A Spanking Needed, a Spanking Earned
- 3 months ago
- 13 min read
- 820 Aufrufe
It started, as it so often does with us, with a simple question.
Derek walked into the living room and stood over the sofa. “I’m going to make a coffee. Do you want one?”
I looked up from my magazine at Derek. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Derek closed his eyes in a way that said he was trying to keep his cool. “It’s a simple question Tammy. Do you want a coffee? Yes or no?”
I never gave straight answers. It drove Derek wild. I knew what it would do to him today too, when he was working so hard, when he was so wound up with stress. I felt in a certain mood though too. Difficult. Capricious. Bored. It was awful of me, I knew, but I found I was in the mood to torture Derek. “Yes,” I said.
Derek turned towards the kitchen.
“Actually, no,” I said.
Derek turned back to glare at me.
“Or do I? I can’t decide.”
Blood filled Derek’s face; his skin went a darker shade before my eyes.
“I think I’d prefer a tea,” I said.
Derek exhaled. “What kind?”
I couldn’t resist. “I don’t know.”
“Jesus fucking Christ Tammy. Just say what you want.”
I didn’t like the tone Derek was taking with me and this was getting more amusing by the second. I loved seeing Derek angry too, it reminded me of how big he was, how much stronger he was than me. “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll make the drinks. You go and work and I’ll bring your coffee to you.”
Derek relaxed. His posture uncoiled as the tension ebbed away. “Fine. Thanks.” He stalked off to his home office.
I didn’t even leave the sofa.
Twenty minutes later or so, Derek stormed back into the living room. “Where the hell’s my coffee?”
I looked up at Derek with an expression of total innocence on my face. I shrugged as if it was nothing. “I didn’t make it.”
Derek’s face darkened again. He glowered at me. “Why not?”
“I decided I didn’t want a drink after all.” I said it in a placid tone of voice I knew would drive Derek really mad.
“What the fuck Tammy? So you didn’t make me a coffee either?”
I shook my head. I looked back down at the magazine I had open across my lap.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
I glanced up at Derek and gave him a calculated look of irritation, as if he was being unreasonable and bothering me. “No. I’m busy.”
“Busy?” Derek roared. “Fucking busy? Are you really Tammy?” His voice got louder with every word. I had to fight not to cower as he strode forwards to stand right over me. “I’ve been working for fourteen days straight Tammy. I’m busy. But you,” he gestured at the magazine I was holding. “Don’t look too fucking busy to me Tammy.”
Derek frightened me when he shouted like that, when he shook with rage. It made my heart race, it made adrenaline pound through my body. It excited me. His condescension made me angry though too, and that’s a potent combination in me, fear, exhilaration, and ire. I could have stopped it there. I could have apologised and defused the situation. But I dove in headfirst instead. “Relax Derek, don’t be such a drama queen.”
Derek turned crimson. He stared at me in stunned, silent incredulity. I flashed him a winning smile. I was quivering with panic and anticipation now, but I fought to stay still, to look calm.
“You fucking bitch,” Derek hissed. “How dare you talk to me like that. How dare you behave like this.”
Here was the moment of truth. I gave Derek my most defiant look. “And what are you going to do about it? Drama queen.”
Derek’s eyes actually bulged. All the tension and stress of weeks of over-work, all that rage, it came to a head. He bellowed like a bull. Then he lunged at me.
I’d already tucked my feet under myself in preparation. I dived to the side and away from Derek’s arms as he crashed down onto the sofa. I wasn’t fast enough though. I tried to push up onto my hands and knees so I could leap up and sprint off the sofa, so I could run around the house and make Derek work to catch me, but he was too quick. A hand closed around my ankle.
Sometimes Derek lets me escape. Sometimes he lets me run. He likes to chase me, it’s part of our game. But today I'd pushed him too far, too fast, or maybe he was just worked up, but he was too furious to play like that today. I kicked my legs at him, I wriggled to try and break his grip, but Derek’s fingers felt like steel around my ankle. He grabbed hold of the other one.
