My First Time Ever Spanking: Why I Love It

Early summer, 1998.

Pretty, with long straight blonde hair, a nice figure despite bearing four children, a royal blue dress worn specially for the occasion, and, as I eventually discovered, stockings. There she was, standing demurely and expectantly in front of me, waiting for me to take the lead.

This was not to be my first spanking you understand – I had experienced my share of beltings at home during adolescence – rather it was to be the very first time I was to feel the unusual weight of a female form laying compliantly face down across my lap. She was the friend of a friend, and I had been attracted to her for a while. Sufficiently attracted, and sensing that the attraction was mutual, to dare to drop the odd hint of spanking. “Oh, you naughty girl” in response to some minor daily infraction, and “You should have your bottom smacked for that”, and other similar jocular but meaningful references to what I would dearly love to do to her.


[She had long hair, too]

Back then, there was no means to identify other people who may be of the same persuasion. The only way of deliberately seeking a spanking partner was to place a ‘Lonely Hearts’ ad (isn’t that an excruciating term?) in the local newspaper, with vague references to requiring a man with attributes such as ‘strong’, ‘forceful personality’, ‘disciplined’ etc.

Finding women interested in Spanking

I had been gently testing the waters for some time with various women who I thought might be interested, but usually the response would be to completely blank the innuendo, or worse, receive daggers in return and a complete termination of any contact. But this girl from the North West of England reacted differently. Nothing definite, but a glance of possible interest, or a slight colouring of her cheeks. And if, by some chance of fate, she is reading this, then she should know that she is far from forgotten.

In due course I hesitantly ventured the suggestion that perhaps she really should be spanked, and how would she feel about that. The conversation meandered a bit, she smiled gently at the suggestion, and there were further questions as to whether she had ever been spanked before. It turned out that she had been punished routinely by her father, with his belt while bent across the back of the living room sofa. And finally, she agreed that she would come to my house in order to receive what she ‘deserved’.

I hardly dared to even imagine that she would actually turn up, but on the off-chance I was showered and ready. The timid knock on the door was precisely on time, and there she was. Gone were her standard attire of T-shirt and jeans, and in their place was a mode of dress more suited to a job interview.

So there we were, standing awkwardly in my living room, wondering what to do next. I really hadn’t thought this through at all! My heart was pounding, my mouth was dry, and I stuttered and fumbled around like an eleven year old waiting for his first kiss. I made coffee, and we sat down to converse on the usual pleasantries. Me, desparately trying to map out the way forward, and hoping to avoid looking like a total nob. She, at a guess, wondering what the hell she had let herself in for.

In due course I could delay no longer, and in a style Captain Kirk would have been proud of, boldly set out to go where I had never been before. I asked if she still wanted to ‘try a spanking’, and whether she was sure about it (me with visions of being arrested for assault after the event). As I recall, her responses were hardly confidence inspiring, but positive all the same.

“Well then,” says I, “you had better stand up.”

She did!

I, assuming my best, most masterful attitude (which doesn’t come naturally to me by any means), pointed commandingly to a spot right in front of where I was sitting.

She nervously stepped over and stood, head bowed, hands clasped nervously in front.

“Have you been a naughty girl?”



A very timid “yes” escaped her this time.

“Have you been very naughty?”


“Then I will have to spank you. Come here and bend over my knee.”

She did. Awkwardly, nervously, but she did!

I was completely unprepared for the ensuing sensations as her weight was tentatively lowered across me. The peculiar contact of body parts in this position is unique. She was trembling, with short quick gasps of breath, I likewise. I wrapped one arm over her back and snugged her in to me, and rested the other on her up-thrust rump. She started a little, and I focussed on relaxing her by stroking her bottom through her dress, with the occasional little pat. Slowly she relaxed into me, and we were ready to begin.

Throughout, I talked to her, to reassure, to confirm acceptance, and all the time she responded with “Yes, I’m fine”“It’s OK”“No, not too bad”. My initial pats increased tentatively to become light smacks, alternating between cheeks, and then it was time to move the game on some. I told her it was time to get a few on her knickers, and reached for the hem of her dress. I was about to ask if it was OK to proceed, but before I could get the words out, her weight lifted as she raised her bottom to allow the procedure.

So there she was, beautifully formed, with powder blue panties framed by white suspenders. The cheeks of her bottom were still pristine white! This was an affront to my ego and I resolved to make sure they were at least pink before I finished. I continued, ever more firmly, until my hand was stinging, and the visible parts of her bottom was pink, going on red.

Once again, I notified my intention to lower her knickers, telling her it was time she got some ‘on the bare’. And once again, the raising of her hips signalled her compliance. With her spoken consent, I finished off the session with some real meaty wallops, continuing until I felt her rump begin to shy away from the smacks, thus signalling that enough was enough.

We then engaged in the obvious consummation that such a sexual act is likely to induce, the details of which are not for publication here.

I distinctly remember the sensations induced by that first encounter, which was repeated and improved upon as often as we could manage until circumstances caused her to move away. The over-riding feeling being one of total exhilaration.

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