SORE BOTTOMS by Veronica Beacher

copyright resides with author

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1. Spanking Ashley

     I suppose one could say I brought it on myself initially, the first spanking I had

suffered since childhood. I was, like many teenagers, quite upset at the end of my

parents' marriage, and not enough time passed between that and my mother's new

relationship with Brian.

     Worse, Brian was nothing like my father. My father was a little overweight, cuddly,

balding and gray haired. Brian was younger, and looked much younger. His hair was

still dark, and he had a firm jaw, a handsome, rangy face, and a tall, powerfully built body.

     All of which was quite intolerable to me. And my attitude towards him was far

less than what one could consider pleasant, never mind polite. That attitude, if

anything, got worse when, after far too brief a time, he moved in with us.

     I did my best to ignore him utterly, not speaking to him, conveying my disdain

through my aloof behaviour. When I was forced to speak with him I kept my tone

quite chill.

     But as time progressed my mother gave over to him more and more responsibility

for maintaining the house, and allowed him greater latitude and freedom in disciplining me.

     I found this quite unacceptable. I was, after all, old enough, I thought, to look

after myself, and needed no guidance or discipline, certainly not from the likes of him.

However, as my mother's work kept her late often while Brian's left him home even

more so, clashes between us arose more frequently.

     Often he would do such things as order me to my room, deny me what he liked

to call "privileges", such as television, my stereo, or my telephone. Sometimes he

ordered me to my room, or grounded me for what he called my impertinence.

     One morning in the summer I woke early, and slipped out of bed. I went to the

window to judge the weather, and almost at once saw him downstairs in our fenced-

in yard walking around the pool, apparently cleaning it with a scoop.

     What surprised me was that he appeared on first glance to be naked. I quickly

rushed to my closet and snatched up the binoculars which had long lain at the

bottom, then hurried back to the window.

     After bringing them to my eyes and focusing I saw that I was wrong. Brian was

wearing a thong style bikini bathing suit. I marvelled at his indiscretion, amazed that

a man like him would wear even a bikini bathing suit, much less a thong.

     But there it was, the flimsy garment wrapped around his very narrow hips, just

below his even narrower waist.

     Despite my intense dislike for him I could not but help admire his physical

features. Brian truly was a handsome man, and now, seeing him like this, I could only

wonder how he had come to be with my mother, who, though not unattractive,

hardly begins to compare with him.

     His shoulders were high and wide, his chest thick and muscular, the pectoral

muscles clearly outlined under his tanned skin. His arms bulged as he pulled and

pushed at the long-handled scoop, and even his stomach showed muscles beneath

as he bent over.

     And then there was the surprisingly large and suggestive bulge in the front of

his tight, skimpy bathing suit, a bulge that made my chest tighten perceptibly and

caused a small fluttering in my lower belly.

     His buttocks were as tanned as the rest of him, tight and firm, leading to

strong, muscular thighs and legs, and I felt a small fantasy flash through my mind of

such a hard body laying atop me, between my spread thighs, his cock pushing into

me with merciless force.

     As he turned I focussed in on his bulging crotch, wondering how large he was,

comparing him to the few guys' cocks I had seen. He seemed quite large, though it

was hard for me to compare as I was something of a novice to such things. The

guys' cocks I had seen had all been erect and in the fumbling, urgent darkness of

parked cars.

     I had not yet given up my virginity, though it was dearly sought after by many

guys. Some of them had gone to great lengths to pry it free from me, to excite or

impress me to the point where I would surrender myself to them. There were two

reasons why none had yet succeeded.

     The first was that I did not trust them. I was quite certain that the moment one

of them managed to take my cherry they would be on the phone to the news media

and screaming out a point by point, blow by blow description of everything they'd

seen, done and said.

     In other words, guys are terrible gossips and braggarts, and I did not want the

subject of my deflowering to make the rounds of the locker rooms, guys or girls.

     The second reason was that I had defeated many persistent efforts through the

fact that I had managed to become, mostly through reading, determination, and

practice on a banana, quite an expert in fellatio.

 rough my body.