Derek heaved me back towards him with sharp, angry tugs. I scrabbled at the sofa beneath me, I tried to dig my fingers into the material to drag myself away from him, but I couldn’t get any purchase. As much as I struggled, I couldn’t stop Derek dragging me backwards into his arms. He was too strong for me.
I tried to roll over so I could kick Derek properly, but he’s wise to my moves. He grabbed me and span me back over onto my front. He pressed me down into the sofa with a hand on my back. He leant into it, he trapped me so completely it was hard to breathe. Derek’s other hand was free though. And I knew exactly where it was headed.
We do this on a reasonably frequent basis. To say it adds spice to our lives is putting it mildly. I discovered when I was young that fear was a powerful aphrodisiac for me. That the fight or flight response was wired to my pleasure centres, apparently. Derek was the first guy who got it when I explained it to him though. He understood how to take advantage of it.
I writhed as best I could, but it was useless. And being trapped like that, so helpless, it really brought the panic on. As did picturing Derek lifting that free hand above me. I visualised the size of it, the feel of it, Derek’s hands were so big, his fingers so wide, and he was so powerfully built. I winced with anticipation. It got worse with every passing second, my heart hammered against the inside of my ribs like a panicked bird trapped in a cage.
Derek brought the flat of his hand down hard across my arse.
I screamed in pain and fright. I was only wearing yoga pants on my bottom half, not ev en any knickers, and they didn’t do much do deaden the blow. Burning pain radiated through my buttocks.
Derek didn’t stop to give me time to recover, to catch my breath. He slapped me again and again, a frenzy of sharp, hard smacks that made me shriek and struggle.
I could have made it stop; please don’t think I couldn’t have. We have a safe word, of course. One yell of it and Derek would have released me in an instant, no matter how furious he was, how turned on. But this was all part of our game and I wanted the fear and the pain, I wanted what it brought with it.
Derek finally stopped slapping me and I went slack, I shook and panted to catch my breath. My arse was hot and throbbing, it ached all over already, but in that good way. Then two of Derek’s broad fingers curled into the back of my yoga pants. He pulled them up and away from my body, he began to peel them down off my bottom.
“No,” I shouted back at him. I wanted what was coming, obviously, but it was more fun for both of us if I fought it.
“Yes,” Derek said with malicious glee. “You’ve earned this Tammy. Every second of it.” I struggled and wriggled again, but that hand on my back was immovable, there was nothing I could do. I felt cold air against the hot skin of my buttocks as Derek worked my yoga pants down.
“Look at that fat little arse,” Derek leered above me. “I can barely get these trousers off you.”
“Fuck off.” I tried to roll my hips, to open my thighs wider, anything to stop my pants coming down. Derek pulled with more force though, he yanked and tugged, I heard seams tearing, and my yoga pants came all the way off my bottom. Derek dragged them down my knees and left them there, a nice little touch to trap and humiliate me.
And there’s the ‘h’ word. Fear gets me hot, pain gets my nerves singing and makes everything more intense, but humiliation really does it for me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why, I don't think it's something I can rationalise. But when Derek shames me, when he treats me bad, like dirt, like meat, like a proper little slut, it gets me wetter than anything. And Derek knows it.
I kicked and fought and swore as Derek ran his fingers over my bared bottom. He spread me to see my cunt and my arsehole. He told me what he could see and my face burned almost as hot as my arse. Derek stroked two fingers over my pussy, he told me how wet I was, that I was a total disgrace, a degenerate, a wanton little whore. It made me angry, it made me shameful, it made me so hot I had to lock my legs rigid to stop myself rubbing my thighs together.
And then Derek spanked me again. It came from nowhere this time. One moment he was rubbing my cunt, teasing my arsehole with a fingertip, then all of a sudden his hand left me, and before I realised it was coming, it crashed down onto my naked skin.
Those yoga pants had been insubstantial, but it was so much worse now when his hand met the exposed flesh of my arse. It was agony, almost too much to take as Derek slapped me hard and fast. I screeched and bawled, I begged for mercy, but Derek was unforgiving.
