From: an146810@anon.penet.fi

Reply-To: an146810@anon.penet.fi

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: Ass Capades [spanking story; no sex]

Date: Sun, 12 Nov 1995 22:45:53 UTC

Organization: Anonymous forwarding service

Message-ID: <225304Z12111995@anon.penet.fi>






(C) 1994 'Studs Manly'





                           Ass Capades


                       by James Phillimore


     I was surprised, to say the least.  As most everyone knew


her name and had seen her pictures all over the world, I was


surprised that I had won the drawing to give her the spanking she


so obviously deserved and needed.  In an effort to raise money


for her legal fees and such, a worldwide lottery was held.  Five


dollars American bought the chance to soundly spank those gor-


geous buns.  I figured the five bucks was worth it just for the


fantasy.  Over a half-million dollars was raised and I was


shocked to get the certified letter telling me I had won.  I


phoned and identified myself, they wired me a round trip ticket


and two days later I was jetting to the West Coast.


     Her lawyer met me at the airport and told me that his own


wife had suggested the spanking and the lottery idea followed. 


"Even though my client didn't commit the actual assault, nor was


she involved in planning it, she is guilty of marrying a man


who's emotionally screwed up.  Everyone can see she's got prob-


lems herself and can only benefit from some attitude adjusting. 


It certainly works on my wife, so I agreed that my client would


benefit. 


     "We felt that there were likely many others who felt that


way and who would pay for the chance to spank her.  Certainly


raised a nice sum.  Not as much as her rival, but then, she


doesn't have to work for it or talk with cartoon animals to earn


it.


     "I guess her aggressive attitude makes her seem more deserv-


ing of some bun warming," he went on.  "She chose to compete in a


sport where the image tends to favor competitors who are quiet


and passive, traits which obviously don't fit her character."


     "Well, I never paid attention to any ice sport until this


whole mess hit the news," I said.  "I noticed that she had a


great body:  petite, fit and, oh those thighs.  I imagine she's


got lot of protective muscle in her butt."


     "Yes, but that means more nerve endings."  He went on to


tell me that the spanking would be done in his home.  She knew


what was in store for her. 


     "I told her that even the admission of knowing about the


crime after the fact and saying nothing was going to blemish her


future, that she needed to change some of her behavior and


dysfunctional habits in order to avoid trouble in the coming


years.  She's not happy about it, but she realizes jail could be


worse."


     He and his wife live in a large, expensive house.  Only he


and his wife were there.  And the "trailer-park babe" herself. 


But she was in the basement where a comfortable sound-insulated


room had been constructed.  He introduced me to his wife, an


attractive blonde haired woman whom I had also seen several times


on television news stories.  She remained upstairs while the


attorney led me downstairs.


     "Before we go down there, let me again remind you of the


ground rules.  We'll be videotaping the entire session when you


are with her.  You will wear a mask and under no circumstances


are you to call her by name.   She won't know who you are, so she


won't be calling you by name.


     "Don't break he skin or inflict any permanent damage.  Is


this clear?"  I acquiesced and, when we reached the bottom of the


stairs, he handed me a silver colored mask and flipped some


switches to turn on video recorders.  


     "I'll stay out here and monitor the session."  He looked at


his watch.  "My wife will have dinner ready at 7:30, an hour from


now.  That should give you time to 'introduce' yourself and give


her a taste of what's in store for her."


     "In the letter and on the telephone you mentioned a paddle


collection . . . . ."


     "Let's see how this session goes, first," he said as he sat


down at a console with video monitors.


     When I opened the door, a small spotlight was the only


illumination in the room, and that light fell directly on the


naked form of the athlete whose face had become familiar to so


many in recent months.  The blonde hair was tightly drawn up


behind her head and she wore only a small cross on a chain which


rested between her small breasts.  She was standing against a


wall, holding, but not tied to, straps which kept her arms high


and wide.  She stood with her bare feet about two feet apart and


it was difficult for me to keep my gaze from constantly returning


to take in the magnificence of those strong, naked thighs I'd


dreamed about.


