The previous episode is here.
I’d said, “Lift, girl!” because I wanted Jennifer to experience herself cooperating to have her panties come down. And I’d tugged down the hem so she knew her bottom was already bare. She would think of no reason to resist, though her mind would be racing.
I was already looking down at her skin, rounded and blotched with the confused red bloom left by my hand, with the occasional finger or thumb-print showing on the outer areas. And at her pale, currently trembling cleft, the sweet perineal folds, and the hint, the merest centimetre or two, of her vulva. Swollen, she was, and wet. I smacked her again, still holding the panties clear, so my hand landed directly on her skin. That was better. I was sure that Jennifer felt so, too. “I said lift, girl.”
She moved suddenly. She’d been entranced and the smack had woken her. Her hips pressed against my cock, which was mostly hard, and used it almost as a fulcrum to lift her hips free of my leg. One deft tug, and one shocked little cry from Jennifer, was all it took.
She was naked from her waist to about halfway down her thighs. Her pussy was perfect, as I’d expected: pretty, pale-pink little pouch. Jennifer settled again, against my cock. If she noticed that I was now completely hard she gave no sign. Just the constant pressure of her hip.
Usually, in my post-spanking lecture I would tell the girl to make sure she remembered this punishment. But there was no danger of Jennifer forgetting. The little damp patch in her panties testified to that. She would remember, and she would be back, I knew.
I said, “mmmm,” involuntarily, partly at that thought and partly because of this beautiful vision, this bare-bottomed girl over my knee, holding my leg. She squirmed for me, beautifully, to escape my gaze and to give me more to watch. I wondered if she could feel my gaze, and if she knew how lovely she was. If it was her first moment of adult vanity, she was certainly entitled.
I had colour. I wanted more movement. I resumed her spanking, my hand tasting her softness and the heat of her. I coloured in the paler patches on her bottom, making the spanks harder, until she was moaning and squealing almost continuously. They were her anthem, the anthem of spanked girls everywhere. Her hip bouncing against, caressing, my cock while she moaned. Her anthem: and I was standing for it.
I groaned, then fought for control. It was all I could do not to come. But her hips stayed pressed against me, rubbing me harder while I spanked her harder. I was sweating with the effort of control. If I came, I told myself, I would resign. But Jennifer helped, unexpectedly. She stopped moving, even as I continued to rain smacks down onto her beautiful little bottom. She relaxed under my hand. Her head drooped towards the carpet, and her hands still touched my leg for comfort and balance, but her grip had loosened.
I’d seen girls go there before. I continued with the spanking, not varying the rhythm or the intensity. I envied her the place she had gone, but I didn’t want to wake her out of it. Now I was her lover, keeping her at her peak.
Her thighs opened a little, microscopically, then closed; repeat. She started breathing more heavily, in the same rhythm. Oh. It wasn’t my orgasm I needed to worry about. I stopped the spanks and left my hand on her bottom, and squeezed her affectionately, to break the trance.
The next episode is here.