A really great entry to the 'My Birthday Spanking' story contest, this untitled story from a contributor who I'll call 'Anthony' is another example of the wonderful imaginations at work in this (and every) contest. Enjoy!
Today was what some would call a "special" day. That's what they tell you when you're small as you wait in mind-bending anticipation of the cake that's larger than your head and the gifts that pile up from friends and family. You see, things are a little different when you're older. Birthday's lose the magic that once made them the highlight of the year, right next to Christmas (and if you're really zealous about egg hunts) Easter. Maybe Halloween if you can tolerate all the candy, but I was more a cookie kinda guy, and you don't get cookies on Halloween. I did get relentlessly tricked and teased however, which made it my least favorite "holiday."
Every year past my 21st birthday, things got a little on the depressing side. Nothing to look forward to. I'd past the drinking age long ago and really what was left to look forward to but milestones that come with absolutely no benefit but a 2 digit number that will slowly vanish into another, larger, two digit number. And if you make it to the 3 digits chances are you won't even remember your own name at that point. No, I didn't like where this getting older "thing" was headed. 6 grays hairs was enough for me to denounce the celebratory process of aging.
I decided to sit this birthday out. I didn't thank anyone for the cards, especially not my little sister Jillian who sent me one that said, "Congratulations. You survived another birthday," with a picture of St. Peter looking distracted. I got mad at my sweet, elderly parents for asking me what kind of gift I wanted. They never stopped believing I was 10. I declined the free drinks my co-workers offered me at "guys night out." Yeah. This sucked. I even shut off the lights and pretended not to be home when my girlfriend showed up with my favorite ice-cream pie. I guess I forgot to tell her I wasn't celebrating this year. Not answering the door was my way of hoping she'd get the hint without any face-to-face contact.
That turned out to be a "fail" moment when she texted me to answer the door because she knew I was home. I meant to park around the corner and not in the driveway to avoid that problem, but it's hard to think of everything when you're depressed. I didn't answer the door. I could tell Lisa was insulted, and annoyed. Apparently (from what I see through the peephole, anyway) the ice-cream pie was melting through the box onto what looked like a very expensive and sexy sweater she must have bought for the unwanted occasion. But no one told her to stand there with the pie for 20 minutes and no one told her to buy a new sweater either. And another thing, how was I supposed to foresee her dropping the whole thing onto the porch when she tried to text me for the 37th time? I turned the phone off after a while. Lisa remained knocking at the door for another 10 minutes while I watched TV in the windowless basement with the sound muted. Good thing I never gave that woman a key. Clearly she was not good at taking hints. But surely I could not be held responsible for this.
At least I didn't think I could be. I went to bed without a guilty conscience. Depression trumps guilt. I woke up feeling relieved I had missed my birthday and turned my phone on to a 30 second straight string of beeps indicating missed calls and messages. No need to check. I knew what they were. "Happy birthday this." "Happy birthday that" "Damnit Anthony, I'm on the frekin' porch and I know you're home! Answer the F'en door!" I guess I started to feel a little bad that I ignored Lisa. But that's what money's for and why it's a darn good thing I'm a good lawyer. I could talk my way out of anything and nobody would be the wiser. I'd buy her a new sweater and maybe some roses because I couldn't remember the kind of flowers she actually likes. Or, I'd have my secretary do it because I don’t even know where the flower shop is.
I decided that's what I'd do after I took my shower, not realizing my plans were going to be thwarted, not to mention my entire schedule rearranged. I had taken the day off work to play golf but I never made it to the club. The doorbell rang while I still had my towel wrapped around my waist from the shower. I looked through the peephole to find this very attractive woman in attire befitting a professor or business woman. She had beautiful, silky but short black hair and piercing gray-blue eyes that very nicely complimented her ruby lip gloss. She looked stern in her short black skirt and fancy pumps with a white blouse she wore unbuttoned, revealing a navy shirt underneath. She held a briefcase in her right hand and wore sunglasses on her head.
I was reluctant to answer, but thought I'd get a morning thrill out of answering the door in my towel. I figured she was either trying to sell me a vacuum or bible. What great fun that would be to respond so immodestly. I opened the door with a wide grin on my face. A grin that quickly dissolved when the woman spoke.
