The Third Spanking

[Stern_Dad]

A recollection of real events from several years ago.

The first two days times that I spanked Sarah were exciting, for the simple fact that I was suddenly aware that the girl that I already had a crush on was turned on to the same kink that I was. The third spanking was the most memorable.

The day after our trip to the park, she called me and invited me to meet her at a bar in her neighborhood. The friends that she had left me to visit the day before, were in the city and she wanted to introduce me. It was a slightly awkward position to be in. Sarah had a long distance boyfriend that had met all of her friends. They didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms.

Parts of the introduction felt a little bit forced. Sarah asked me to tell jokes and do impressions that she found funny. But I don’t like to perform for people without getting to know them first, so I think I came off as a schmuck. On the bright side, it was the Sunday night of Memorial Day Weekend, and we were sitting around a large round table drinking beer. And what was even better – Sarah was playing footsie and grabbing my leg below the table. The secret tension was so intense. I’m sure that her friends read through the whole thing. Eventually, the married couple left to drive home and Sarah and I took a walk around the bar. We found a room that was a little more private with couches. We both had a good buzz on. I remember looking around and wondering if I could put her over my knee right there – but then I realized there were a few other dudes playing pool in the back. So…no.

We talked about how naughty we felt, and how neither of us could stop thinking about the spankings I’d given her. I actually think that she kept probing me to see if it was something that I really liked – or if I was just playing along. In hindsight, I wished that I’d told her a little bit more about my lifelong longing – but I was trying to play it cool. We had the typical conversations that spankos have. We shared stories about childhood spankings that we received, both telling stories that I don’t think either had ever shared. Her memory of a spanking that her father gave her on Christmas seemed especially relevant to her. We ordered another beer and our conversation turned to discussions about what Sarah had done to deserve a spanking from me. With a somewhat aggressive tone, I stated that I knew she wanted to have sex with me, despite her long distance boyfriend. She agreed begrudgingly, but told me that she would not cheat on him. And so I told her that I was going to spank her if she didn’t agree to leave him. Her face wilted, and as we finished our beers, we walked out onto the street toward her home.

It was a cold, foggy night, and we were out near the ocean. The tension of the last week had been building up more and more. We stopped for a moment and I gave her a few strong smacks, while facing her, similar to the day before. But we both agreed that we needed to find another place. Her roommate was home, and my place was too far, so we continued walking in the chilly air.

Finally, we I looked up and saw a public library with a grand staircase leading up to the front door. I thought that I could sit on the stairs and bend her over my knee, but as we approached, I saw bike rack in the shadows the intrigued me more. It was a thick metal rack that looped out of the ground, and it sat in the shadows beyond the stair and under a tree. I had already been holding Sarah’s hand, and when I saw the library I tightened my grip and marched her in the direction like a naughty child that was about to meet her doom. When we got to the bike rack, I paused and gave her a moment to choose her own fait.

“Are you going to breakup with your boyfriend?”

“No,” she responded defiantly.

I immediately ordered her to “BEND OVER,” and I aided in the action by pushing her forcefully over the rack. The night was dark, but there were yellow street lights that cast some shadows over the scene. I stood at her side and placed my hand squarely on her jean clad bottom. I raised my hand back in the air and swung down to spank her, landing a good firm SMACK in the middle of her back side.

Although I had never been in this position before, I felt like the father of an insubordinate child, and I was going to teach her a lesson she would never forget. I raised my hand back again, and swung for a second time, then a third and a fourth. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I realized the sound was echoing throughout the night, and with the thought that my actions might appear to be assault, I stood her up quickly to make sure she was ok.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Why did you stop?”

“I just wanted to make sure no one is watching.”

“Can you make sure you land on the side, instead of the middle?” she requested.

And with that I told her, “BEND BACK OVER” and helped her back into position.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Harder!” she requested.

If I wasn’t already at primal rage, with that request I reached a new level. Striking her ass with ferocity, over and over. Sometimes immediately, sometimes a pause between swats. I spanked that girl until my hand went numb.

When I had given her everything I had, I let her stand up. She took two steps then collapsed to the ground. Shakily she admitted how much it hurt, but she also said, “I am soooo weeet!”

Show me! I said, and put my hand down her pants, to find her sweet pussy that I now felt was mine. She pulled back immediately, in defense of her privacy. We walked a little in the afterglow and shock. It turned out that a playground was next to the library. Sarah, despite her throbbing ass, told me that she we could sneak in so that I could put her over my knee. We looked for a way to get through the fence, but as the adrenaline rush started to back down we realized that what had just transpired was good enough for one night.

The next day, I went to a baseball game with a buddy. I could not stop thinking about the night before, basking in the wake of my conquest. Then a text message came in.

“I’m bruised!” it read.

Not knowing that in some circles, this is considered a mark of beauty, I felt a sense of shame. But then an email followed up with some vintage pictures of women over their husband’s knees…

She liked it.