     "Hello," I whispered.


     "Okay, I agreed to do this, but I don't have to like it,"


she said.  I could hear her nervousness and the fear behind her


words of defiance.  I directed her to the leather-covered vault-


ing horse which was instantly spotlighted as she walked over to


it.  The attorney was evidently watching from the control panel


in the next room and I wondered where the video cameras were.


     I had her bend over the shortened vaulting horse and told


her to hold on to the straps which I handed her.  Stepping around


behind her, I spent a few moment admiring her lovely bottom, so


muscular and firm, so inviting.  I felt, but resisted, the urge


to plant an adoring kiss on each glorious cheek.  Instead, I


placed both of my hands on her butt and squeezed the flesh.  At


first her muscles tightened, but after several seconds they


relaxed and gave way for the massaging action of my fingers.


     She let out a loud sigh, as if she were bored.  Annoying and


definitely defiant.  "I thought this was supposed to teach me


something.  Are you just teaching me that you're some sort of


pervert who gets off rubbing asses?"


     The first swat was hard and loud.  I knew that there was a


limit as to what a bare-handed spanking could deliver but I


applied a forceful blow to shock her.  I knew it would sting her


into a quick silence, at least for a moment.


     "Oww!" she yelped, quite startled.  The sharp sound of


flesh-on-flesh didn't reverberate off the walls, but it was loud. 


The muscles in her butt and thighs quivered beneath her skin, and


the pink imprint rose on her cheek.  She inhaled quickly, but


said nothing.  I rubbed long enough to relax the tense muscles


again, then administered another stinging slap to her other


cheek, raising a matching pink imprint.   This time, there was no


sound from her other than the sharp hissing of air as it rushed


out of her mouth.  Again, her thighs quivered as did her well-


developed butt.  Years of falling on ice had made that an area of


high resistance but I had come prepared.


     "I guess you know my asshole ex-husband used to punch me and


beat me.  I learned to take a lot of pain that way.  If you're


waiting for me to cry before you'll stop, you got a long wait,


bub.  Unless I fake it.  


     "Oh, boo hoo, mister, don't spank me anymore.  {sniff} 


You've made your point.  I promise to be a good girl from now on


and to stay away from emotionally immature jerks like my ex.  


     "There.  Satisfied?" she said, her voice changing back to a


bratty, irritating, recalcitrant tone.  While she had been


talking and putting on her act, I had donned a latex glove and


smeared it with the menthol-scented cream which would sensitize


her flesh.


     "Oh, damn, that's cold!" she said, startled yet again at the


feel of my hand on her backside, rubbing soothingly.  


     "Hmmm, that feels good, ya know?  Kinda warm.  It smells


like stuff I get rubdowns with.  Is it?"  


     My reply?


     WHAP!


     "AoowH!" she cried, genuinely stung.  Quickly she stood,


letting go of the hand straps and grabbing her own stinging buns. 


"Shit, that hurt!"


     "Bend over," I told her sternly.  She didn't move fast


enough to suit me so I took hold of one of her wrists, went to


the other side of the vaulting horse and cinched her wrist.  She


was struggling but I returned and secured a strap to her left


ankle.  The straps weren't tight at all, giving her plenty range


of motion, yet still she was bent over, that ass wonderfully


poised and beckoning.


     "I told you not to let go."  Then I brought my gloved hand


up high and brought it down on that delectable derriere.


     WHAP!!


     She jerked hard against the straps and she couldn't stifle


the cry that came from deep within.  Again and again I covered


her cheeks with my hand until they were flushed scarlet and her


sobs were real, not fake.  But this was only a warm-up, so I


released her foot and reached beneath the horse and freed her


wrist from the strap.


     "You may stand," I told her.  Again, her hands went to her


rear, but the contact this time was no longer comforting.  She


groaned at the contact and jerked her hands away.  When I saw her


face, her blue eyes were shedding real tears.





     While I joined my hosts for a delicious dinner, they en-


lightened me on a few things.