"Anthony Rabino?" she asked.
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"Yeah." I was a bit taken aback that she knew my name. How did the salespeople do this nowadays? She must have gotten my name and address from google. But then again, if she had, she would have known I don' t go so far as to pick up a broom and I'm a self-proclaimed atheist. I'm sure that's all on my facebook or myspace profile somewhere.
"Lady," I told her, "I'm not buying."
"Oh, you don't have to," she said sweetly. "I'm giving it away."
I'll admit I was intrigued, even if she was selling the gospel or a Dyson. I had hoped she wasn't from Avon, because I'm not really a meterosexual kind of guy. Turns out, she really wasn't selling anything at all. I invited her in, wondering what was in her briefcase. Actually, she kinda invited herself in and told me there was no need to get dressed when I politely offered to go put some pants on. Now this was getting interesting. She was hot. Total opposite look than Lisa, who had bleached blond hair, brown eyes and only decided to dress sexily on occasions I chose not to celebrate. And you gotta give the woman credit, whatever she was selling or "giving away," must really be important for her to go to such extreme measures. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to write it off on my enormous tax bill, but hey, charity is charity.
"So…." I asked her, raising my brow to appear as sexy as possible while pushing out my muscles for effect, "Where should we do this, upstairs or downstairs?"
"Oh honey," she said. "Right here is just fine. I'm not shy. You could even leave the windows open."
Wow. This was hot. I would have definitely left the windows open if we were in some place like Vegas where, "what happens in Vegas…" well you know where this is going. But I washere in Brooklyn, surrounded by my neighbors who knew I was a hotshot lawyer, not to mention my girlfriend lived practically around the corner. So windows open wasn't exactly looking like a great idea. I nodded my head in approval to indicate I enjoyed her wild streak, but walked over to close the windows and shut the blinds, regardless.
Halfway to window number one, I was halted in my tracks. The woman stood up and slammed her briefcase onto my couch where she had been seated. "I said you could leave the windows open." Her tone dripped with something acidic, as if I had personally offended her despite the fact I still had no idea who she was or why she was here. But her sweet voice gone sour was enough for me to withdraw my invitation. "Hey, maybe we could do this some other time, " I meekly suggested since trying to force out a command didn't seem possible under the circumstances.
I gathered she noticed my apprehension. She set her briefcase aside and her voice dissolved back into that sweet southern accent. "I didn't mean to scare you sweetie, why don't you come on over here. But don't make me have to tell you a third time not to close the windows." Suddenly I was feeling nervous, a feeling I hadn't felt since junior high when I had to look over my shoulder every two minutes wondering who was going to mess with me next. It hardened me I guess. When I became successful I didn't really care about anyone. I had made it big. Almost overnight I had the looks, and the wealth. That's all a guy needs really. Maybe it didn't matter so much if the windows were open. It would be just another victory, and there were plenty more Lisa's where she came from. Besides, I hadn't done something this exciting since college. My nervousness had now taken the form of this gripping sexual excitement.
I walked over to the woman and sat beside her. She smiled and asked me if I cared to know her name. I didn't, but at least I had manners. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry," I lied. "What is your name, beautiful?"
Maybe it was me, but it seemed she was holding back a scowl when she responded. "Dana," she said. "Dana Kane."
"Oh," I mused. "Like, candyCANE?"
She evidently did not find this amusing. "No, sugar, not like candycane," she replied. "Cane, like the kind you use to blister someone's bottom. But with a K."
I disregarded this completely to avoid the strange sensation of fear that gripped me as she spoke. "Well," I instructed, "Let's just get down to business here."
"Absolutely," she replied, sounding as eager as I felt. "Why don't you take that towel off for me and let me see all your beautiful assets." This was something I could definitely do. I knew my body was in pretty good shape, even though I was a year older and might have gained a half of pound the past six months from a slowing metabolism. But unless you knew me very intimately, you really couldn't tell. Also, I was blessed with an appendage I could brag about it.
I dropped the towel, expecting to show Ms. Kane, with a K, my manliness in its most aroused form. Much to my surprise, she was completely uninterested with my front and very curtly told me to turn around. I had a great ass, too, which she commented on. I didn't mind too much. I'm mostly a "whatever floats your boat" kinda guy.
