This is another chapter about City College student Paul's brief but intense affair with his first girlfriend in mid-1974. It's in the BDSM category but the spanking here is done by hand. The second part of the story is about their first road trip in the convertible she bought with the cash from her now-ended stint as an amateur campus hooker. They are both nineteen years old at this point.
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In August Nora asked me to meet her in a park near her Maspeth house in Queens, something we had never done before.
I was sitting on a bench when she came up and stood in front of me. Her outfit was surprising; she had a white blouse, a dark blue skirt that went below her knees, white ankle socks, and brown shoes. She said nothing, so I just looked her over. Her hands were folded in front of her.
Finally, I said, "What are you supposed to be, a Mormon?"
She looked down as if embarrassed, and said in a subdued voice, "You see, I've been a bad girl for too long and now I think I should be a good girl."
"So you think dressing differently will make a difference?"
"There has to be more than that. I need somebody to take me in hand, and, I'd say, firmly correct me for my unseemly behavior."
Now I got what her game was. She was making up nonsense, but she was good at it. "Maybe you need a maintenance spanking again, so you don't slip back into your old ways."
"That is an excellent idea."
"Well, I'm your go-to guy for that."
She had it all thought out. "What you should do is -- we'll go home. Then, put me over your knees and spank me on the seat of my underwear. Then take those down, and give me a good tanning on my exposed behind."
She was using a weirdly formal syntax. I saw none of her usual brashness. Anyway, I jumped up and said, "Okay honey, let's get to it."
This is going to be a lot of fun.
I tried to hold her hand on the way over, but she refused to give it to me. Once in the living room, she said, "Sit in that chair. You don't have to pull me over; I'll willingly place myself on you."
"Sounds like a plan."
The chair was armless, which made it ideal for what I was going to do. She positioned herself on my lap; her movements seemed slow and deliberate. I thought she'd raise her own skirt, but she didn't.
I guess that's my job.
I pulled her skirt up and away, and I was surprised by her underpants. These were white cotton ones that reached to her knees, and there were lacy hems at the bottom.
"Where did you get these, at Sears?"
"They're called pantaloons, and they should be worn by girls like me who aspire to be modest."
I just love the way this chick is talking.
"So, I assume you want it good and hard and long?"
"That's the only way it can be effective."
"Indeed."
I was getting to like this pantaloon thing, and I started rubbing the seat of her underwear.
"Please, don't rub my buttocks."
That was a surprise because by now I had rubbed, fondled, and ejaculated onto every part of her body I had access to, which was all of it. She must have sensed my confusion because she said, "You may only use your hands to inflict pain on me, not give me pleasure."
I almost said,
fuck that.
Instead I decided to remind her of our safe word, or phrase really, although she could take a lot of spanking and had never used it. "Do you think you'll want to have some tuna salad during this?"
"I refuse to eat that."
"Okay, let's do this." I started whacking her on the back of her, ah, pantaloons. She did her usually groaning, wincing, and wriggling around.
At one point she said, "This hurts so much, but I really need it."
Now I was getting curious, so I stopped. "Nora, baby, what exactly has been on your mind?"
"I must tell you, last night I had the urge to masturbate, and I caught my fingers reaching for my private parts. It was so ashamed of myself."
That was notable because Nora would masturbate on a bus if she could get away with it. I had seen her do just that in the back of an Academy Lines bus when we visited her aunt in New Jersey. She was in the end seat when she put her feet up on the cushion, lifted her skirt, put her hands inside her panties, and had her way with herself. I was in a center seat watching all of that.
I was suddenly concerned that she would keep up this pretense all day. How was I going to get laid then?
I redoubled my efforts on her. There was a slit in the back of her bloomers, and I opened it to get access to the bare flesh of her behind. The whole thing had a very nineteenth-century feel to it.
"Wow, that cotton didn't give you any protection at all; you're all red now."
"I know; I'm actually proud to be disciplined so firmly."
Where was she getting this bullshit from?
I said, "All right then, get your butt up nice and high then." Then I went at her for a while again. She moaned and gasped, but she didn't start crying. I guess I'm not such a nice guy after all; I had wanted to break her at times so that she would sob, but I had never been able to do it.
She one point she said, "Oh, it's so humiliating to have to expose my buttocks to you."
What is it with this "buttocks" thing? She seems to enjoy saying the word.
Besides, not only had I seen her behind before, I had come on it a number of times. One of her gimmicks was that she would pull down my pants, turn around, lift up her skirt, and then grind her ass into my crotch until I ejaculated all over her. Sometimes she would leave her panties on; sometimes she would take them off. It depended I guess on the riskiness of the location
If had the opportunity, I would then reward her by eating out her cunt, which she loved. One of the places where we pulled that stunt was on the highest floor of Finley Hall, where there was a big open tank full of scummy green water.
Another variation was that I would keep my trousers up and she would try to get me to come into my pants. She always succeeded in those efforts.
She then had another issue, "Also, you can see my private parts now."
Actually, I couldn't; I hadn't opened her underwear enough. However, I thought of a good excuse to do that.
"Sweetie, I'm going to pull your pants all the way done. I need to redden the back of your thighs too."
