Naughty Spanking One Read online

  NAUGHTY SPANKING ONE

  A collection of twenty erotic stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2013

  ISBN 9781908917638

  Copyright © Xcite Books Ltd 2008

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

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  Rebound Guy

  by Sommer Marsden

  Perry is my rebound guy. He’s basically around to help me get over Scott. Not a problem. I can hang in for a bit. It’s good to have the company. The sex. A person to hang out with. I haven’t told him outright that he’s just a filler. I assume he knows. Six years of intense relationship does not disappear over night but a girl has needs. Perry is good in bed.

  I put the finishing touches on the outfit and steel myself for the evening. I love spending time with Perry but most of his friends make me want to chew my own wrists open. Tonight we are going to a party throw by Don and Diana. I hate them for many reasons but the foremost are their names. The double D thing. Also, they talk too fucking much.

  I am told the party is to celebrate some big event in their relationship. I couldn’t give a hoot about their relationship. Or them. However, an appearance at the shindig guarantees two things: really good liquor as they go for only the best and, most importantly, I will get laid.

  When I answer the doorbell, Perry does a quick scan of my ensemble and smiles.

  “Nice. I like the skirt. You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” I laugh. Even in heels I have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him. I am not short. At nearly six feet tall, Perry towers over me a good five or six inches. He is tall and big all over and I like that. I like that he makes me feel small whereas with most men I can stare them straight in the eye even while barefoot. “Now, about this party,” I say and light a cigarette.

  Perry frowns at my smoke. He doesn’t like it that I smoke. He really doesn’t like that I smoke around him. But, like I said, he is the rebound guy. He’ll just have to deal with it.

  “We don’t have to stay long, Erin,” he sighs in response to my unasked question. “And must you smoke around me? Really?” His green eyes turn a little grey with what I can only assume is frustration. Maybe anger. Whatever.

  “Sorry, I’m nervous,” I say and wave the smoke away from him as best I can. “I can assume that as usual I will be stuffed with jumbo shrimp and premium vodka and regaled with tales of love in the world of marriage?” I grin to make sure he knows I am joking. Kind of.

  “Probably. Now if you can crush that death stick out we can go on our way and get this over with.” He puts his big arm around me and guides me out of the apartment. He locks my door and takes my arm. I let him do all this because I like it when a man is in charge and even though he isn’t, I let him think he is for now.

  On the way to the car, I light another cigarette and listen to him let out a low growl. I smile at him as I pass through a puddle of light that spills from the street lamp. “Don’t you want to know what’s under my skirt?” I ask both to tease him and to make sure he knows that I fully intend getting fucked by him tonight.

  “Of course I do. But can I guess?” He unlocks the car, waits for me to crush out the smoke and sit. Then he shuts my door. Ever the gentleman. When he gets in the driver’s side he raises his eyebrows and waits.

  I notice how big his hands are on the steering wheel. I’ve never really noticed before. “Sure. Guess,” I whisper as I study his broad palms, long, thick fingers and square shiny fingernails.

  “Purple thong. The one with the little gold circle dead centre in the back. I love that triangle. I always try to see if I can fit the very tip of my tongue through the little hole.”

  I swallow hard and can hear a dry click in my throat. Will I even make it to the fucking party? I wonder. I shake my head like a dog shaking off water. “Nope. Try again.”

  He caresses the steering wheel and I think of his hands doing that to my skin. That and more. The soft sounds of his rough hands caressing my skin and then, in my mind, the sound of that huge hand delivering a first delicious blow on my ass cheek. I suck in a breath and he cocks his head and grins at me.

  “The white one. Same panties, different colour.”

  “Nope.” In my mind I can see his big fingers sliding into my pussy. Disappearing from view but doing secret magical things deep inside me where I can’t see them. I shift in the leather seat and it gives a seductive sigh as I move.

  “Hmm. Are they new? They must be. After a month, I am usually very good at this game.”

  I nod. He gets a point. “They are. They are new.”

  Perry moves his hand to my thigh and heat flows up my thigh into my chest straight to my throat. I can feel my chest blushing crimson the way it does when I get horny. A scarlet stain of desire that I refuse to be ashamed of. “Let’s see them,” he whispers and leans in to kiss the hot blush on my skin. Just so I know he sees it, I assume.

  I sigh and it sounds loud in the quiet of the closed car. “Okay, but then we go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can leave,” I say, exercising my control. I turn to the side and raise my ass. He lifts my skirt almost daintily. As if it is made of vintage lace instead of soft, faded denim.

  When he laughs, I smile out the window. He thinks it’s funny. I think it’s funny that he most likely assumes it’s a joke. Sex with Perry is good but vanilla. Hot but generic. I always come but none of my kinks show up to play. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t trust him yet or that I don’t trust myself. Perhaps I am not ready to bare all to someone else after a six-year relationship.

  He reads it aloud and I let him. “Spank Me. Nice. So, you want people to spank you, Erin?”

  “Only those who read my panties,” I joke but a shiver runs through me as I say it. In some small way I have let him in on a secret. One I doubt he had figured out. One part of me wants him to know and another part of me fears him knowing.