Derek spanked me with frenzy of slaps, his hand landing in a different place each time to keep me guessing, to keep me scared. I fought with all the strength in my body, but I was trapped. The pain became overwhelming as Derek kept on, I wriggled my arse desperately to try and avoid his hand, but it was useless. I had nowhere to go. I only made a bigger fool of myself as I felt my buttocks jiggling as I writhed. I only made myself more frightened and panicked. Derek laughed at me too and the humiliation of it brought tears to my eyes.
Still Derek didn’t let up. He kept spanking and spanking until the pain was blinding, and I was trapped, I couldn’t escape it, there was nothing I could do. My panic boiled into full-blown, mind-shattering terror. I let go of any last vestiges of restraint, I screamed and yelled with complete abandon.
“Who’s the drama queen now, huh?” Derek shouted above my wailing.
That was the final straw. My emotions rose up and overcame me, I burst into tears, I sobbed and wailed as Derek spanked me.
Derek finally showed me mercy. Of a kind. He stopped smacking me, his hand slid down to my sopping pussy. I spread my thighs eagerly for him, the gasping little slut I was. Derek slid a finger between my lips to find my clit.
I moaned and pressed myself against Derek as he ran his fingertip around my pulsing clit in fast, soft circles. The pleasure came on with an intensity that only pain and fear and humiliation can bring out of me.
I stopped struggling. I stopped screaming. I moaned loud as Derek stroked me. He took his hand off my back but I didn’t even think about trying to escape now.
Derek pressed two fingers from his other hand into my cunt as he circled my clit. I was so wet and hot and ready, they slid into me easily. He fucked me quickly with them as he teased my clit, he twisted his fingers around to stroke my g-spot as they pumped in and out of me.
Everything feels so much more intense after a spanking. That’s goes double when I’m overly emotional, my body flooded with endorphins and adrenaline. A hot, deep tension spread through me from my cunt, my whole body tightened with it. Derek kept stroking my clit and my g-spot together with the same determination with which he spanked me and it all got too much for me. The tension reached its peak; it broke.
I screamed out loud again as I came, but a different scream now. I yelled over and over as my climax surged through me, I burst into tears once more, I was an absolute wreck of a woman. I came long and hard, I came the way that only Derek can make me.
Derek didn’t give me a moment to catch my breath. The second my climax had passed, his hands came off me, he tore his jeans open, then he was on me. He sat across the backs of my calves, trapping me again, although there was no need now. He leaned over me on one hand, the other holding and angling his cock.
I groaned and trembled as Derek drove into me. I gasped as the head of his dick stretched me open, I closed my eyes in pleasure as he slid deeper to fill me.
Derek wasn’t slow or romantic, he didn’t make love to me. He was angry and hot, he fucked me. He took me absolutely. Derek thrust deep, he drew back, he pressed into me so hard he squashed me into the sofa. He fucked me faster and faster until I was gasping and mewling and quivering again beneath him.
I tried to press myself into Derek, to fuck him back as he slammed into me. I managed to squeeze a hand under myself so I could get at my cunt, so I could stroke my clit as Derek took me. He was deliciously rough. He grabbed my throbbing arse, he pulled my hair, he pressed me down so hard with his hand on my back again I couldn’t breathe. I never feel as alive as I do in those moments.
Derek growled in my ear, he called me names, like his slut and his bitch, he told me how beautiful I was, he told me he loved me. After that spanking, after all that pain and pleasure and emotion, Derek reduced me to a writhing, moaning, sobbing mess of a girl as he fucked me.
I strummed my clit with two fingertips as Derek moved faster, as his noises grew more intense, closer together. He hammered into me with such force the sofa shifted beneath us, I couldn't breathe, my head was swimming, and then Derek slammed deep into me and shouted my name as he came.
I felt Derek pulsing inside me, filling me with his come. My cunt tightened around him as my own climax hit, I lost all control as I bucked and thrashed beneath him.
I know I can be an absolute nightmare sometimes. A complete and total brat. But Derek knows exactly how to treat me and I’ll never stop as long as it feels that good. For both of us.