     He let me up then and ordered me to my room. Eyes tearing, I cursed him and

     Yet still we argued bitterly, and in frustration and anger one day he told me

that what I really needed was to be taken across someone's lap and have my behind

tanned.

     Well, of course, the idea was ludicrous. I was eighteen years old, far too old

for that sort of thing, and I poured scorn and ridicule on hike nt sex. I was very, very curious

about it, and often fantasised about some beautiful stranger ravishing me for all I was

worth, making me climax repeatedly to his expert touch.

     Oh, I suppose in retrospect they were the fantasies of a silly young virginal

teenager, for none bore much resemblance to what in fact, eventually occurred.

     After that day when I saw Brian virtually naked my feelings towards him

underwent a subtle change. I still disliked him intensely, but I could not quite help

thinking of him occasionally in an erotic way, and could not help sometimes looking

at him admiringly.

     Yet still we argued bitterly, and in frustration and anger one day he told me

that what I really needed was to be taken across someone's lap and have my behind

tanned.

     Well, of course, the idea was ludicrous. I was eighteen years old, far too old

for that sort of thing, and I poured scorn and ridicule on him as a man who simply

had no concept of when a girl stopped being a baby, indeed, stopped being a girl, and

became a woman.

     "And when does she stop being a bitch?" he demanded to know.

     Only the very thin protection of my bikini panties and my short nightshirt lay

between his hand and my suddenly fiercely burning buttocks, and I kicked my legs

and shrieked as his hand descended again.

     "Bastard!" I raged. "Let me go! Stop it!"

     Again his hand slapped down against my behind, the sudden flash of intense

pain making me cry out and jerk violently. I writhed ke t-size:12.0pt;font-family: Arial">screamed as his hard hand cracked down on my behind.

     Only the very thin protection of my bikini panties and my short nightshirt lay

between his hand and my suddenly fiercely burning buttocks, and I kicked my legs

and shrieked as his hand descended again.

     "Bastard!" I raged. "Let me go! Stop it!"

     Again his hand slapped down against my behind, the sudden flash of intense

pain making me cry out and jerk violently. I writhed in his grasp, my legs flailing as

his hand came down yet again, then a final time, each blow sending stinging pain

ripping through my body.

     He let me up then and ordered me to my room. Eyes tearing, I cursed him and

raced up the stairs, slamming the door of my room and locking it.

     I moaned in pain, turning and flipping up my thin nightshirt, then lowering my

panties to see my reddened cheeks. They were still overheated, and the memory of

the sudden jagged pain each blow brought was quite fresh in my mind.

     "Let me go!" I squealed. "What are you doing!? Are you crazy! Stop!"

     To my shock and humiliation he undid my pants and then tugged them over my

rounded buttocks, taking my panties with them until I was bare to my knees. He left

them there, bunched up around my legs to keep them from kicking, then his open

hand came to rest on my wriggling behind.

     Through my humiliation I felt a sudden strange surge of liquid heat to my loins,

again, I retreated to my room, staring darkly out the window and brooding at the

unfairness of life.

     I tried to mend my behaviour somewhat around Brian, if only to prevent

another painful attack, but if anything, my resentment was even greater now, and it

was not long before we came to another screaming match.

     Again Brian grabbed me in his vice-like grip, yanking me after him as he moved

to a chair. I struggled desperately but ineffectually as he sat and yanked me across

his lap once again.

     I was dressed in jeans and a halter top this time, but if I thought the jeans

would serve as better protection I was to be sadly and outrageously disappointed.

     For as soon as he had me solidly across his lap Brian grabbed at my struggling

hands and pinned them together at the small of my back, then, holding them easily

in one big hand, he slipped the other hand around beneath me and undid the catch

of my jeans.

     "Obviously you didn't get the message last time, Ashley," he said in a stern

voice. "Patience is a virtue that is wasted on you."