Asses definitely kept this woman's ships sailing. "Oh, this is lovely," she told me while carefully examining the shape of my buttocks and gently running her sharp nails across my flesh, making it oh so deliciously tender. It was difficult for me to contain my urges and I turned around and asked her if she would take something off for me. I took off my entire towel, and so it was only fair. Boy was I excited when she removed her white blouse.
"So sweetheart, are you gonna give me a better view of thos-"
She interrupted me with a sharp declaration and disappointing answer. "No, honey. I'm just taking my blouse off because I get a better swing that way."
I had no idea what she meant, but something about the way she said it suddenly deflated my ego, among other things.
"You stay put," she told me as she picked up her briefcase.
"Oh crap," I thought. "She's gonna take out the paperwork NOW?" Again, she managed to surprise me as she opened her case to reveal some strange looking items. Some of them I recognized, like a slipper and wooden hairbrush. The others were small paddles made of various materials, things I had never really seen before and certainly never experimented with. I wasn't sure I wanted to try now, but she really was difficult to resist.
I sucked in a deep breath and tried to conceal my hesitation. Maybe I was too conventional. It was probably a little spice that was missing in my lust-life with Lisa. "So, Dana, I guess you like it kinky?"
"Why don't you just come on over my lap and find out?" she instructed.
Over her lap? That seemed juvenile. But we had gone this far. Awkwardly, I positioned my body so that my ass was directly in her field of vision, not realizing I was presenting myself as a target. Before I really understood what was happening, she gripped me in some kind of leg vice so that I couldn't kick or struggle out of her grasp. "In answer to your question, Anthony, I don't like it kinky. I like it red and raw. Black and blue. Welted and occasionally bloody." She emphasized this with a series of smacks to my bottom with a hand that felt to be made of more than just flesh and bones. I had no chance to protest as the slaps reigned down upon my backside, lighting it up with tiny fires just beneath the surface of my rapidly glowing skin and rendering me helpless and without the ability to defend myself.
I had been spanked once as a child. One single, solid smack to the seat of my trousers when I was about three. My mother had been so horrified by my sad expression that she never bothered to do it again, and I rubbed my slightly stingy little booty all the way to the toy store, bakery and my favorite burger joint immediately after.
When the pain started to intensify to the point where it was becoming unendurable, I found myself blurting out, "Look, Dana, this is really not my idea of foreplay. Why don't we go upstairs and mess around, I've got an amazing king-size bed." In hindsight I should have known better. My suggestion was met with a parade of hand-spanks that had me grunting and screaming in silence.
"That's Ms. Kane to you from now on," Dana sternly informed me as I stared dumbfounded at my beige carpet as it was all I could see from this position, that and Ms. Kane's extraordinary legs and the black heels. She had taken pause but the burning hadn't. My ass felt like someone had heated up a frying pan and placed it there for fun. I didn't understand what this woman was doing, but this strict female authoritarian role-play was not my style. If I never knew it before, I knew it now. I was not one of those who relished pain or used it as a means to arousal. Where my member might have been a little perky from the first smack or two, it was now dejectedly limp.
Dana placed her spanking hand on my lower back; it must have been as hot as my ass because it felt like a medicated heat wrap. "Why do you think I'm here Mr. Rabino?" she questioned, as seriously as if she actually expected I should know the answer, which clearly I did not.
"Is it to sell a bible or a vacuum cleaner?" I asked, almost innocently, because she most certainly wasn't here for a fling.
I didn't expect that to earn such a stinger, but it did. She cracked me right in the middle of my already sore ass, eliciting a genuine cry of pain. "No, Mr. Rabino. People don't come to your door to SELL bibles, and it's been a long time since they've gone door to door selling vacuums. I definitely do not do either. I am a business woman however, and today I'm handing out free samples. And I can tell you that this is not a random encounter, and that the only part of me you will be touching is my lap as you lay across it. Is that understood?"