     "She received so many threats, she feared going out in


public," the attorney explained.  "We already owned the house


next door, so we constructed a connecting tunnel and she lives in


that house.  She has several fitness machines and a hot tub


there.  Her close friends come and go and she goes for evening


jogs from there without trouble."


     "In disguise, of course," his wife added.  She said that all


the publicity had a depressing effect on the 23-year-old, but


she's tough.  "She knows the mess won't ever be forgotten but


sooner or later the media hype will.  She just wants to drive her


truck and ride her motorcycle and go shopping  without the mob of


photographers."


     "In the meantime," the attorney continued, "she has bills to


pay and a life to lead.  She wants to invest all she can now


because she knows she'll likely never get the chance to make as


much money.  There just isn't a big demand for former athletes in


her field, regardless of public opinion."


     "The friends she hangs out with seem to be fine," his wife


commented.  "But like so many people from dysfunctional back-


grounds, sometimes she's attracted to mixed-up people.  Like her


ex-husband.  She's obviously grown up a lot in the last few


months.  I think she's turned 180¿ as far as being attracted to


that type."


     "Yes, but even she acknowledged that there was still some


sort of attraction to the brooding, sinister types."


     "So, what made you decide on spanking as a measure?" I


asked.


     "Her therapist agreed that she was consciously aware of why


she had made those wrong choices in the past.  Continuing the


therapy would have been reinforcing but repetitive and definitely


expensive.  With no big contract offers, that would have been a


financial drain she couldn't afford."


     "She has known for years that my husband and I were involved


in the spanking scene.  We discussed it often.  This may sound


over-simplified, but she needs and wants a strong, intelligent,


self-confident man, but she has always settled for the emotional-


ly weak men of less intelligence because, I think, she believes


she doesn't deserve better.  And she does.  She's talented,


beautiful, smart . . . ."


     "The lottery concept was her idea," the attorney said.


     "Really?" I asked, genuinely surprised.


     "She had offers to do nude layouts, but the idea of being


ogled by thousands of masturbators didn't thrill her, and the


monetary offers didn't seem to be enough to offset the obligatory


sanctimonious moralizing that was sure to follow."


     He went on.  "One of her friends happened to tell her that


there'd been a discussion on The Internet about how she needed to


be spanked.  She knew that people on the Information Superhighway


are intelligent and she figured to get the word out that her ass


was available for a good spanking."


     "And the videotapes?" |I asked.


     "Primarily for security:  hers, ours and yours.  The tapes


will verify that she is consenting, that she's free to come and


go as she likes, and that you aren't inflicting any serious


injury.


     "There's a second reason, though, and I waited to mention it


until we had a chance to talk about it."  


     He paused to pour himself a glass of wine.


     "As you can imagine, she's had offers from several private


collectors.   Even we were amazed at the amounts being offered by


some noted people.  So far, we've not decided anything, but I


have a contract here for you to study.  Quite simply, we're


offering you $10,000 up front for your role in this tape, with


provisions for a percentage of the sale price if and when we sell


it to a private collector."


     By 9:30, we had completed our discussion and I returned to


the recreation room.  She was waiting, having spent the last


several hours in the other house.  She had worked out, prepared


and eaten dinner, and showered.  She wore a floor-length, trans-


parent gown and her hair hung naturally.  A lovely picture of


innocence clothed only in gossamer.


     I had chosen from my host's large collection of implements


two paddles, which she eyed with curiosity and fear.  She watched


me walk over to a straight back chair which we had placed near


the padded horse.  I sat and placed the paddles in the floor.


     "Uh, listen, I really don't need this," she said quietly,


and nervously, attempting to talk her way out of the arrangement. 


"You already got your kicks.  I got spanked.  We have the video


to sell if we want.  You have your money.  Why do I need a pad-


dling now?


     I looked at her and saw that she had the act down very well,


having developed her manipulative skills over the years.  With


her face framed by her soft, blonde hair, and with those blue


eyes filling with crocodile tears and her girlish, quavering


voice and pouting lips projecting innocence and naivete, it was


easy to see how she had been able to work her way into and out of


situations all her life.


