Although classified as a True story it’s principally about my love of erotic spanking. It’s in 3 parts – so here is chapter 1.
An erotic spanking can be hard, but it must be sexy or where’s the FUN? I’m not sure whether there’s a limit on the number of words in this site’s stories, but to be safe that’s the reason this one is going to be broken into chapters. Also means I don’t have to do all the work at one time – important as you reach my advanced years.
It was around age sixteen that I became certain that my bottom was the most fascinating area of my body – one that had found out that a little self-spanking could be quite exciting. Not to put too fine a point on it, every time I spanked myself to a lovely shade of dark pink I would get a terrific hard on! Then of course, taking the necesssary action to make the hardness go away, quickly became a favoured pastime. Perhaps just a tiny bit of an obsession?
I say ‘became certain’ because this was no sudden overnight discovery. Sixteen was the watershed year. The internet showed me for the first time that I was not alone. This was astonishing. I’d thought myself strange, weird and very very bad. Because of that, I’d have died of embarrassment if anyone – especially my parents – found out about my ‘kink’. It was a locked-away secret and nobody must find out about it. Finding out that there were a lot of people on the ‘net’ who shared my inclinations helped me quite a bit. But none of my friends ever volunteered an interest, and I certainly couldn’t think of a way to bring it up without opening myself up to ridicule and taunt. Silence was golden.
At about this time, we moved from Buckingshire where I had been at a local Grammar School (no corporal punishment) into Putney in London, where I went to a minor Public School, where slipperings and canings were commonplace. The first time a boy was called out to the front of the class for talking to his deskmate during the lesson I was agog. When he was told to bend over I got a sort of nervous excitement – his tightly bent over bottom was right in front of me – wow. The Master went to his desk and brought out a huge black plimsoll. He gave the boy a couple of light taps, then raised the shoe up level with the top of his head and brought it down with an almighty crack. Honestly it was as though a gun had been fired – I jumped in my seat. The boy let out a grunt but that was all. If it’d been me, I guarantee you would have heard a very, very loud cry. I just couldn’t imagine how much it must have hurt. He got two more swipes and then returned to his seat completely unconcerned. I, on the other hand had a raging hard-on!
It would have been difficult to get through that school without getting a sore bottom at some stage. Mine came when I was seventeen. Obviously smoking was pretty well a hanging offence, but in place of a gallows we had the senior school cane. I had been a smoker since I was thirteen and although I didn’t smoke many at the time of my caning, I usually had one once we left school in the afternoon. My friend and I would wait until we were at the bus stop; maybe a quarter of a mile away, and out of sight of the school. Then we’d light up. We were so cool, so grown up. And we thought we were perfectly safe until the fateful day that a Prefect turned up at our stop. Of course he reported us.
The next day I was pretty well shaking in my boots at the thought of what was to come. My friend, who had vast experience of being caned told me to cheer up. He said it was like a ‘winter warmer’ and would soon be over. This made a caning sound perfectly okay. Obviously it would hurt a bit, but we were tough young men. A walk in the park really.
Canings took place starting just after lunch and were carried out by prefects. These were boys only one, perhaps two years older than me. I mean, I would have loved the job. The fly in the ointment for my caning was that it was the Head Boy who was designated as the caner. We weren’t friends as such but we did know each other socially. The idea that I would have to bend over and point my bottom at him to be hit, wasn’t a happy one at all. First though, came a mind-numbing lecture from the Deputy Head. I mean, I was getting a bit nervous by then, so I didn’t really hear much – he could’ve saved himself the effort – gone and had a cup of tea or something. Anyway, suddenly it was over. He handed over a cane and…
I had to bend over to touch my toes. I couldn’t reach that far so we settled on around about my ankles. Once there, I felt very vulnerable indeed. When the first stroke arrived I honestly couldn’t believe it. I had never known such pain. After the second, I was sure the cuts were so deep that I must be bleeding. I really didn’t think I’d be able to take any more. Of course I did – there wasn’t an option to call halt – and after the most agonising minute or so of my life it was over – thank G**. Later that evening, when the horrible initial sharpness of the pain had died down, my bottom moved into throbbing mode. By the time I went to bed my bottom was feelilng really rather nice and I lay on my back, rubbing against the sheets, whilst rubbing somewhere else at the front, until the inevitable happened. It was a wonderful end to a shitty day.
From my first girlfriend to my first and second wives, all knew that I got really turned on by spanking. Most were prepared to give me a sore bottom and some, my second wife in particular, quickly learnt to thoroughly enjoy being spanked herself. Sex afterwards was always so good.
So here is a real life happening from quite a few years back. I’ll tell it to you because it was one of the most intense sexual experiences I’d ever had; thus the details have remained clear in my memory – even now when I’ve lost the ability to find my specs for the 7th time today. It came about after I placed an ad for potential spanking clients to come for a trial run. I was thinking of offering a paying service as a side-line at the time. After all, if I could pull it off, I’d be offering a valuable community service (lol), making some money and having a great deal of fun.
Let’s call the client this is all based on – Jane (to protect the guilty and because she later became my 2nd wife). We talked a bit on the phone. She had never been spanked but had always wondered if it would be as much of a ‘turn on’ in practice as it had been in her mind. She’d taken a monthly subscription to Janus, one of the first to offer a magazine devoted to spanking. She’d found the stories, but particularly the pictures (some photos, some in colour!) very exciting. Now she wanted to know what a spanking was actually like in real life.
We set a date I think about 5 days later and I set the time at 5pm. That’s a good time of day for a spanking don’t you think, because you have all day to build up the tension and anticipation, especially if it’s your first time. Wouldn’t be the same thing just after breakfast would it? Having given her detailed directions I finished the phone call by stressing the importance of being on time – there would be unpleasant consequences if she were late.
The day and time arrived, as did an on-time Jane (pity really). Of course I’d had no idea in advance about her appearance. Honestly, she was a total heart-stopper. This Jane woman was utterly gorgeous. I guessed her age at around twenty or twenty-one. She turned out to be twenty-nine! Talk about well preserved. What a stunner. What a figure. What a bottom. She was wearing a dark blue linen dress that hugged her wonderful curves. I desperately wanted the curves without the linen. As soon as I welcomed her into the house I wanted to rip the material off her. That had never happened to me before. It was a real effort to stop my libido from ruining everything, I needed to remember that I was there to stoke her libido up – my own would have to wait a bit.
We sat on the sofa together and since it was long after the sun had passed over the yardarm. I’ll bet some of you younger ones have no idea what the sun and yardarms have to do with anything. Just ask your mum. I made us a couple of stiffish gin & tonics. I outlined what I had in store for her – what did she think? She hesitated a bit, but said it sounded fine, but might it all just hurt so much that she’d be embarrassed, maybe have to call it off. I told her that would be a shame, as I wasn’t there to cause her to go beyond her limits and she could use safe words (standard stuff: green, amber and red) to have a degree of control over the session as we proceeded. And so, after making and drinking another couple of G & T’s we were ready to start…
To be continued – if you’re interested