     "Let me go!" I squealed. "What are you doing!? Are you crazy! Stop!"

     To my shock and humiliation he undid my pants and then tugged them over my

tears of pain and frustration and humiliation as I was so crudely beaten.

     But then, oddly, the pain began to fade. He did not ease the force of his blows,

but instead I think my behind was now so filled with heat, fairly radiating its burning

ache up into the air around me, that it shielded me from the sharpness of the new

pain.

     As a result his blows seemed almost inconsequential, and some of my defiance

returned. How dare he strike me like this! warned.

     His hand lifted from my buttocks, then slammed down again.

     Crack!

     The pain burned into me and I screamed as his hand struck my bare ass. My

legs kicked violently and I thrashed in his grip as my behind burned and sparkled.

     Crack! His hand came down again, and again the horrible pain ripped through

my system.

     Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

     Again and again his hand came down on my behind, and my cries turned to

tears of pain and frustration and humiliation as I was so crudely beaten.

     But then, oddly, the pain began to fade. He did not ease the force of his blows,

but instead I think my behind was now so filled with heat, fairly radiating its burning

ache up into the air around me, that it shielded me from the sharpness of the new

pain.

     As a result his blows seemed almost inconsequential, and some of my defiance

returned. How dare he strike me like this!?

     And my anger was raised also by the embarrassment of being practically naked

before him. I did not even want to think about the view he must have of my soft,

carefully trimmed pubic area peeking out between my quivering thighs.

     I felt a tight little dagger of sexual electricity at that, but sternly ignored it in

my hatred for him.

     "You think that hurts? It doesn't! I cried. "I don't care what you say or do!

You're not my father!"

     "You're damned right I'm not you're father," he replied, "Otherwise you would

have gotten this a long time ago, and every time you misbehaved!"

     I cursed him, then gasped as he redoubled his efforts. I could not help yelping

at the force of his new blows, and finally he stood me up, glaring up at me.

     I hurriedly jerked myself around for I was naked below the chest and my sex

quite obviously displayed. I yanked up my pants, called him another name, then raced

upstairs.

     There I examined my throbbing behind in the mirror, wincing every time I

touched it.

     "Bastard," I whispered.

     I looked at myself in the mirror, my pants down around my knees, wincing

anew as I saw the view he had seen when he'd stood me up. I turned my rear to the

mirror again and bent over, trying to position myself in such a way that I would see

myself as he had when I'd been across his lap.

     It was horribly apparent that he had seen me far more intimately than any other

man ever had, and I blushed in embarrassment.

     Yet there was something else there with it. Brian was, as I said, quite an

attractive man. That he had seen me like this made something inside me swirl and

quiver. Had he imagined doing more than spanking me, I wondered? I knew well that

I was quite attractive, knew that my rounded face was lovely, that my long, golden

blonde hair framed it nicely, that my soft blue eyes and small snub nose made men

smile and lick their lips in appreciation.

     And, of course, my body, most of which was quite lewdly displayed before

him, was lush and full, nicely rounded, with the soft firmness of youth. I'd seen many

older men looking at me in that way, the way that meant they were mentally

undressing me.

     Did Brian ever have fantasies of me, I wondered. Did he imagined taking me as

I lay helpless, pushing his big bulging erection into my virginal body?

     I had not really thought of spanking as in any way related to sex before, but

now I came to think of it at least partly in that way, especially when he was able to

stare so closely at the most private part of my anatomy.

     "Bastard," I murmured.

     I don't know why I bothered protesting to my mother, for the results were

predictable. She said I deserved it, and if I insisted on acting like a spoiled child then

Brian had every right to treat me thus.

     Brian took this as encouragement, and despite my efforts to not push him to

the point again where he would strip and spank me I found myself across his lap only

two days later, this time for a much more minor act of misbehaviour.

     Yet even before he yanked down my pants, the moment, in fact, his strong

hand closed around my slender wrist, I felt a strange surge of sexual interest within

me. I did not resist as he pulled me over his lap, and my mind was filled with the

image of him looking down at my nicely rounded teenaged bottom as he sat there.

