A Brief Encounter With My Spanking Girlfriend – Part 1

She Wrote:

• It is Friday morning, 6am, and I am lying on my back, in bed, alone. My hands are flat on my belly with the tips of my fingers resting in the top curls of my pubic hair.
• I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm but it certainly hasn’t been this week; which is quite surprising given the unique circumstances, but then I’ve occasionally suffered from such over stimulation that the technical definition of orgasm has proved impossible. Now of course, you’ve ordered me to pleasure myself and I already know that when you give an order in that tone of voice it has to be followed. I’m not quite sure you believed me when I said I had found our two sessions so overwhelmingly orgasmic that nothing else was necessary, but it’s true.
• And so, as my fingers drift south, I search for the memory of how this whole thing began.
  We’ve had an adhoc online conversation for over a year now, dipping in and out with longish gaps. The serious flirtation started sometime around the New Year. You seem to be under the impression you weren’t flirting, but you bloody well were! I made the proposition though, so you are innocent to an extent (hah – a less innocent man it would be hard to find!).

You were charm personified, but then throughout this whole period you’ve known exactly how to handle me, haven’t you? You called me to discuss my proposition of a one off play session in a hotel in London, where I was spending two nights on a training course. Like me you were also in the middle of a drought. The rapport was instant and now I smile to myself thinking of that old saying “You had me at ‘hello’”, well you had me at “You’re very easy to talk to.” So unused was I to anyone saying anything nice to me that my heart gave a little flip there and then. You don’t know it, but I was yours at that point, there was no doubt in my mind.

The only problem was, my trip to London from Glasgow was two months away, so how did we conduct ourselves for the intervening eight weeks?

Well you know the answer to that, don’t you? What did you call it? Oh yes, ‘distance learning’. I rather cheekily told you that I’d checked the Open University prospectus and BDSM wasn’t listed as an academic subject. You laughed and told me I’d be punished for that remark. My thighs closed together tightly.

• They are quite slack now though and my index finger is dipping towards my clitoris and circling it slowly. I’m drenched just thinking about you.

My thoughts return to the first time you disciplined me remotely. We hadn’t discussed it in advance, I hadn’t given you permission but I doubt you felt you needed it. My technique has always been a little ladylike impertinence and you seemed to find that amusing until I overstepped the mark. You’d never been to Scotland and wanted to know if we could get the BBC, I told you we could, but only in black and white. Me, being me of course, I had to gild the lily by adding, ‘and only when the wind is in the right direction.’ That’s when you realised I was taking the piss out of you. And that was my first experience of your voice changing. In that one instant my whole world shifted.

“Do you own a hairbrush Cherie?”

“Yes.” I replied, knowing exactly where this was leading and already regretting my cheek.

“Yes what?”

My breath was shallow at the end of the line, and for the first time I addressed you as ‘Sir’.

“Describe your hairbrush?”

Luckily (do I really mean ‘luckily’?) it was the sort of large flat backed wooden brush, almost specifically designed for use on a naughty girl’s backside.

You made me go and fetch it from the bathroom, lie on my side on the bed and apply it to myself. Your instructions were very clear as to number and severity and what would happen if you weren’t satisfied with the smacks you could hear. Of course I was a willing participant, except I wasn’t! I had no choice; your use of language, your tone, using my first name (no one ever does that!) made me obedient to you from the off. I had never experienced anything like it. The physical effect on me was profound, I was dripping wet and completely compliant, it never once crossed my mind not to obey or to try and fake the smacks.

When you were appeased you warned me what would happen the next time I ‘yanked your chain’.

I was also instructed to purchase a larger, sturdier hairbrush.

The next morning I arrived in work to the most beguiling email from you. Just the right tone, complimentary (I’m not used to compliments), promising more and reassuring all at the same time. I was hooked and incredibly frustrated at how long it was going to be before we would meet.

• My finger is still circling and stroking my clitoris. My body is beginning to arch under its ministrations.

Our conversations became more frequent until we were speaking for at least an hour a night. It wasn’t all remote discipline, we got to know each other well. We had a laugh, and each time you did discipline me, while I was applying the strokes myself, it was always subject to your will; you made that very clear. When I wanted to be disciplined I quickly knew to send you a cheeky email, teasing you and provoking you to action.

The night you had me on all fours, having whacked myself dozens of times on each cheek, and you demanded that I repeat each stroke you couldn’t hear properly, was truly delicious, even though I was bruised the next day. You sent me an email to make sure I wasn’t sitting comfortably.

• I now have several fingers inside myself, the soles of my feet are pressed together and I continue to gently stimulate myself at your command.

We were both torn between wanting to discuss what we would get up to when we eventually met, and destroying the spontaneity of the encounter.

I think you tuned in quite quickly to my feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. You found that surprising, didn’t you? I have a veneer of confidence in everyday life, but then in the normal course of events I don’t meet strangers in hotel rooms and allow them to spank and cane me. And that’s what you were going to do. I think the only time you were truly impatient with me was when, for the third or fourth time, I told you it would be okay for you to back out on the night if you didn’t like what you saw. Your silence told me I’d made a mistake. Then you told me in no uncertain terms that you weren’t that shallow and you really would spank me very hard indeed if I mentioned it again. I promised you I’d shut up about it.