"Uh, not really," instinct compelled me to reply. I didn't have time to rethink this as the words had already flown out of my mouth, and no sooner had they done so that my backside was being furiously assaulted by a bionic hand. The muscles in my legs ached to twitch, but they were immobilized and contained in this leg-lock which I had never before experienced. My mind told me that I could overpower this woman, but my legs refused to have anything to do with it. "Oh my God, Dan- Ms. Kane, please stop. I don't know why you're doing this but please stop." The distressful pleas were genuine. I had never felt such an unrelenting pain in all my life.
I thought it was over when she stopped for another second. But she only stopped to reach for the hairbrush, followed by the slipper. As the blows cascaded upon my fired up buttocks, I was filled with a sense of dread. Who was this woman? Why was she doing this? And, Oh my God, the windows are open, anyone coming past the house can hear her hitting me! The horror of that last thought was enough to halt my brain from registering the pain for a moment.
But the moment did not last. Ms. Kane continued to batter my glowing cheeks with every weapon she had in that briefcase. Manly pride reared up and insisted I not cry, but it also rebelled against my desire to attempt to escape. I was able to voice my concern about the window when I noticed that the smacks and corresponding yelps carried a serious echo. "Please, Ms. Kane.The windows. Everyone can hear you, us, this."
"Oh yes, I know," she told me in a very strict matter-of-fact tone. "That's the point. I want your cries to make their way all the way over to Lisa's house where she is on her couch sobbing, recovering from how miserably you treated her on your birthday."
"You know Lisa?" I gasped, in between rapid strokes with the sole of her slipper.
"I know Lisa" she said, and then came the soft-spoken, swift but very stern lecture that occurred with just a mild raising of the voice to emphasis certain flaws in my personality. Selfish.SMACK. Cruel. SMACK. Egotistical. SMACK. Poor excuse for a boyfriend. SMACK. Ungrateful. SMACK. After these choice words and the application of some sort of paddle, my free hand defied my better judgment and extended itself in a furious panic to try to interfere with Dana's punishing implement. This was an unwise move and that free hand was soon locked behind me with her non-spanking hand. This gave Ms. Kane the opportunity to strike my thighs since I was in no position to resist. Thankfully she had put the paddle to rest and used her hand to deliver some very serious whacks to my tender flesh. This was more painful than I could have imagined and the worst was certainly not over.
My mind was still reeling with the knowledge that Ms. Kane had somehow found her way here because of Lisa, although I still didn't understand the connection between the two. It didn't matter now. All that mattered was atoning for the horrible way that I had treated Lisa, which had not at all mattered until the words were being beaten into me while I lay face down over a stranger's lap, unable to move a muscle to protect my body or my psyche. I was now a little shaky, and pleading loudly despite the open windows. My cries for mercy didn't absolve me, instead they earned me a signature spanking with a portable cane small enough to fit in Dana's cleverly disguised case for all-things-spanking.
It didn’t take much before I betrayed myself and the floodgates opened. I had entered into some sort of private confessional with this woman, spewing out random fears and incidents of pain that existed in my past that led me to behave so improperly as an adult. While Ms. Kane assured me, between my sobs and strokes of the cane, that she understood and appreciated my honesty, she also told me this was not an excuse to treat the people that cared about me with such great disrespect.
She was here, she said, to teach me that excuses never serve anyone in the end. So what that I hated birthdays? I was lucky to have someone who truly loved me to share one with, who brought me an ice-cream pie wearing a brand new sweater. I had parents who still wanted to keep the magic alive for me, who taught me that you are only as young as you feel. I had friends who cared enough to take me out to dinner, on their tab. And I had sister who wanted to show me not to take life so seriously, to find the humor in the occasion. I was looking at everything backwards the whole time but was unable to see it until having my bottom blistered by this beautiful, fascinating woman who could wear your backside out long before she wore out her hand spanking it.
I remained over her lap quite a while, long after the spanking was over, crying like any small child would after having been soundly punished for being incorrigible. Ms. Kane consoled me with her words, gave me instructions to call Lisa once I had composed myself and reminded me that any day can be a "special" day, and maybe birthdays weren't so bad in hindsight.Although I'm sure I had a few extra gray hairs after having endured the hiding of my life from a woman I would later learn prides herself on being a real-life disciplinarian, a martinet of justice who travels the country in search of wayward boys to reign them back into obedience with the good ol' fashioned rod of correction. Come to think of it, maybe she was selling the bible after all.