You were standing on the right of her sitting on the queen size bed, she a thirty something lithe foxy brunette with flashing jade green eyes and you a handsome enough blue eyed twenty something who could probably have had any girl he wanted but so far hadn't, for the shyness that was in all the six feet of you.
Your body was young and fit with the male curves and ripples in all the right places and hers the female same with just that touch of feminine plumpness here and there that would have given St Paul himself a diamond tipped drill bit of a boner, if the sight of it didn't give the old wowser a stroke before it barred him up.
Strange what a conversation around a coffee machine can lead to. You'd watch her walk in to the empty bar yourself staff room, firm breasts leading the way, perfect mammalia officiana those, and a rear end like wobbling pork. The breasts pushed against a white cotton blouse, not straining to get out but just firmly enough to command male attention and the behind was one that drew male eyes to it. Even under her long gray pants it topped a pair of what must have been damn near engine-turned legs sitting neatly on platform soled shod feet.
She must have felt your eyes wandering over her five foot nine frame because she set down her half empty coffee cup and told you to put 'em back in. Somehow overcoming your shy nature, you'd made a cheeky remark which she'd topped soon enough. While you were trying to think of another witticism she'd drained the rest of her coffee, tossed the cup in the bin, then glided up to you. You didn't know whether she liked the cut of your jib or not until her eyes had twinkled and she'd asked you out for a drink after work, playfully smacking your bottom as she glided on and back to work. You'd thought that a bit of reverse sexism but hadn't dared to return the compliment.
One thing had led to another and some weeks later you'd got to talking about THAT. When she'd got you to admit how inexperienced you were at it, she'd tossed back her curly ringlets so you caught a glimpse of old burnished gold and laughed. "Well you're in luck my shy blond, I'm between lovers and can't be bothered buying a sex doll, so I might have to see if a young dog can be taught some old tricks, eh?" No luck that night, nor on a few others, but just when you were about to give her up for a prick-tease there came a day's hard at her place, which she was renovating and where she'd conned you into coming over one Sunday to give her a hand here and there.
She wore a carpenter's apron and ragged arsed work clothes as naturally as any soldier ever wore a uniform and a pistol belt, she'd the use of her hands to go with it, and could curse as long and hard as any chippy, all the way from idle swearing to out and out blasphemy. A few times she'd let fly at you, as she did once when you'd looked at her instead of at a cupboard door you should have been planing back. "God fuck a fornicatin' fox you know how to make sheep's eyes, don'tcha? If you'd keep your mind on your work as hard as you keep your eyes on my tits 'n arse, we'd've fixed the whole street by now!" And you had the feeling she'd nearly put words like that into hymns, if, that is, she was ever any place where they'd be singing any.
When at last she'd got a good day's hard unpaid out of you equal to what the worst sweat extractor you'd ever known could have got (and he your old man), all the tools had been put away, both of you'd had a shower and she'd cooked a steak with all the trimmings it was off to the couch in her living room and the rest of a bottle of the roughest red you'd ever tasted.
God that stuff loosened your tongue! You relaxed in your clean pair of old jeans and work shirt and drank in her figure in a whorish red mini-skirt and well worn yellow faded Tee shirt. It wasn't long before she was sitting beside you and the both of you talking all kinds of rot. But when she'd moved to cuddle you you froze. She'd just wrapped her arms around you and told you to relax, tell her what was wrong. It was when she'd patted your bottom that it came out, slowly as you stumbled for the words.
She gripped your shoulders hard, looking deep into your eyes. "You'd like me to spank you, is that it? And by the sound of it, you'd like me to follow that with something a bit harder, wouldn't you? Hey, don't worry about it, you're not weird, not weird at all! It's just your wires got crossed 'cos of a bit of stupid parenting, that's all. Now take a deep breath, and relax f'r chrissakes!"
She'd put her arms around you again, massaging your neck, shoulders and upper back and kissing you, a long slow full kiss. Then she'd taken you into her bedroom with her arm around you and you got your shirt off and stepped out of your jeans as she sat on the bed, nipples erect against her Tee shirt. There was a sofa hard up against the end of the bed, and some things hidden under a towel on the bed but just as you vaguely wondered what all that was about ...
"Leave your undies on," she'd said as you moved to take them off. "You're a little too old to be spanked completely bare ... but there's no reason why they can't ride up a bit eh?" And she'd quickly reefed your jocks up right into your crack as you lay across her lap, feeling the contact between her silky thighs and yours, longing to plant your mainmast straining to escape into her brilliant breech.
CRACK! CRACK! Right out of the blue she smacked first your right and then your left cheek HARD, her left hand holding your undies tightly. "Did THAT take your mind off sex? Good, that's the right way to start a spanking!"
"Aargh! Please! Not so hard!"
The smacks rained down so quickly you couldn't count them nor establish any pattern to them nor evade them however much you bucked and reared. This wasn't like any spanking you'd got as a child, you'd had many, but they were just pain and tears. THIS was pain but something else besides.
Oh it was the same old valley you remembered being driven into by your old man's belt, him reinforcing each lash with religious ranting just to make the valley more wretched, but with her it was like gliding along the valley floor with the hope of going up to a peak every time she lightened up which neither he nor your mother ever did.
She stopped somewhere between thirty and forty, then squeezed each cheek in turn slowly while her left hand let go of your jocks and stroked your hair and neck. Then you felt her right hand start sliding between your knees and working its way up your inner thighs, what was the word you'd come across in some French novel once?
"Pas d'arraigne" she said, "Spider pats in English".
As her left hand got hold of your jocks again and pulled them slowly back into your crack. Then you felt something cold between your thighs.
When the buzzing started you realised that was a vibrator and she an expert, slowly running its slim tip all over your inner thighs then softly pushing it into your crack, tracing it teasingly around the inside of your bottom until your erection returned with such a vengeance as to nearly blow you off her lap.
Suddenly she flung her right leg over your legs, then CRACK CRACK CRACK again, making you gasp and your eyes water.
"A little pleasure and a little pain and more of the same to get your bottom nice and flamed", she'd rhymed.
And so it continued until at last she stopped, and in between some more creepy crawly finger work said, "H'mm that's really nice and red, and hot too, but as you know, a good spanking should end with just a little more, shouldn't it? You'd not learn anything otherwise would you?"
"No", you'd said, "But please don't use a belt!"
