Spanking Fantasy Revealed

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

Mary and I were at the home of Tim and Mavis Summerfield for a celebration of Tim’s promotion to Vice President of Marketing at the tech company we both served.  Tim and I are acquaintances, but I’m just a supervisor on the factory floor, so our paths rarely cross.  Mary and Mavis, however, have become fast friends since we moved into this housing development eight years ago.

Tim is one of those guys who could sell designer sand to an Arab sheik, and he has a personality that radiates comradeship.  If you were stuck in an elevator with him for twenty minutes, he’d come out knowing everything there is to know about your wife, your kids, your dog and your maiden aunt Gertrude, how much you have in your bank account, and whether you sleep on your left side or your right.  You would come out believing that you just met the friend you’d been looking for all your life.  And, hard as it might be to believe, you might very well be right.  There is nothing at all phony about Tim Summerfield.

This celebration was not fancy—Tim did burgers and dogs on his barbecue—but it was very festive.  There were eight couples, all about our age and most within walking distance of the Summerfield home.  Tim tapped a pony keg and there was wine and hard stuff for the asking.  I stuck to beer, and Mary to only two glasses of red wine, but Tim seemed to always have a glass half full of something potent.  And from moment to moment, it was not just the same glass.  He was really cutting loose.  Mavis had stopped drinking and clearly was not happy about her husband’s over-indulgence.  We saw her whispering into Tim’s ear several times as the evening progressed.  Each time, he laughed, nodded and grinned at Mavis.  Twenty minutes later, his glass would be back in his hand.

Tim turned on the lights covering the patio as the sun went behind the distant hills, but it was early November and the Indian Summer temperatures we’d been enjoying dropped with the fading of a glorious sunset.  A cold breeze was developing, and we all gathered paper plates and anything else that might fly away and moved the party indoors.  Tim tried to be helpful, but he was having a hard time navigating his way through the door into the house.

Finally, Mavis’ patience seemed to reach its limit. She grabbed Tim by the wrist and, without a word, hauled him upstairs and down the hall to their bedroom.  We all heard the door shut, firmly.  I looked at Mary, thinking that perhaps we should take the hint and leave, but she was reluctant to walk out without having the chance to thank Tim and Mavis and say goodbye.  Two other couples left, but the rest of us sort of congregated around the dessert tray and sampled the treats we’d each brought for the celebration.  Mary makes the best carrot cake ever, and there was a lemon square contributed by a couple I did not know that was sensational.

It must have been a good ten minutes before Mavis came back down the stairs.  Tim was not with her.  The party was over without the primary celebrant, and we all made our goodbyes over the next fifteen minutes.  Mavis was still a most gracious hostess, but she looked tired to me.  The festive spirit had dwindled.

Mary and Mavis hugged, I asked Mavis to pass my thanks and congratulations on to her husband, and we departed out the front door.  When we reached the sidewalk and turned towards our house a block away, I said, “Well, that was a fun evening.  Ended a little strangely though, don’t you think?  I wonder what Mavis had to say to Tim when she dragged him up to their bedroom.  I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, she did not look happy.”

“I doubt there were many words exchanged,” Mary said.  “Mavis was probably done trying to counsel her hubby well before she led him up the stairs.”

“You may be right, but there must have been some pointed conversation taking place.  Mavis was up there with Tim for a good ten minutes.”

“My guess would be that Mavis let her paddle do the talking,” Mary said, “and it must have been a very thorough discussion to take that long.”

I stopped and Mary proceeded two more steps before halting and looking back at me.  “You mean you think Mavis spanked Tim?” I said.

“Yes.  I understand it wouldn’t be the first time.  Now come on.  This breeze is chilly, and I didn’t think to bring a jacket.”

I started walking again, thinking over what Mary just revealed.  “Lucky guy,” I muttered, not intending to be heard.

“What, dear?” Mary asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“I thought you said something like Tim was a ‘lucky guy,’ or was I hearing things?”

Damn, I thought, didn’t mean to let that pass my lips.  Must have had more from that keg than I realized.  “Yeah, that’s what I said.  It was just a little silliness brought on by excessive participation in the festivities.”

We were almost home, and the conversation ended until we stepped inside where it was much warmer.

“I’m about froze,” Mary said.  “I’m going to make myself some hot chocolate.  You interested.”