     But not this one.


     "Lie over my lap," I told her.  She sniffed, a whimper came


from her throat and she pouted as she walked toward me, but her


eyes betrayed the insolence inside.  They were almost flashing


defiance.


     She stood beside me and began to remove the gown, but I told


her to leave it on.  As she stretched out across my lap, I put my


arm across her back.  I lifted the gown, exposing that wondrous


ass and reached down for the first of the two paddles, a thin,


wide paddle about 3/8 of an inch thick and a little over 4 inches


wide.  This paddle would sting sharply and get her attention


quickly.  I rubbed her smooth, hard cheeks, cool to the touch


compared to the warming they were about to receive.  I lingered,


enjoying the experience of fulfilling this desire to administer


these corrective measures to this lovely, misguided and misused,


young woman.


     My arm rose high.  The silence was palpable as she held her


breath.  The muscles of her thighs and butt quivered in anticipa-


tion of the inevitable.


     WHOOSH -- CRACK!!  She almost levitated as her body jolted


at the impact.  "OH, DAMN!!"  she managed to gasp as blood rushed


to the impact area, turning parts of both cheeks scarlet almost


instantaneously.


     "Oh, shitfuckgoddamn!" I heard as she felt the genuine pang


of that swat.  But there was more to come.  I waited about

fifteen seconds, allowing the complete effect to set in.  She had


time to feel the sharp pain and for the muscles in her rear to


harden in reaction.  I raised the paddle, targeting the area


where her bubble butt met her thighs, where there yet lingered a


faint panty line indentation.


     CRACK!  So much for the panty line.  Her right hand appeared


to protect her rear, but I grabbed it and held it firmly in the


middle of her back, glad that I was able to keep her off balance


enough so that she couldn't get the leverage to stand.  Her


thighs were too muscular and her legs just not long enough for


her feet to touch the floor, so her wailing and her thrashing


legs were the only ways she could react.  The red area on her


butt had almost doubled in size and in the fifteen seconds after


the swat, she cast aspersions against my family lineage as well


as accused me of being -- well, a man of questionable moral


integrity, a sexual deviant of extraordinary depravity, and other


imaginative characterizations.


     CRACK!  That blow had a bit more force behind it, though I


knew she wasn't feeling the blows deeply.  But the pain certainly


grabbed her attention and stopped her tirade, at least temporari-


ly.


     CRACK!  I no longer waited for fifteen seconds.  I knew that


the thin paddle would only have a limited effect on that athletic


ass and now swift, loud stings were probably most effective.


     CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  Each swat


was followed by a high-pitched cry.  No longer was she yelling


insults.  She was focused on the pain in her backside, a pain I


knew was dulling as her skin was being numbed by her own endor-


phins.  And as an athlete, she was accustomed to working through


pain.


     Before she could fully realize what I was doing, I dropped


the paddle, gripped her waist, stood and hurriedly carried her to


the padded vaulting horse.  She was almost rag-doll limp, having


just emptied her lungs with a cry, but even as I laid her out and


quickly moved to attach the straps to her, she became aware that


she could move.  Her calves were against my shoulder as I reached


under the stand to grab her wrist.  I could feel the muscles


tense and I slipped the strap over her right hand a fraction of a


second before she jerked her hand.  I quickly secured her ankles


and then walked around to slide the remaining strap over her left


hand.


     The exertions of the last few minutes had made both of us


hot and sweaty.  I unbuttoned and removed my shirt as I took in


the sight of her damp gown, more transparent now, clinging to her


struggling body.  Once again she had begun yelling invectives at


me, haranguing me with a vitriolic tongue-lashing that would have


shamed many truck drivers.


     I walked to a nearby table and poured myself a glass of ice


water from a pitcher I had put there.  I drank and walked back


and dropped to sit on my haunches beside her head.  Her hair was


damp but still lovely.   Her eyes were electric, full of spite


and the turmoil and energy that needed to be directed to positive


purposes.