     I gasped as he undid my pants, feeling that surge become a hot rush, for was

a handsome, powerful man not stripping me naked - or practically so?

     He yanked my pants down past my hips, then my panties, and I moaned and

squirmed, putting on at least the show of defiance even as I felt my juices beginning

to flow.

     I let my legs part somewhat, not far, for the pants bound them close, but

enough to be sure he had a perfect view of my tight pussy there between my thighs.

     I screamed as his hand cracked down across my buttocks, then yelled again,

squirming and twisting, my legs thrashing. Quite unconsciously I twisted enough that

my head began to ease further down towards the floor, and my behind to rise

upwards.

     He paused in his spanking long enough to grasp my leg, my thigh, up close

against my mound. I gasped as I felt the side of his hand press against my mound just

before he yanked me back up and repositioned me.

     I barely felt the next blow, and then, as the throbbing heat enveloped my

behind the pain faded, and I was left with the heat gripping my behind, and the new

and growing heat within me.

     I was helpless, utterly, and he could do...well, anything he wanted to me. I

groaned under each new blow, the force making my body jerk spastically.

     Then he stopped and lifted me to my feet again. I gasped and rubbed my

bottom, then squeaked, face scarlet as I yanked up my pants and rushed upstairs.

     There in my room I saw my behind as red as before, yet also found my mound

warm, my lips swollen and slick with my inner juices. I rubbed my finger along it,

gasping at the sensations it raised within me, and looked at myself in the mirror

again, wondering at what kind of a girl would become sexually aroused by being

spanked by her mother's boyfriend.

     The next time Brian spanked me I was wearing a jumpsuit, and nothing beneath

but a pair of panties. I...I would like to say this was coincidence but truthfully I think

I chose to provoke him while wearing it. I had been fantasising about him spanking

me for days after my last thrashing, and even though I hated the pain I...I wanted on

some level to experience the lewd exhibitionistic thrill of being practically naked in

front of him again.

     Only this time it was not "practically", for if he followed his past behaviour he

would yank the jumpsuit down around my knees, leaving me utterly bare to his eyes.

     And that was just what he did do. He was surprised when he found me not

wearing a bra or halter, but did not let that slow him. In quick order I was across his

lap, my full, bare breasts pressed hard against his left thigh as his hand came down

across my bare behind.

     This time he did not pin my wrists for some reason. Perhaps he too was

affected by what we were doing, and perhaps he wanted to provoke me as I was

him.

     In any event with my arms free I managed to claw my way almost off his lap,

to the point where I was practically free of him. Then he gripped me...and do you

know where? His big hand shot in between my thighs and grabbed me right between

the legs.

     I gasped in shock as his fingers closed around my sex. He grabbed my arm as

well and yanked me back up across his lap, only letting go when I was firmly in place.

     I was terribly embarrassed and terribly excited by this. And both were to rise

ever higher as he looked down at me and scowled in anger.

     "You filthy little slut," he said. "This isn't sweat on my hand!"

     And there I went scarlet as I realized that my moist pussy had become so

charged that my juices had oozed out and coated my mound in slickness. The palm

of his hand was now wet with it and he knew my shameful secret.

     "Do you like this?" he demanded. "Is this how you get excited, you filthy girl!?"

     With that his hand dove between my thighs and cupped my mound again,

squeezing hard, rhythmically. I gasped and struggled feebly as he grabbed my hair in

his other hand and forced my head back.

     "Is this what your boyfriends do to you?" he sneered. "Is that why your little

pussy is so hot and wet?"

     "No!" I screamed.

     Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

     I howled as his hand whacked against my behind. Then he squeezed my pussy

again, sneering at me as he told me what a nasty girl I was. And though I denied it

I knew he was right. I moaned and squirmed as the heat in my loins grew and grew,

as my belly churned violently with the force of the lust his grip was creating inside

me.