“Sounds great,” I said, rubbing my hands together to get the blood flowing into my frosty fingers.  I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove.

“So, tell me,” she said, “what did you mean when you said Tim was lucky to be spanked by Mavis?  I would think it would be just the opposite.”

“Oh, it was just a random thought.  I’m sure you’re right.”

Mary turned from the stove and looked at me, a quizzical expression with one eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, really,” I tried again.  “It’s just that getting put over a woman’s knee for a spanking is a fantasy that many men share.”  I stood there, not believing what I had just revealed.  Surely, I didn’t have that much to drink.  I told Mary the truth, and it was a truth hidden in the back of my brain for most of my life… since puberty, or even earlier.

Mary took in what I said, then asked, “And you?  Is this a fantasy of yours you’ve kept hidden from me?”  She’d gone from quizzical to teasing.  “Have you been secretly fantasizing about the spankings your mother or your babysitter gave you when you were a naughty little boy?  Did they pull down your pants, stretch you over their lap and smack your little, bare bottom?  Hmm?”  She ended with a grin and the other eyebrow up.  (Mary is naturally left-handed, but ambidextrous when it comes to eyebrows.)

I laughed at her performance, then said, “No, nothing like that.  I was never spanked as a child.  For one thing, I was a little angel growing up, never the least bit naughty.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And for another,” I continued, “my mother believed in time-outs and extra chores.  On reflection, I did an awful lot of chores in those days.”

“I bet you did.  But back to this spanking fetish you never mentioned.  Isn’t that cause enough for me to take you over my knee?”  Mary took her largest wooden spoon out of the jar on the counter and waived it at me playfully.

“Well, not if you’re going to use that on me, it isn’t.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all in fun.  I think I might enjoy having you over my knee for a little domestic discipline.  Why don’t we get you out of those cold clothes?” she said, unbuttoning my shirt.  I took a step back, but she grabbed the lapels, pulled me close and kissed me while continuing the disrobing.

After she pulled my shirttail from my pants, she used both hands to lift it off my shoulders and slide it down my arms, forcing my hands behind me in the process.  She used the fabric to tie a loose knot about my wrists.  I could have easily shrugged out of it, but was too busy nibbling on her ear.

Mary leaned back and unclasped my belt.  I leaned forward to let my lips travel down her body to her breast, which I tried to nibble through her sweater and bra.  She was bent over backward so she could reach my fly with me leaning so far toward her, but she managed my zipper and let my pants fall to my ankles.

“That’s enough of that, young man,” Mary mock scolded as she stepped back and pulled a kitchen chair away from the table.  “I was not at all pleased with your disgraceful conduct at my friend’s party, and now you are going to pay the price over my knee.”

Mary sat, moved me around next to her and pulled me down over her lap.  I had to struggle to not pull a hand free to break my fall, but we managed and my nose did not quite hit the floor.  Mary used both hands to position my ass where she wanted it, then smoothed my boxers, adjusting the hem so they lay just right.  Satisfied, she applied a tentative swat to my bottom.

“Uh, ow,” I protested, “not so hard,” and we both laughed.

“Oh, you don’t know what hard is, naughty boy,” Mary said and gave me another, firmer swat—still all in fun.

“Ouch, owwy, ow,” I exclaimed.

Mary applied a dozen light spanks to my ass through my boxers, then paused to rub them in.  “I don’t think your Aunt Zelda would have settled for some light pats to your undies, would she?  Rise up.”  I arched my back to lift off of her lap a little.  Not an easy thing when your hands are “securely tied” behind your back, but we managed and Mary slid my boxers down past my knees.  “There, that’s much better,” she said, massaging my naked cheeks.

Funny she should mention Aunt Zelda.  She was an old lady when I was still a young boy.  We didn’t visit her often, but I remember her as white-haired and feeble.  I think she was on oxygen much of the time.  She was a little gruff, as I recall, but it’s hard to imagine her having the strength to take anyone over her knee for a spanking.  I don’t now remember ever mentioning Zelda to Mary, and if I did, it was not in the context of corporal punishment.

Satisfied with my now bare-assed condition, Mary resumed landing playful swats.  “Oh yes, this is more like it,” she said.  “I can see your skin turn pink with each spank.  Shall I turn your ass bright red?”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” I said.

