Fun and games at a spanking party. By a new writer to us.
By Susan Kohler
Sherry admitted it openly. She was afraid of the cane. Deathly afraid. She was a long time attendee at spanking parties, who could take a lot of spanking, paddling, and strapping. She was open, even eager, to play with any of the toys her fellow spankos carried in their bags. She laughed to herself, she never carried all the stuff because everybody else did. Why bother?
Sherry dressed carefully for the party that night. She wanted to look good, but comfort was also a key, knowing that with any luck, her backside would be very sore by the end of the party. She intended to be very lucky indeed. After all, she was not only a bottom but she was a brat, an instigator. Someone once called her the best brat in the world.
She finished getting ready and took a last look in the mirror. Her soft brown hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, easily kept out of the way when she was being spanked, but loose enough to hang almost to the floor when she was over someone’s knees. Her make-up was light and waterproof, tear proof. She had on loose, comfortable black slacks, and a soft blue sweater, that came just to her waist, and dipped low in front to show off her fairly generous breasts. Her waist was small, and her buttocks curvy and well rounded. A great target, as she’d been told, smiling to herself. She gathered her keys and left the hotel room. Tonight, she thought, would be the start of a great weekend.
She walked into the party, confident and excited, greeting both friends and fiends as she moved around the room, working her way to a table where her closest friends were already seated. The DJ had the music turned up, 70s rock at the moment, and some people were dancing. There were already some spanking play in progress, both men and women handling paddles and straps on both male and female bottoms. Some with pants down, bare bottoms, right in the ballroom! Some of the waiting staff blushed as they served drinks, and some kept their eyes averted, but some looked interested, very interested.
Sherry only played lightly at the banquet; she knew where the real action would be, in the small parties in various hotel rooms later that night. This was for socializing, and dinner. She did watch a very handsome man, about ten years her senior, cane several women. He was tall, muscular, and had a great smile, with stern eyes and a cold voice. He caned very fast and very hard, each stroke whistling as it slashed through the air. Sherry shivered watching him. She was interested, but not romantically. She knew this man was married, happily, to a gorgeous woman who played very hard at the parties.
Before long, she joined her group of friends in the adjoining rooms two of them had, with the connecting doors open, giving them four queen-sized beds to play in. The tables held a spread of chips, veggies, and dips, along with plates of cookies and brownies. Soft drinks in a cooler, sat on the floor. There were a few beers in the cooler, but most party attendees did not drink while they played.
It looked great, but Sherry had no time to fully appreciate the spread, before she was ordered by a stern male voice to drop her pants and bend over the bed. In spite of her experience as a bottom, she felt that thread of nerves, anticipation, and even a touch of fear as she slowly complied. When she was in position, she felt her slacks being gently lowered. So it began. SMACK! His hand descended, hard and fast. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Although she was an eager bottom, it hurt! He lowered her panties, and began to spank her, even faster and harder. She squirmed and whimpered as his hand kept landing on one cheek then the other, or worse, much worse, on the crack in between. SMACK! Wow! When he finished spanking her he hugged her gently.
“Thanks, Mark.” She snuggled against him. “That was wonderful.”
She grabbed a cookie and poured herself a coke, which she barely got to sip before she was ordered over the bed, bottom bare, waiting nervously and anticipating what was to come. It was not a long wait. WHACK! It was a wooden paddle, swung very hard that landed on her butt. She yelped a bit but held her position, and smiled to herself, cuddling deeper into the mattress. WHACK! Even harder. Then the blows came faster. WHACK! Soon she realized there were two paddles being used, one on each cheek. She looked back and saw two of her favorite male friends, having a contest of some sort on her butt. WHACK! They seemed to be racing to find out who could paddle her faster and harder. The pain was intense and wonderful. Her backside was on fire, and darn it, it hurt! WHACK!
They shifted to straps, keeping up the intensity. Before long another girl was laying on the bed beside her. She was getting the strap, too. The radio played a song right at that moment that cracked Sherry and the other bottom up, in spite of the straps smacking their bottoms with real fierceness. SMACK!
“Hit me, baby, one more time.” Sherry sang along.
For some strange reason, her two tops and the one strapping her bed-mate seemed to think that was disrespectful. Go figure. After one more particularly harsh SMACK! The strapping stopped.
“You don’t like that song?” Sherry asked, a picture of innocence with a bright red butt.
No one answered her. She knew something was coming. Sherry gathered her breath, then felt the sensation of lotion being spread over her backside. Lotion was a comfort after a spanking, but during? It made it sting more. Back to the paddle. Hard and fast. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! until the paddle broke.
“You broke my favorite paddle!” Neil said. “Now you will really pay!”
“How is it my fault?” She wailed; she knew what response was required, and even more she really meant it.
“How could I resist spanking you so hard?” He said firmly. “You’re being such a brat with a great butt is your fault.”
Neil found a heavier paddle with holes drilled into it. He showed it to her before he began to apply it with force. The holes made it worse so that what followed was heaven, and hell. Until it stopped again.
