lap, I shivered as his penis poked my belly. He lifted the paddle and tapped one cheek, then the other and I held my breath. He ran his hand over my tingling skin. Then he whacked me so unexpectedly and hard that I jumped and emitted a yip.
Embarrassing!
I don't like the paddle the way Mike does. Being spanked makes me ten years old again, helpless over my daddy's knee, my bare butt upended and a perfect target for his angry hand. He spanked me in front of my brothers until I was twelve years old, then privately in his den until I was fourteen. By then my mother objected to the spankings in general, to the barebottomed part especially, but my dad paddled me barebottomed anyway. Usually this happened in front of my mother, especially when he was really mad. And he was mad at me a lot back then.
Finally, when I was fifteen years old, Daddy lost all patience at all. Dragging me out to the living room one night, he upended me in front of my two younger brothers. Taking down my sweats and my panties, he then pulled my t-shirt all the way up, exposing my breasts. Then he wailed me with my own hairbrush, searing my backside until even my brothers said stop. Then he dumped me on the floor, basically naked, to bawl in front of them. He spanked me if I even touched my clothes.
The next day I ran off.
Clutching his left ankle with both hands, I endured Michael's bombardment of my tail. I wheezed and I gasped and I kicked my feet in the air. My bottom screamed. I almost screamed. When I finally yelled "teapot!" the word stopped his hand, but not right away. Six more spanks came down for good luck. I lay there panting, hair shaken loose, my butt feeling like the guest of honor at a bee sting convention.
"Oh, Michael," I groaned.
I really hurt.
He stood me up and put my hands atop my head, brushed back my hair. I was still trembling. I squirmed like a seven year old holding my pee.
"Don't move," he said.
I pushed out my boobies and sucked in my tummy, and the flogger made wonderful pain stinging my breasts. I squirmed even more.
"Keep still, I said."
"Yes, sir." I could no more keep still than a shark could not bite your hand.
He worked me from my pubic hair to the tips of my boobies and the nipple sting made me dance. I wiggled in place.
"Be still, Marcia!"
"I can't!"
"You better!" he said. And he showed me how much better I had.
"Ow! Michael!"
He laughed.
"That hurt!"
"Then hold still."
"I can't!"
He spanked me again.
"Bastard."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." I glared at him slantwise. He was not supposed to hear.
I let my excitement build, knowing I'd need it for later. Closing my eyes, I imagined having that long thing between his legs between mine, and that, added to the sting of my nipples, pushed me close to orgasm. "Teacup!" I gasped.
Michael dropped the flog and took me over to the ottoman, lay me down on my back. Bringing my knees to my chest, I clutched them there tightly, raising my butt and making myself open for him. He came and stood over me. His erection, an angry red and hugely swollen, was a giant rocket ready to blast off. The tip leaked semen. Squatting slightly so I could reach him, Michael began to methodically strike the left side of my genitals, then the right, then my clenching anus. I had no hair to protect me, so each hit stung terribly. It was worse on my clitoris. I jumped spastically when it was struck, his testicles bumping my nose.
I was not allowed to touch him with anything but my mouth, so while he tortured my poor bottom, I tortured his cock. After half a minute Michael shuddered violently and I stopped licking. "You okay?" I said.
He grunted a yes.
"Don't waste it, Michael," I begged, fearing he'd shoot all over my chest. "Please!"
"I'll do anything I want," he threatened. "And you'll like it." He locked me with his flaming eyes. "Understand?"
My heart flipped wildly. "Yes, Michael. Anything you want."
He pipped me once sharply on my aching clitoris. "Anywhere I want."
"Anywhere you want," I croaked.
That really hurt!
He wasn't through yet. "In fact--" he looked at the drawn patio curtains. "--I might let you take a lesson where everyone can see."
My breath froze. "Michael, no."
"Questioning my authority, Marcia?"
"No, Michael."
"Put me in your mouth."
I quickly gulped him in.
"Suck slowly, Marcia."
Keeping my eyes obediently locked to his, I did as ordered. "Mmm. Nem-im-oh-ay?"
Is this okay?
"Keep sucking, Marcia."
Marcia kept sucking.
After a time, Michael repositioned himself and his penis began a thorough examination of my throat. He inspected my tonsils, my larynx and my voice box, examining them again and again, making sure I was in the finest health. I facilitated his examination by distending my jaw to its fullest extent, then tilting my head back for his convenience. I made a lot of noise. Not much of it was attractive to my ears, but Michael seemed to think so. His examination became very intense.
"Mmm-num-niem-neum-umm-nigul!" I pleaded. When he wasn't squashing it flat with his deep probes, his pubic hair tickled my nose. I couldn't breathe. In fact, I saw pretty white stars. "Mnn-num-em?"
"That's it!" he suddenly hollered. "On your feet!" He yanked me off the ottoman.
Gasping for air, shaking terribly, I stumbled along behind him, trying not to trip over my own feet. My throat spasmed; I couldn't stop gagging. "What?" I squeaked. "What did I do?" I felt ten years old again being dragged to the living room.
"You pissed me off!"
"How?"
He made me open the patio curtains. "All the way," he commanded, when I stopped half way.
"Michael--"
He spanked me bare handed.
"Ouch! Okay! Okay!" I pulled the curtains fully back. "There!" I cried.
Michael took me over his knee on the spot and lit up my backside. I screamed.
"Michael! Michael! Not so hard!"
He spanked me even harder.
"It hurts!"
His hand blistered both cheeks. "Your brothers should be here right now," he panted. "See how all those years of spankings went to waste."
"Michael! The window! People can see!" And indeed someone did see. In the parking lot, two skateboarders had stopped midway down the hill and were staring directly at me. Open-mouthed, one of them pointed.
"Michael! Michael! Kids!" And not just any kids, either. These two were part of the local parking lot gang who hung out and made rude comments to girls like me. Just yesterday, one of them grinned leeringly at me as I unloaded groceries. I heard words like "fuck" and "up the ass" and "in her mouth". And these were some of the nicer comments.
"Michael!"
Finally he stopped. Taking me by the arm, Michael dragged me to the bedroom and threw me on the bed. I bounced once and then I was onto to my stomach and then onto my hands and knees. "Michael! Michael, wait!" He was waiting for nothing. Pushing my chest to the mattress, he spread my legs and jacked my ass in the air. He mounted me.
"Michael! Oh my God!" I took all eight inches of him up the ass, nonstop, sucking air against the pain. "Michael! Michael! Huuuuhhhhh! MICHAEL!"
He came at once and didn't stop coming for ten minutes. I jumped and warbled and wailed and had my face mashed into bed sheets. I pounded his legs and his hips. I cried and pleaded. I even grabbed my hair and tried to pull it out. Michael came and came and came. So did I.
Later, after he collapsed and I had collapsed under his weight, I lay on the mattress panting, my bowels afloat in sperm. I won't say how my rectum and anus felt. You should know.
"You bastard," I mumbled. "I hate you."
Michael laughed.
"You think it's funny," I said. I thought of the two boys on skateboards, the look on their faces tomorrow. The whispers.
I knew how to stop the whispers.
Wondering what they would say to riding something besides their skateboards, I slipped out from under Michael-he'd sleep now for hours--and went to the living room, then to the patio doors. The boys hadn't moved a millimeter. Smiling, I crooked my index finger at them and indicated the building's entrance. I went and unlocked the front door.
Grinning darkly, I listened to my insides rumble and rubbed my flailed bottom. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd leave the curtains open while I pleasured the two boys.
Naked, with the lights on, and on my knees.
I opened the front door.