     He reached down and yanked my jumpsuit and panties right off then, again

readjusting me across his lap by gripping my crotch. This time he positioned me so

my head was under his arm, pressed against his side. My legs jerked and flailed, and

somehow wound up straddling just one of his legs as he opened them for balance.

     Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

     The spanking resumed, hard and fast, his hand making my aching buttocks

jiggle, but the pain shrouded in the fire already gripping my behind. I jerked and

struggled and moaned, but not from pain, for my crotch was continually jerking

against his strong, muscular leg, jamming down against it repeatedly as he spanked

me.

     I did not, of course, realize at that time that he was raising his leg in time to

his spanks, grinding it up into my hot, oozing little cunny. That was how innocent I

was.

     His hand continued to slap down on my behind but all my attention now was

on the roiling, swirling pleasure rippling up and down my spine. My pussy was on fire,

my clitty a hot, throbbing little button that kept spitting out fire as it was crushed

down against Brian's leg.

     Again my struggles twisted me to one side, and Brian reached down, catching

at my side, his fingers pressing in against the underside of one of my bare breasts.

     I moaned, my nipples digging into the side of his hip, and then I felt it, felt the

hardness at my abdomen, felt what I knew was his erection pushing against me

through his pants.

     My eyes got wide, and I felt a new rush of heat to my belly. I moaned and

spread my legs even more, jamming myself down on his thigh. Then I shuddered as

a powerful orgasm roared through my nervous system. My mind was blanked as my

body and skull reverberated to the powerful, echoing sensations of purest pleasure,

and it was all I could do to prevent myself from crying out in stunned delight.

     Shortly afterwards Brian ended his spanking and pushed me off his lap. I

tumbled to the floor and lay there naked, on my back, gasping in confusion for long

seconds as he looked down at me and feasted his eyes on my nubile body.

     Then I rolled over and crawled to my jumpsuit, stood on shaky legs, and

staggered out of the room.

     Well, naturally it was not long before my behaviour forced him to discipline me

again. I was almost breathless with excitement as I taunted and cursed him, and from

the way he looked at me I suspected he knew just what I was after.

     But this time when he gripped my wrist and stripped off my jumper it was not

to pull me across his lap. Instead, much to my astonishment, he dragged me to the

table, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a leather belt which had buckles at both

ends.

     "Since you seem to enjoy spanking so much, Ashley," he growled, "I have

decided to employ another form of punishment!"

     He quickly slipped one of the buckles around my right wrist, then buckled it

closed. I stared at it stupidly as he led me to a hard backed chair and forced me to

bend over the back.

     Then he pulled my hands forward and down, leading the strap under the seat

and up the other side, there to buckle around my other wrist.

     He then took too much small belts from the drawer and pushed my ankles

apart, strapping them to the back legs of the chair.

     The top of the chair's back dug into my abdomen uncomfortably, and my

behind was lewdly and, to me, excitedly pushed up and out at him. I knew the view

he had of me was utterly degrading, but quite complete. He stood there for a long

moment, and I squeezed down on my pussy muscles, feeling an intense sense of

eroticism as I tested the straps binding me and found them firm.

     He moved around to the side, and I became aware of my breasts hanging down

below my angled chest, my nipples outrageously erect.

     He gazed at me with a mixture of aloofness and smugness.

     "We'll see if you get excited by this, Ashley," he sneered.

     Then he moved behind me again, and I jerked my head from side to side, trying

to see behind me.

     I saw him draw out a short, thin strap, one without any buckles, and wondered

what else I had left to strap down.

     An instant later I realized that was not his intent.

     It laced across my upturned buttocks with surprising lightness. Certainly there

was not the heavy force of impact as when his hand struck me. But an instant later

a razor sharp stab of pain shot into my behind and tore through my body.

     I howled in pain, tearing violently at the bonds holding my ankles and wrists

in place, but he only laughed, and slashed the strap down against my behind again,

then again, then yet again as my cries gave way to sobs, then to outright bawling.

     The pain was terrible, awful, and I shuddered and shook as he continued to

lash my bare behind.