The next thing she felt was, OMG, a feather tickling her! The sensation, on her red butt was indescribable! Not painful, but insane. She screamed, something the whole spanking had not made her do. She had squirmed a bit before but now it was much more difficult to remain in position and the screams were much louder than her whimpers had been. She was almost relieved when he put down the feather and picked up the strap again.
To one side, she saw the man from the banquet, the one who only used canes, set up a padded bench. He did not usually come to room parties, so she was surprised to see him. Spankings stopped as everyone watched when he pulled a young woman over and began to cane her. Hard fast strokes, but with her pants up.
‘Why?’ Sherry wondered, they always did caning on the bare.
Even as her strapping continued, and her brain froze over the state of her own behind, she watched, intrigued, but hiding her interest or she could be punished for not paying attention to her own spanking, a deadly insult to the men spanking her. She watched discreetly, as the man caned the woman; twelve strokes each punctuated by a sharp scream.
Then, finally, he lowered the woman’s jeans and panties, revealing a well caned bottom with twelve bright welts from the cane, almost perfectly spaced across her bottom, Sherry was amazed at the accuracy, and strength, to leave cane marks so red and perfect through a pair of jeans. She shivered, dread and intrigue blending in her mind.
Sherry shivered with shock as she realized Doug, one of her spankers, had put on a vampire glove. The glove had dozens of tiny spikes on the palm. It was not used for spanking, the spikes would draw blood from dozens of tiny pricks, so the glove was used to stroke a red bottom with slow and infinite care causing shivers and almost convulsions with the sensations. She screamed long and loud, and uncontrollably.
Finally, she got to rest and snack on some munchies and have another coke. Her bottom was sore as she sat in a chair, but she was relaxed. Yet, there was something stirring inside her. A question. Did she dare? She knew if she did what she was thinking of doing, there would be no way out. No mercy, and her fear was real. So was her curiosity.
In the way of spanking parties, good ones, her respite did not last long. Soon she was over a knee being smacked by Fred. It was not a harsh spanking. Fred was an older man who loved scolding, and corner time for bad girls, more than harsh spankings, although in her state, it was still effective. She knew he would give her corner time.
Her mind made up, her plan formed, she relaxed into the spanking. Most of the people in the room heard her moans and gasps of protest, but many knew it was part of the scene. She felt the spankings, and they hurt, but with her history, she could take these tremendous spanks silently if she wanted to, but what was the fun in that?
Fred finished spanking her and ordered her to the corner.
“Now you bad, bad girl, get in that corner and think about how nasty you are.” He said, very sternly. “And leave your panties down, a bad girl like you does not deserve modesty.”
She quickly went into the corner, standing with her hands interlaced behind her head, seeming mild and compliant. It was a sham. She had palmed something on her way into the corner. She gathered her nerve and committed one of the greatest sins a spankee could, one of her brattiest stunts ever. She turned and sprayed the room with silly string, hitting the caning man with most of it.
His response was instant, the effects were long lasting. Very long lasting. She was pulled over the caning bench without a word, but she could see the fury in his face and the gleam in his eyes.
She waited, silent, until she heard him say one word, one harsh word, “Twenty.”
Almost against her will, she started to straighten up, but she found her hands grasped and then tied to the bench. Now the orders came.
“You will ask me to cane you, calling me Master.” He said sternly. “With each stroke, you will count, thank me and ask for another. If you fail, the stroke will not count and will be repeated. You may wiggle and scream but you will not swear. If you do, the stroke with not count and will be repeated. When your whipping is done you will have corner time, and this time you will serve it without any pranks. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice trembled.
“And next Saturday, you will be ready for a second caning at your home.” The voice was implacable.
“What?” she shrieked.
“I am being merciful. You are too bruised for me to give you what you really deserve here and now. I will give you a week to heal and repeat the caning. Now ask.”
Sherry’s voice was soft as she asked: “Please cane me, Master. I have been very bad.”
With a whistling sound, the blow landed. SLASH! The pain was terrible.
“One, thank you, Master. May I have another?”
“Two. Thank you, Master, may I have another?” she struggled futilely against the ties holding her hands in place.
“Oh god! Three, thank you Master, may I have another?”
She almost lost her mind. “Son of a-! Four, thank you Master, may I have another?”
Barely aware, she heard someone whisper: “Good save.” And a giggle.
And it continued, SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! She could hardly get the required words out. SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! This time she failed, and the stroke did not count. The others in the room were amazed. Sherry was known to be fearless, and able to stand real harsh punishment, but now she was crying in pain. SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! The strokes were covering her backside now and he moved down to her thighs. SLASH! SLASH! As he got to the end he used an uppercut to slice at the tender juncture of her thighs and buttocks. SLASH!
“Nineteen.” She whispered. “Master, may I have another?”
She barely heard the whistle, SLASH!
“Twenty. Thank you, Master, may I have another?”
“Well, if you really want more?” He began, then he grinned as she went pale. “No more for you, brat. It’s corner time.”
As she walked to the corner, her legs shook, but when she heard what he said next, they almost gave out completely.
“See you next week.”
She turned her head and saw the happy grin on his face.
© Susan Kohler 2019