“Oh, I think it is.”  Mary delivered a much harder spank.  I think we were both surprised by the sound of that SMACK! echoing off the kitchen walls.  After a moment, Mary giggled and said, “Now that was fun.  Let’s do a few more of those.”  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“Hey, ease up back there,” I protested.

“Oh no, naughty boy, you don’t get to decide how I spank you,” she said, continuing to land some pretty respectable slaps.  After a dozen of these, Mary forced her hand down between my legs and took hold of my cock.  To our mutual surprise, I was about half hard.  I hadn’t noticed it growing; my attention was all on my backside, not the front.

“What have we here?” Mary said, gripping my dick and stroking up and down a few times.  “It looks to me like somebody likes being spanked.  You really are a naughty boy, aren’t you?  You should have told me about this interest of yours years ago.  Think of all the fun we could have had if I had known.  Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

Mary stopped stroking my front side and went back to smacking my ass.  She was spanking harder now, and I started twisting my hips and raising my feet off the floor.  I wasn’t trying to get away, exactly.  I did not pull my hands free from their pretend confinement.  But Mary’s attentions were accumulating into the beginnings of a conflagration.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said.  “Your naughty bottom is finally turning a delightful shade of red.”

Mary continued to spank me for another couple of minutes.  It was seeming to me more and more like a real discipline spanking.  Truth be told, however, I was getting off on it.  I don’t think fantasies ever translate well into reality.  The brain doesn’t really work that way.  But by surrendering into the scene and picturing how I must look—mostly naked, draped over my lover’s lap—it embarrassed me but it also turned me on.

“I never realized how much work it is to spank a deserving bottom,” Mary complained.  She shook her hand and said, “And I think this is hurting me as much as it is you.”

I doubted that very much, but did not intend to argue the point in my vulnerable position.

“Fortunately, my trusty wooden spoon is right here handy.”  I felt her stretch to pick the spoon up off the table.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I protested.

In response, Mary grasped my shirt and twisted it so it tightened around my wrists, tying my hands behind my back in earnest.  “Don’t go anywhere, lover,” she said, “we’re not done yet.  Fantasies are all well and good, but a taste of reality now and then is a good thing too.  Thinking on it, I’m a bit irritated that you never told me about this deep, dark secret.  So, let’s just see how a real spanking stands up to your imagining.”

Mary lifted the spoon high and brought it down with a resounding WHAP!!  A spoon-shaped oval white spot appeared on my left cheek that quickly changed to a deep red.  “That’s the ticket,” Mary said.  I, on the other hand, said, “Ouch!  That hurts.”  My comment was completely ignored as Mary delivered a good dozen very hard spanks with that damned oversized spoon.

My loving wife put the wooden spoon back on the table and gently massaged my wounded ass.  “There.  What do you think?  Was that an adequate first spanking?”

“Damn!” I said.  “You went a little overboard with that blasted spoon, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think so.  Shall we do a little further experimenting with my spoon so we can agree on what a serious spanking is really like?”

“No, no, I’ll trust your judgement, dear.”

“Because unlike my hand, my trusty spoon can take and deliver a lot more punishment to your deserving little bottom.”  Mary punctuated this sentence with a solid hand spank.  Apparently, her hand was recovered from its earlier trauma.  “Perhaps I should ask Mavis where she bought her paddle.”

Mary reached down between my legs to check on the state of my member.  “Oh dear, Chuck has gone into hiding.  I must have scared the poor little guy with my spoon.  Oh no, here he comes,” she laughed as my member grew in her hand.

“Get up,” she ordered, loosening the twist in my shirt and pulling it off my wrists to drape across a nearby chair.

I struggled to my feet and rubbed my bottom, lightly, with my hands.

“I think we should move this party to the bedroom.  That was fun, and we will definitely do it again, but we’ve catered to your fantasies long enough.  It’s time to explore a few of mine.  Step out of your pants, you won’t be needing them.”

I stepped out of my shoes and pants, leaving them on the floor of the kitchen.  Mary stripped as she walked down the hall, leaving a trail of clothing for me to follow.

It was a long and enjoyable night.  As it happens, the heat in my backside transferred nicely to my frontside, much to the satisfaction of us both.  We never did get around to the hot chocolate.

END

Copyright © 2020 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.