     Then, thankfully, just as with his hand, the tremendous heat his beating raised

in my buttocks acted as a hazy curtain to damp down and dull the sharpness of each

new blast of pain.

     It still stung, but not much, and after a couple of minutes I sagged in my

bonds, moaning as the sexual heat began to rise within me once again. I was not just

naked before him, you see, but in, well, in quite a sexual position, utterly naked,

and...and tied down, tied down like a helpless maiden awaiting ravishment.

     And as my breasts jiggled and the strap lashed down on my behind I imagined

the sensation of being used, imagined what it would feel like if he drove himself into

me, filled me with his hardness.

     He halted. "Are you ready to apologise for being such a filthy, disobedient little

tramp?" he demanded.

     "Faggot bastard!"

     It was a silly thing to say given he was sleeping with my mother, and given the

erection I had felt the other time, but...I wanted to insult him. "Stinking queer!

Pervert! Sicko!" I gasped. "You can't..."

     Tthwaaaack! The belt lashed across my behind again and I yelped in pain.

     "Faggot am I? Queer?"

     His hand cupped my sex and I was breathless, my mouth open, jaw trembling

as my eyes closed.

     "Am I? Do you really think so?"

     His hand squeezed rhythmically and I felt like a tire being inflated by every

squeeze, felt the pressure built up to TREMENDOUS levels!

     "You filthy little cock-hungry slut!" he snarled. "Do you think I don't know

what you want?"

     I heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper going down, and my chest locked

up tight in fear and hope, my body thrumming with wildfire sexual need as an eternity

of waiting fell upon me.

     Then I felt it, what had to be IT, soft, yet hard, rounded and warm, pushing in

against my sopping wet sex, rubbing over my opening, sliding along the furry little

mound, nudging at my aching pubic lips.

     "You're a nasty little girl!" he hissed, his voice ragged.

     I felt him push forward, felt the pressure mount against my pubic lips. I

groaned as they spread and gave way, as I felt his cock moving into me.

     "Oooh! OOhh! Oohh!" I gasped.

     "Slut! Foul mouthed, filthy little slut!"

     I groaned as my pussy lips continued to spread, feeling them straining as he

drove himself forward, as his hot cockhead pushed through the wet, slick folds of sex

within me, driving slowly forward down my tight sheath.

     "Noooo," I groaned, afraid he would stop.

     I felt his cockhead nudge my virginity, felt it push forward, then draw back.

     "Noooo," I groaned again.

     He thrust into me, and I cried out at a new stab of pain, my cherry giving way

before his stiff erection. His hand slapped down on my behind, then returned to my

hips as he slowly drove every last inch of his cock up into my heaving, quacking,

quivering belly.

     He pressed himself against my fiery, aching behind and then ground himself

against me, his hands sliding down my back and ribs, then underneath to cup my

heavy breasts.

     He began to move then, slowly stroking in and out, his hot, throbbing cock

caressing the tight, slick, tender flesh inside me as he pumped. I groaned helplessly,

gasping and quivering, caught between outrage and excitement as Brian continued

to use me, moving faster and faster.

     Soon he was slapping against my aching behind, though not with his hands,

his hips and pelvis making my red buttocks jiggle as he thrust himself furiously into

my moist, burning sex. My eyes closed and my breathing became more and more

difficult as my body was gripped by a ferocious sexual heat.

     Then I climaxed, crying out in helpless pleasure, tugging against the straps

holding me down, trembling and moaning as inside me a howling storm of wild,

sexual abandon swept through my body.

     Brian came soon after, pouring his juices down into my overheated belly, then

slowly withdrawing. He untied me, and I slowly stumbled back up to my room.

     My behaviour has improved since then, but Brian still needs to keep reminding

me of what I face if I relapse, bending me across his lap to give me a sound spanking

every Friday night.

     We haven't had sex since then, but it's always in the back of my mind. And

perhaps soon I'll decide to be extra bad again just to see what happen.