     "I understand that you have been with the behavioral people


and you know what your mistakes have been.  You know what sort of


behavior is proper from a normal human being, let alone a woman


who has been a role model for thousands of impressionable minds. 


These disciplinary measures are to drive home the altered pat-


terns."


     She looked at me with those tear-filled eyes.  "But I didn't


do anything wrong," she whined in that familiar voice, repeating


the phrase she had used so often in so many situations.  And


successfully.  But no more.


     "Yes you did.  You chose the wrong man to marry, just as


you've often chosen to associate with people who lack your


intelligence and potential."  I stood, and as I talked, I crossed


the room to retrieve the second paddle.


     "I don't doubt that you want things to go well and that you


want happiness and success.  The shadow of prison, the ominous


images of trial judges, negative worldwide publicity, expensive


fines -- all certainly should influence you to change your


comportment and the direction you will take in life.  These


physical sessions will serve as reminders."


     I walked behind her and, with the paddle, lifted her gown to


expose her red cheeks.  I then poured some of the ice water over


the inflamed flesh.  She yelped in shocked surprise and her rosy


butt shivered and the skin immediately tightened.  I let water


drip on her back and watched her squirm as the ice water rolled


down her body.  I tossed a few towels on the floor to soak up the


water.


     I set the glass aside and took up my stance.  My right arm


held the paddle at full extension while with my left hand I


caressed that toned, hard butt of hers, feeling muscles relax


after their spasm. 


     THWACK!  Her scream was piercing.  She had probably never


felt its like before.  She jerked and strained mightily at the


straps, but could do nothing except feel and vocalize her feel-


ings.


     "No, no, oh God, please, no," she said, between loud sobs.   


She'd felt that pang deep, far deeper than the epidermal sting of


the earlier spanking or paddling.  I  waited long enough for the


impact to reverberate through her entire body before I landed the


next power stroke.


     THWACK!


     "AAIIEE!"  Her focus was now clearly confined to her vulner-


able ass.  No longer was she directing her anger at me.  She


wasn't even feeling anger, as the hurt had her complete and


undivided attention.


     THWACK!


     "N-O-O-o-o!"


     THWACK!     THWACK!     THWACK!     THWACK! 


     Soon enough, and all too soon, even her shrieks stopped as


her voice gave out and the pain dulled to a throb and her lungs


could no longer force the cries out of her.  I eased the force of


the blows and paused longer between them.  Her entire ass almost


glowed, so scarlet was it.  I knew she would be sore and tender


for some time.  I poured more ice water on her inflamed rump. 


She moaned and squirmed weakly at the pleasure/pain the chill in-


stilled.  Then I gave her more applications of the wood, and


again followed by pouring water on the strike zone.


     She was too exhausted to return to her house, so I released


her from the straps and the attorney's wife and I helped her to a


spare bedroom.  She remained to help the young athlete prepare


for a night's sleep and I joined my host.


     The next morning she was, of course, quite tender from the


night before, but nevertheless I was able to administer a last


over-the-knees, bare-handed spanking to her with her panties


down, though she was too sore to wear anything over her burning


butt, and would be for several days.  I took my time, reminding


her the entire time that more of the same could easily follow if


she ever showed signs of misbehaving again.


     When I boarded the jet to return home after the fantasy


trip, I had in my pocket some photographs of my hand on a well-


spanked butt, a rear that ached far more than what all her


bruising spills on the ice had.  I have a hunch that she might be


searching for a relationship with a man who can manage her and


can administer the sort of spankings her fine behind deserves and


needs.





--****ATTENTION****--****ATTENTION****--****ATTENTION****--***ATTENTION***


Your e-mail reply to this message WILL be *automatically* ANONYMIZED.


Please, report inappropriate use to                abuse@anon.penet.fi


For information (incl. non-anon reply) write to    help@anon.penet.fi


If you have any problems, address them to          admin@anon.penet.fi