It Started Back When

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

Well boys, let me see. It started back when Suzy and I were dating. We really hit it off, and by about the fourth, or maybe it was the fifth, date, we ended up at her apartment, snogging on the couch in front of a movie neither of us cared to watch.

Suzy’s roommate came back from working late, took one good look at us—we were into very heavy petting by that time—and told us to go get a room.

“Good idea,” Suzy said, stood, pulled me off the couch, and practically dragged me down the hall to her bedroom. Suzy had my right hand, and I struggled with my left to keep my pants up so her roommate would not see me in all my glory. I’m sure I gave her a good half-moon as I stumbled down the hall, tripping on the legs of my jeans.

“And keep it down!” her roommate called after us. “I have to work in the morning.”

I don’t know what she thought I had the power to keep down, at that point. There was a good chance I might have embarrassed myself in Suzy’s dainty fist out on the couch if she had not come home and threw us out of the room.

I knew I was in trouble when Suzy quickly stripped off her clothing and practically ripped me out of mine. This was the first time I had ever seen her naked, and boy, did I enjoy the view! But, like I said, I was in deep, deep trouble. If I entered Suzy now, I knew I wouldn’t last a minute. This was our first time together, and I did not want to disappoint her. I’m usually a fairly competent cocksman, but all that heavy petting had wound me up tighter than ever before.

I tried to slow things down while working to get Suzy ready. Suzy was not about to put up with any of my stalling tactics. She took firm hold of me, led me to the bed to flop onto her back and pull me down on top of her. She guided my entrance, and we were off to the races with no time wasted in the starting blocks.

My fears were well founded. Six pumps later (Suzy claimed it was only three.), despite all my struggles, all my efforts to name the starting players on the Chicago Cubs, how long they’d been with the team, and where they played before that, I exploded. Mightily!

“That’s it?!” Suzy screamed. Forgetting the admonishment of her roommate. “Did you really just… I can’t believe you… You’ll pay for that, buster.”

I had collapsed onto Suzy’s chest, exhausted and mortified, and completely unaware of the danger I was in.

I sensed Suzy reaching for something on her bedside table as her legs wrapped around mine, holding them in place. Suzy held my upper body to her by wrapping her left arm around me as she stretched out with her right. I thought she was trying to reach something on the top of the headboard. I was mistaken, which I soon realized, when her right arm came down with an arching slash to land her hairbrush on the back of my ass. My left cheek, to be precise.

Remember now, I had just attained the ultimate bliss that every young man seeks and is all too often denied. I realized I’d failed Suzy, but that sense of failure was mitigated profoundly by the success I’d achieved for myself. I figured I could always apologize and say something to inject some humor into the situation. But while I was figuring, Suzy had taken matters, and her hairbrush, into her own hands.

When that brush struck my ass, all the fires of hell erupted from my left cheek. I gasped, tried unsuccessfully to pull away from my date, and to exclaim… something, when Suzy’s brush impacted in similar fashion on my right cheek.

Now, I suppose I should have mentioned this earlier. For many folks—not me or you, but many—the name, Suzy, elicits the image of a cute little blond-haired, blue-eyed girl with a button nose. A petite, cheerleader type, with slender legs running up under a short skirt, and wearing a scoop-neck, tight-fitting top. That does not describe my Suzy. Oh, she was as pretty as any cheerleader you’d like to name, but petite did not apply to her. With our shoes off, Suzy comes within an inch of looking me in the eye. She’s a slender girl, but that came from working most of her life on her father’s farm. In an arm wrestle, I might’ve won, or I might not. I’ve never dared make the challenge. Hopefully, this description would make it clear to those who don’t know her why I did not escape from Suzy’s grasp, even under conditions of extreme motivation.

So, where was I? Ah yes, Suzy and her hairbrush. That wooden instrument from hell continued to rise and crash back down at a breakneck pace. I wanted to scream at the damage she rained upon my backside, but her first smack caught me during an exhale. The shock caused me to gasp, and, with Suzy performing a one-armed bear hug, I couldn’t find the breath to yell. She must have landed a good dozen before I managed to speak.

“Suzy, stop!” I said. “You’re hurting me!”

“Well, duh,” Suzy responded, continuing her attack. “You came with no thought for me. I’m just indicating my displeasure, so it won’t happen again.”

How she managed to say all that while her right arm continued to rise and slam back down with such force, I cannot imagine. In truth, I didn’t give it any thought at the time. My attention was totally focused on the flame raised by that hairbrush.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. You might realize that desperation was beginning to show in my speech patterns. “Really, really sorry!” I wasn’t thinking very clearly of anything but the pain induced by Suzy’s brush, but apparently I thought that a few sincere “reallys” would get my point across. She’d know I was sorry. She’d stop flaming my defenseless ass. Things did not go as I’d hoped. The paddling continued.

Not sure how many spanks it took (I say over a hundred, Suzy claims about a dozen.), but before long I was a snuffling, pleading wreck. I begged. I cried. Promises to do better, to never fail her again, flowed—in mostly incoherent sobs—from my heart and through my lips, long before she finally stopped.

Suzy panted heavily. I collapsed upon her. With a grunt, she rolled us over so that she was on top. I shrieked when my ass collided with the mattress.

“Oh, hush, you big baby,” Suzy said. “You’ll have my roommate in here, and I don’t guess you’d want her to see you like this.”

I regained control of myself, trying to arch my back to keep our combined weight off my ass. “No, I don’t guess I would,” I managed. “I am sorry about my performance,” I said, intent upon ending the evening on peaceful terms. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can do better the next time.”

“Perhaps,” Suzy said. “I’ll give you your chance. But know this, I’m keeping my brush in easy reach just in case. First,” she continued, “we need to complete the lesson for your earlier failure.”

Suzy rose up on her knees, straddling my body, and crawled up the bed until she knelt above my face. Then, she lowered herself—and the proof of my shortcoming—to rest upon my mouth.

Well, as I said at the beginning, that’s how it started. I never again failed my woman in the bedroom, but she still found many an opportunity, over the years, to take her hairbrush to my sorry ass.

Suzy came out on the porch and handed me a cold glass of lemonade. The old screen door slammed shut behind her.

“You out here telling lies to your sons-in-law? You old fart. Listen to me, boys. If he starts telling you about how I beat him the sixty-two years of our marriage once a day and twice on Sundays, just ignore him. Seems that’s all he remembers of the old days anymore. And I only really thrashed him the once. Every time after that was just love pats. Isn’t that right, husband?”

“Whatever you say, dear. Whatever you say.” I winked at the boys and took a long, slow pull from my glass.

END

Copyright © 2023 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.

Never miss a post: