S is for Spanking. Lucy Salisbury

was calm and amused as she spoke again.

      ‘Right then, let’s see shall we, what’s to be done with you? First, as you have such pretty panties on, I think they’d better come down, don’t you? It would be a shame to ruin them, after all. There we are, bare bottom, and don’t you look pretty?’

      She’d pulled my knickers down as she spoke, inverting them around my thighs to join the tangled cloth of my jeans and leaving me bare and ready, my smarting breasts already naked and now my bottom too. My spanking began, Stacey laughing as she started to slap my cheeks, one hand on each to make my flesh bounce and my slit open to show off my anus. I buried my face in the coverlet, letting the awful shame of my position sink slowly in, a smart, professional woman stripped and spanked by her friend. It was hard to imagine a more undignified position, for all I knew that there were plenty of ways she could have made it worse for me, like stripping me nude, making me kneel so that my wet, open cunt showed to the room, or sticking something up me while I was beaten. None of it would have been any more than window dressing, just as having my jeans and knickers pulled down was, and even the pain of Stacey’s increasingly hard slaps. What really mattered was that I was taking a spanking, willingly, and the way I reacted to it, so turned on that in no time at all I’d begun to stick my bottom up for more. Stacey laughed to see the state I was in.

      ‘Oh dear, what a little slut you are! You really like it, don’t you?’

      She never had fully understood, but that made it all the more exciting when she did it, along with the faint contempt she could never quite conceal. This time she didn’t even bother to try, her voice openly mocking as she continued to spank me.

      ‘How can you get off on this, Lucy? I mean, seriously, to let somebody spank you, as if you’ve been a naughty little girl, and to get off on it! And all the business about having your panties pulled down and being made to go bare afterwards, with your little red bum on parade around your own fucking flat! You are such a dirty little slut, but I do love you for it, and I’ve got to say, I love doing it to you.’

      I’d given in completely, my bottom stuck high to the smacks, every word she’d said burning in my mind. She was beating on my cheeks as if she was playing the bongos, another way she liked to play with my bottom, but I wanted it harder, and I wanted to come.

      ‘Use something on me, Stacey. Make me come.’

      She gave a curt little tut, but leant across to where I’d put my hairbrush down on my bedside table, half hoping it might end up being used on my bottom. I knew I could make it, if she got the smacks just right, across the tuck of my cheeks so that every impact sent a jolt to my cunt. The very first made me cry out in mingled ecstasy and pain, because it hurt a lot more than her hand, and as she set up a firm, even rhythm across my cheeks she’d begun to talk to me once more.

      ‘Just look at you, Lucy. You really should be ashamed of yourself, shouldn’t you? I know you are, deep down, and that’s what really gets you off, isn’t it? But just think how much worse it could be. If only the boys in the office could know. Imagine it, Miss Lucinda Salisbury, the ice princess, the one woman who never, ever lets her guard down, and she likes her bare bottom spanked! Imagine if Daniel and Alastair and fat boy Paul were here to see you now, with your panties down and your red bum cheeks spread open to show off your little pink arsehole and your lovely wet cunt.’

      I’d begun to moan, unable to hold back my excitement even as my body jerked to the hard smacks now being delivered full across the fleshy turn of my bum cheeks. My thoughts followed the scene she was painting, with the three young men watching me being punished just to add to my awful humiliation, enjoying the view of my bare, smacked tits and my wriggling bottom, my twitching bumhole and open cunt, as well as my helpless arousal and the thought of how they might take advantage.

      ‘They’d fuck me, Stacey. They’d push you off and fuck me.’

      ‘Oh no they wouldn’t, darling. They wouldn’t need to. I’d sit on your back while they did you, taking turns to make you suck their cocks hard while I spanked you, then spit roasting you, with Daniel and Alastair in your mouth and up your cunt, from behind, Lucy, with your sweet little bottom spread to show you off while he fucks you. That’s right, darling, one in each hole, and Paul would take photographs to put on the net, photographs of you getting your smacked bottom fucked while you suck cock, you filthy, darling little bitch! That’s right, Lucy, come, come while I spank you!’

      As she spoke she’d been spanking all the time, harder and harder, until I finally hit my peak, screaming out in ecstasy as my body locked in orgasm. She let me finish, just, before tossing the hairbrush aside and lifting her bottom to let me twist around beneath her. I knew what was coming, still in breathless ecstasy as she pushed down her jeans and straddled me once more, squatting over my face with her cunt against my mouth as she spoke again.

      ‘You’re right, Lucy, I do know my place, sat on top of you with my pussy in your face. Now get licking!’

      * * *

      Once she was done, Stacey and I got into bed, meaning to cuddle for a little before going out to explore the area. Drowsy with sex and the warm, spring air, we were soon asleep and didn’t wake up until nearly six. We showered together, slipped on light dresses we’d both brought in the hope of relatively civilised evenings and went downstairs to eat. The Plough was a typical old-fashioned country pub, with a large public bar and a saloon that doubled up as the restaurant. We chose an alcove where a window opened out through one of the immensely thick walls, allowing us to sit in comfort and privacy while watching what was going on around us. Part of the public bar was visible through an open door, and as we sat sipping wine and waiting for our food we’d both begun to study the locals. Stacey knew my tastes and couldn’t resist teasing.

      ‘Which one for you then? How about the one who looks like a lumberjack boss?’

      ‘Stacey! If you mean the man in the red shirt, he has to be sixty, at least.’

      ‘So what? He’s big, he’s rough, and just look at his hands.’

      I couldn’t help but do it, my eyes going straight to where Stacey had indicated. He’d just lifted his pint of beer, and I had to admit that she had a point. His hands were huge, his skin rough and dark from the sun and the wind, his fingers at least twice as thick as my own. If he’d been holding me, each hand could have cupped most of my bottom, and I immediately found myself imagining how it would feel to be across his knee, which sent the blood rushing to my face. Stacey laughed for how easily she’d got to me and tried again.

      ‘Or how about Redbeard the Pirate over there, at the table next to the bar? He must be six foot six, and he looks just the sort to carry you off over his shoulder and do unspeakable things to you in the bushes.’

      She knew full well it was one of my favourite fantasies, while the man also looked quite like my boyfriend, Magnus, back in London, so I stuck my tongue out at her and tried to get her back.

      ‘How about you then? Maybe the old boy drinking red wine, the military type. He’d soon have you doing drill, and when you messed up …’

      She knew what I was implying, as she was from an army family, and her mouth came open in shock as the blood went to her face in turn.

      ‘Lucy, you are the limit! Anyway, I don’t go for older men, unlike you. There’s only one man I’d even consider, Mr Blue at the far end of the bar.’

      It was obvious who she meant. He was a little over six foot tall, with a pale-blue top that showed every detail of a superbly muscled torso, baggy white tracksuit bottoms that nevertheless hinted at an intriguingly large bulge in his crotch, and obviously expensive trainers. I couldn’t really deny that he was attractive, but while he undoubtedly radiated confidence, even arrogance, he seemed to me to lack the charm a man like that needs in order to appeal to me. There was something else too, perhaps in the way he held himself, maybe simply the way he was dressed, or something less easily defined.

      ‘He’s gay.’

      ‘What, because he’s showing off his muscles? He’s probably been running.’

      ‘Why