As the weeks passed I began to look forward to your phone calls and they quickly became an integral part of my life. Initially we agreed, you’d travel to London on the first night only, this quickly turned into you staying the night. I didn’t dare broach whether you’d return on the second night, I didn’t have the confidence that you’d even stay past the initial meeting in the hotel bar! Not that I dared to mention it. It would be true to tell you that I was veering wildly between all encompassing excitement and fear that you’d turn on your heel and leave as soon as you met me. You see, those feelings of inadequacy run very deep and they’re still there.

As the appointed day approached I began to regret my boldness in sending you that initial email. But you were lovely, after all you had a lot of experience at calming down silly subs and by this stage the slightest change in the intonation of your voice could have me instantly submissive and compliant to your orders.

The plan was that I’d arrive at the hotel well before you, have time to shower and dress according to your instructions and then wait for you to arrive in the bar. We would both do our instinctive check, run over the safe word and then if I wanted to proceed I’d ask you to go and fetch your bags from the car.

Oh the best laid plans of mice and men!

Of course Flybe did their usual thing and my flight was delayed by over two hours. You offered to come out to Heathrow and pick me up, I agreed with alacrity. When we’d made these arrangements I immediately threw a wobbler inside my own head. I wanted to meet you when I’d had time to prepare, I was currently wearing jeans, trainers and an effing sports bra. All my ‘proper’ clothes were inside my hold luggage, I hadn’t straightened my hair or even brushed my teeth.

‘Oh well’ I thought ‘At least he’s going to see me, warts and all’.

You’d told me that your public demeanour would be ’cordial’ so when you hugged me in the arrivals hall I was relieved beyond belief.

I couldn’t say I was relaxed in the car on the way into the city, twisting my hands in my lap, I couldn’t unbend. You were concentrating on unfamiliar roads but even so you found room to ask what you could do to help me calm down. I think my crass reply of ‘Absolutely nothing’ didn’t help much!

The conversation that had flowed so freely for eight weeks had dried up. I could only think of banal comments and was determined I was not going to mention the weather. I didn’t seem able to unclasp my hands.

You parked the car, I checked in and then we were in the bar facing each other over a drink. I had to calm down or this wasn’t going to work. You were all gentle concern, asking soothing questions and eventually I began to become more at peace.

As I reached the end of my drink you took charge, “You’ll want time to get ready?”

I nodded and you smiled, “Well, I’ll get another drink and then come up and join you. That’s okay isn’t it Cherie?” For the first time you gave me the look and I knew the appropriate response,

“Yes, Sir.”

You inclined your head towards me, “Off you go then.”

My legs were not entirely steady as I left the bar, I wondered if you were watching my disappearing backside and pondering what you’d be doing to it very soon indeed.

I knew I didn’t have long, no time for a shower, I plugged my hair straighteners in, flung my clothes out of my bag onto the bed, stripped and began to dress again as quickly as possible. Your instructions had been precise and I knew I had to get this right. I wouldn’t be getting a second chance.

I had just about finished to some degree of satisfaction when you knocked on the door. I opened it, an overwhelming feeling of shyness descending on me.

You didn’t take your eyes off me, only adding to my reticence. Placing your hands on my shoulders you forced me to look at you even though you hadn’t said a word. You seemed to be drinking me in, deliberately wrong footing me by remaining silent.

Eventually you broke contact and said, “Let’s see if you’ve fulfilled your brief then.” and you circled round me, looking at me from every angle. I was so shy by this stage I couldn’t even lift my head and stood bashfully, gazing at my shoes. My insides were contracting and spasming outside of my control and I could feel a slight tremor run through my body.

You moved towards the only chair in the room and positioned it in the centre.

“You know why I’m here Cherie.” You began, “We need to address your behaviour, don’t we?”

I glanced at you timidly and gave my head the slightest nod. You sat down and began quite deliberately to roll up the sleeve of your shirt.

“In a moment Cherie, I’m going to spank you, so you will place yourself over my knee, won’t you?”

Again, I gave you a confirmatory nod.

You nodded back, “Good girl.” I melted inside.

When you were ready, you didn’t speak – just gestured that I was to assume the position. Gauchely I did so. You weren’t happy, pushing and pulling my legs until you were content with their position. Still you weren’t satisfied.

“I want to feel your weight Cherie, I am not a bridge, relax please.”

I bit my bottom lip so hard I nearly broke the skin, but I did as you instructed.

“That’s better.”

One of my hands is now pulling my pubis tight to allow the other more direct contact with my sex. I can feel the very beginning of a real orgasm form somewhere very deep inside me, but it will be a while yet, I’m a slow burner.
I was used to hard slaps beginning to fall immediately but that wasn’t your style at all. You spent a considerable, well it felt considerable, amount of time rubbing me through my skirt. You weren’t happy. You weren’t satisfied. You felt there was still something missing. You then thought of using a buttplug. You then inserted one of those foxyplugs you bought from a local sex shop and slowly pushed it between my butt cheeks.

“I see you think wearing a thick skirt is going to save you Cherie, but it isn’t.” You pushed it up, revealing my hold ups and frilled knickers, I heard your intake of breath and sighed, at least I’d got that right!

You ran as assessing hand over the frillies and then gentle pats began. This was so unusual for me that I wasn’t sure what to do or think so I remained perfectly still. You were judging things carefully and soon more insistent smacks began to fall, I shifted my weight the little I could. You racked up the intensity slowly, almost imperceptibly. I realised a full fledged spanking was happening when an involuntary yelp escaped me. But there was no squriming allowed with you, you just pulled me tighter and held me firmly. There is a great feeling of security in being spanked like that, but then I suppose you know that very well, being the connoseiur you are.