  “Ready?” Perry asks as he smoothes a big hand over my bottom. Then without waiting for my answer he starts the car.

  We are off to Don and Diana’s place. The excitement is overwhelming. OK, so I’m lying.

  I relinquish my coat and accept a vodka with a twist when we enter. The place is full of beautiful people in expensive clothes sipping booze that costs more than my rent. I sip too. I play along. I sink into the false security of being around people who have way more money than I can even dream of. That is fine. Money isn’t everything. When I feel overwhelmed, I imagine them going to bed every night in their satin pajamas and having sex in the missionary position. Not everything can be slapped with a price tag. When was the last time Don had spanked Diana until her cheeks were the colour of ripe summer cherries? How many times had she relished the hot welted skin of her bottom that proved that he owned her? How many times had she braced herself on hands and knees while he fucked her up the ass until she screamed? How many times had he given her twenty lashes with a whip? I had to smile just trying to imagine it. I would take my priceless orgasms over their pricey booze any day.

  I walk into the next room and hear Perry’s deep, comfortable voice. “Erin works for a rehab company.
She prepares resumés and assists on job searches for people who have been injured in their current occupations.” It sounds like he’s bragging but I realize how very boring it sounds. Yes, it sounds boring but it really isn’t. I smile at him and he smiles back.

  I finally get him alone and I sip my vodka and whisper, “So, this big thing in Don and Diana’s relationship … what is it? Renewing the vows? Baby? They learned to do it doggy style?” I ask and laugh. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  He doesn’t frown, though. He just brushes my long dark locks out of my face and kisses my nose. “No. They have switched over to an open marriage. This is a coming out party, so to speak.”

  I feel my mouth open and close. I feel my cheeks heat and my chest flush again. Don and Diana? An open marriage? It had to be a fucking joke. Those two? The straightest of straight, the plainest of vanilla. Perry is laughing and I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “Joking,” I say, “you are joking.” He must be. It is the only explanation.

  But Perry shakes his head and his almost black hair sways with the movement. I notice that here and there is a touch of silver. Just enough to make my new panties moist at the crotch. For the second time, I notice how very big and compelling his hands are.

  I glance into the corner and see Don kissing a blonde. She is not Diana. She is tall and willowy. The back of her red dress barely hides the swell of her ass. Barely contains her ass crack. I swallow and my heart beats an erratic drunken rhythm.

  “How about those panties?” Perry asks and I blink at him. I stare at him and wonder if somehow I got drunk and didn’t notice.

  “What?”

  “I think that would certainly liven things up, don’t you?” he asks and his hand when it touches my wrist is cold from holding his drink.

  “My panties?” I say dumbly, unable to process that this man that I have written off is now provoking my very own kinks.

  “Yes. Spank me. It says so right on them. White cotton bikinis, size medium according to the tag. It’s an invitation, or am I mistaken?”

  “What?” I sound stupid. I feel stupid. But my body is not and it is reacting to the information it is processing. My pussy has grown slick, my nipples have peaked and are attentive. My face feels like it is on fire and my breathing has gone shallow like I might pass out.

  “Everyone!” He is no longer addressing me. He is now addressing the room. My head goes light as my cunt goes tight. “I think we have a lovely way to celebrate Don and Diana’s new outlook on marriage. I have a special treat for you all!”

  Half sideshow barker, half Baptist minister, he addresses the small gathering. “Perry!” I hiss. “Perry!”

  He ignores me.

  Perry takes my hand and I follow. I follow blindly, mutely, dumbly. I follow because part of me craves this more than anything. He sits on a celery-coloured settee and pulls me down next to him. “I propose a sound thrashing for my lovely companion. Her name is Erin. We’ve been dating for about a month now. I am the rebound guy.”

  The crowd chuckles in unison. Some of them tsk with disapproval but Perry raises his palms to calm them. He nods and smiles as if to say, It’s okay, I understand. I feel my face grow hotter. Any hotter and I might lose consciousness. I bow my head both embarrassed and excited all at once.

  “No, no, don’t be that way,” he goes on. “Erin is wearing very special panties and I would like to share them … share her with all of you. For tonight. In honour of Don and Diana.”

  I could leave. I know it. I could get up, slap his face, walk out. I do not. I wait.

  Perry pats his lap and I stare for a moment. I breathe for several beats and weigh my options. The itching, creeping yearning is bigger than my pride and I hit the floor with my knees, bow my torso over his lap. I wait.

  “Very good, Erin,” he say slowly. “I wondered if you would or wouldn’t.” With that he flips up the back of my denim skirt and bares my white cotton panties with the hot pink words to the room. A low murmur sweeps through the gathering and he waits.

  Quiet descends and he hooks his fingers into my waistband and pulls my panties down. The air and the stares and the wonder are as palpable to my bare skin as his blows will be. “Lovely, isn’t she?” Perry says, addressing the crowd. “Are you up for ten?” he asks, now addressing me.

