Spaning

You return home from a day at work; your feet are sore, your knees are ready to collapse, and your shoulders are tighter than a clock spring. You come through the door and see me sitting in my rocking chair in the living room with the kerosene lamp light on the table next to me. The low-ball glass has a couple fingers of amber liquid in it.

You pause in the door way and look at me. The pinstripe jacket I wore to work this morning is hung over the back of the chair; the deep green suspenders over my crisp white button down shirt sets a small bit of excitement off in your mind. The matching trousers truncate at my crossed ankles. The well-worn, yet immaculate, brown wingtips are still on my feet.

You glance back up my seated form realizing that my shirt sleeves are rolled up above my elbows and the scars of bad decisions on my forearm are shining brightly in the light from the lamp. The deadpan look on my face jolts you as a dawn of realization bathes you in its light.

You immediately drop to your knees. Your pencil skirt riding to just above your knees as you bend down to the carpet and close the door behind you as you sink. You realize you had a lunch date; that you missed due to a meeting. You never thought to call, or text, or even reschedule the meeting you requested.

I pick up the small glass and take a sip. The muscles in my neck tensing as the liquid passes my tongue and travels down my throat. The slightest twitch of my eyes tells you that it is my favorite scotch. You immediately cast your eyes down awaiting my commands. The air has gone heavy and almost suffocatingly oppressive.

I adjust in the rocking chair so both my feet are flat on the floor, and my knees are at right angles; I crack my neck and knuckles for dramatic effect. You can feel the moisture building between your legs. The inevitable punishment is nearing, yet still so far away. I take another sip of the scotch; you hear the glass make a slight clink as I set it back on the table.

"Come here, lass," I say out loud, but barely more than a whisper. You scoot over to me on your knees without raising your eyes to meet mine. Every shuffling step with your knees threatens to open the floodgates keeping your arousal inside. As you approach, you notice I have yet to move from my position to help you onto my knees. This is your punishment: to get on my knees without help.

You know that if you use your hands you may not be 'punished' at all. So, you shuffle up to my knees and try to drape your form across my knees, only partially successfully. You begin an undulation that reminds me of a caterpillar on a leaf. At last you have managed to settle yourself onto my knees in the correct position.

Your thighs are parallel with my calves, and your torso is flat across my thighs. You bring your hands forward and place the on the floor between the chair and my feet, bracing yourself for the impending impacts. The angle has made your skirt pull up in the back, exposing a bit of your beautiful pale thighs.

You begin to tremble as I raise your skirt up to expose your ass to the warm air of the room. I'm taken aback by the sight; as always, a stunning, mind-altering view assails me. You can feel my breath quicken; I raise the skirt enough that it will hold itself up and not fall with the 'punishment'. The pantyless cheeks and mound sends chills up my body.

"You were a bad girl today, yes?" I ask, more rhetorically that expecting an answer. I bring my hand down in a sharp sting to your left cheek as soon as you relaxed from my question. I rub the strike area, and then deliver the same slap to the right cheek. As you feel my hands caressing the strikes with a gentle soothing touch, you feel my hardness rising to the occasion. I remove my hand, "I want to remind you to let me know when your work gets in the way. I also want to know when you will be late as well. Punishment hurts me worse than you."

Smack; a full hand chastising blow on the sweet spot of your ass. Your dam finally bursts as your arousal begins to seep down your thighs form between your legs. You have been craving this all day. From the moment you decided to make the meeting to purposely not informing me of your decision, you knew the 'punishment' was coming.

I make a couple more retorts on the sweet spot, culminating in a wet hand and a slightly puffy labia. The erection pressing into your rib cage seems insistent. I caress each cheek, then place a well-aimed palm slap to each cheek in a very off beat manner. I have learned how to keep you off balance and not able to expect anything at any time from me. I grab a hand full of hair and begin a rhythmic 'beating' of your ass. High cheek, sweet spot, high cheek, low cheek, low cheek, high cheek, sweet spot, and so on and so forth.

The redness of your posterior grows until a nice warmth is emanating from the manhandled flesh. I slowly begin to caress the inflamed skin; my hands of oak wood turn to silk in an instant. The fire contained in my ass begins to cool slightly. I trace a finger over your labia as I rub the reddened areas to calm them. I take my hand away; you hear a suckling sound as you realize I am tasting your arousal. The deep groan of approval from my chest reverberates through my hardness into you. I return to calming the heat in your backside.

Smack; the sweet spot is beginning be connected to the pleasure center of your brain. Smack; your labia begin to part, allowing the inner lips to peek out. Smack; that was all it took. You begin to shudder and convulse as your climax rips through your body; seizure-like motions from your body tell me I have done what you needed. I lean you up, dropping your skirt back into place.

"Next time, let me know." I embrace you and kiss your lips lightly as you come down from your pleasure high. I reach over and take the glass of scotch and down the remaining. I stand, help you to your feet and kiss you lightly again. "Same time next week, yes?"

I turn to retrieve my jacket and throw it over my shoulder as I head for the door. I turn before opening the door and smirk, "Always my pleasure." I open the door and leave, pulling the door shut behind me. All you can do is watch as you try and regain some semblance of mental capacity.