  My stomach flutters and my knees shake. I feel a slow slickness grow between my thighs, slipping down the insides of my legs like water. My cunt flickers and clutches and flits. I squirm a little on his knees and my nipples pinch under my silk bra. I nod, not trusting my voice.

  “I invite you all to count with me!” Perry barks and another murmur ripples through the room.

  The first blow lands and my head flies back. I want him to fuck me right then and there. If not him, someone. Any man in the room that comes with a cock attached will do. His big palm blazes a trail on my pale skin and I cry out in pain and in excitement.

  The blows rain down and with each the crowd gets louder. By the time they say five in unison, the sound of them hurts my ears. I see Diana in the corner. Her brown eyes wide, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. She is shifting in place. She is wet and horny and ready under her plain blue dress. I know because I have worn that look before. I, however, do not need to worry about decorum because I am writhing on Perry’s lap like a dog in heat.

  We are up to eight and when he smoothes his hands over my ass, his fingers brush the seam of my sex. Tease around my clit. Hint at slipping deep inside me and bringing me all the way up to the peak where I want to be. I bite my tongue and focus on breathing. Two more to go and then I can see where it is he wants to go.

  “Nine!” the crowd sings out in an overwhelmingly loud voice. I buck and squirm and wonder how red my ass is. How many welts I have. How my pussy looks, swollen and wet and bare to the men who are behind me. I wonder how many of them will masturbate or fuck their wives tonight picturing my tortured ass and my dripping cunt.

  “TEN!” The sound is like a summer storm that has been contained in a single room. A crack and roar made up of excited voices and sexual energy.

  I go limp on Perry’s lap. I let the tears fall even as I relish the searing heat on my skin and the echoes of that heat deep inside me where I am wet and ready.

  Perry bends and pulls up my panties, smoothes my skirt. Then he whispers, “Let’s go.”

  I nod. I rise. I stand tall and proud as if I have just delivered a speech. Not at all like a woman who has been spanked in front of a room full of near strangers. Both Don and Diana hug me and whisper, “thank you” in my ear.

  I might have been wrong about them.

  Out on the street, on the way to the car, Perry runs his hand over my ass. Even through the denim it stings. I wince but I grow wetter still under my panties. I want him. I want him to fuck me. With his fingers, with his cock, with his tongue. Whatever he wants, however he wants, I want it too.

  “I took a chance,” he laughs. He opens the car and kisses my nose. “I know I’m just the rebound guy.”

  His eyes are large and sincere. Only a hint of his authority shines through. It is a statement not a question. No self-pity, just a fact.

  I stare back. Remember the sting and the power and the control he has just wielded over me. I smile, let my hand sit on the thumping heat of my skin. I imagine what we will do when we get home. “Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” I say and slide onto the leather seat and let him shut the door.

  The Ice Queen Cometh

  by Astarte

  I knew it would end just as I had hoped. And from the slow, smouldering ‘Grace Kelly’ look that Marijka Bernstrøm gave me when I accepted her invitation to stay on with her in Nice, I knew that she knew that I knew!

  There had been an unspoken sexual chemistry between us from the moment her Nordic-blue eyes locked with mine over her office desk in Chelsea, when she hired me six months ago. I was to handle press and public relations for London’s ‘Ice Queen of Fashion’, as Vogue had dubbed this libera
ted blonde with stunning Scandinavian looks. This entailed promotion for her FeminaFashion label sold in High Street stores across the country, together with her exclusive Marijka label selling in her own London speciality boutiques for petite women like me, which she had recently opened in Knightsbridge and Mayfair. And, of course, I was to obtain as much media exposure as possible for the ‘Ice Queen’ herself, while filtering out the more lurid esoteric details of her exotic personal lifestyle as a Lipstick Dyke Domina that so fascinated the tabloid gossip-mongers and papparazzi.

  Marijka had joined me on a weekend location shoot on the Cote d’Azur where I had arranged to photograph a selection from her Boutique Collection for one of the fashion glossies against the colourful floral background of the celebrated Nice Carnival.

  It was an exhausting photo-shoot. I had to cope with fractious models and a fractious fashion editor, a missing crate of dresses, a bloody-minded cameraman and a temperamental Carnival organizer. By the time I had wrapped it up on Sunday night and packed crew and crate back to London, I was as tense as a whore in church, emotionally drained and near to tears.

  The ‘Ice Queen’, whose own pint-sized 5’ 1”, size 6 body, packing a 32D ‘pair’, does spectacular justice to the clothes she designs and wears with her celebrated and oft-photographed cool panache, had mercifully stayed aloof from these proceedings, allowing full rein to my overstretched organizational abilities. Now she stepped in with an invitation that was to change our lives.

  She gave me one of her smouldering ‘Grace Kelly’ looks that got me hot, discombobulated and wobbly-kneed.

  “You need therapeutic pampering after such a stressful weekend, my dear! Some disciplined massage, perhaps? You shall be my guest at the Hotel Negresco! I have booked us into their luxury Louis XIV suite for two nights and you can accompany me back to London on Wednesday’s evening flight.”

  She focused that look on me again, deadly as a laser beam.