It all began as Wendy Askew walked through her parents' game room during a party celebrating her high school graduation. Without warning, she was playfully yet soundly smacked on the bottom with a ping-pong paddle. The gentleman who administered the whack was Ted Weems, a friend of her Uncle Richie.
"Hey!" Wendy cried in surprise.
"Sorry, honey buns, just had to do it!" Ted chuckled. "I knew I couldn't miss, if you know what I mean!" This brought a round of laughter from the onlookers.
Wendy haughtily marched away. The stinging in her buttocks had now inexplicably spread to all parts of her hips, creating a sensation that was not altogether unpleasant. Wendy was startled to realize, in fact, that her sex was tingling quite noticeably, growing more warm and damp with each passing second.
At the same time, a blush came to her cheeks as she found herself thinking shocking thoughts about Ted Weems. Thoughts along the lines of him being ever so virile. Could she satisfy his every desire? The sort of thoughts that most girls should avoid.
Thoroughly perplexed, she glanced back at Ted Weems. He was as he had always been: face like a slab of beef, twenty years older than Wendy and forty pounds overweight. As well, he had the wit and social skills of a donkey. Yet Wendy now imagined him with his arms around her, strong and manly; she in turn helpless and submissive. Her nipples grew taut as she recalled the feel of that ping-pong paddle striking her derriere.
Wendy hastily retreated to a corner and sat quietly, a Diet Coke in hand. As quickly as they had arisen, her anger and her passions eased. What remained was a distinct feeling of pleasure at having had her bottom so rudely smacked.
To understand all this, we must get to know Wendy. We must delve into her psyche, if you will. Let us begin with Wendy's older sister Kristi, who was standing nearby, surrounded by a coterie of male admirers.
Wendy gazed at her, certain that no girl ever had a more loving and devoted sister than Kristi. She was just as certain that no girl ever had a sister as drop-dead gorgeous, as perfect in every way, as Kristi.
This party, for example, was in honor of Wendy, yet it was Kristi who was the center of attention. And who could blame the party-goers? Let us compare the two girls. Where Wendy's eyes were a muddy hazel color, Kristi was possessed of sparkling blue eyes, near dazzling in their radiance. Where Wendy's short hair was an uninspired biscuit color, Kristi's mane seemed not so much human hair as strands of pure gold, woven on a magic loom.
Where Wendy was shy, the lovely Kristi was poised and gregarious. Her star in fact had always outshone that of her sister, even when they were children. As the two girls reached puberty, Wendy waited with dread to see what womanly shape Nature would give each of them.
Nature did not disappoint. Kristi's legs grew long and curvaceous. Her bosom swelled most fully, resulting in mounds so breathtaking that she could wear a tight sweater and reduce young men around her to drooling simps. Wendy had occasionally seen her sister's ivory-colored breasts in their entirety, and knew they were sheer perfection.
Wendy's own legs struggled to match the length and beauty of her sister's, finally giving it up as hopeless. Her own pear-sized breasts hung pendulous and dejected on her chest.
Yet perhaps Nature does have a sense of fair play, even whimsy as well. As Wendy grew into womanhood, her hips did widen nicely; her buttocks too began to swell into fine round hillocks.
At the age of seventeen, so well-formed was Wendy's fanny that she wished it to cease growing and expanding. Any more would give her not a nice womanly behind, but some gross caricature of the female tush.
As if her body was under her willpower, it happened just that way. A year later there could be no question: quiet, modest Wendy had a magnificent derriere, so perfect that it seemed a gift from the gods.
Never was a girl so grateful to at long last have a feature in which she could take pride. Nature also gave Wendy a slim waist, which accentuated and made all the more dramatic the two great cream-colored mounds that made up her bottom.
Many nights Wendy would lock the door to her bedroom and strip naked. She would then stand with her back to her full-length mirror, admiring her perfect behind.
The girl would examine and study the contours of her booty from every angle. She searched in vain for the slightest imperfection. No dimple or pimple dared mar her flawless cheeks. They were as soft and silky as moonlight, as smooth as marble. To rub Nina Ricci Body Cream on them, as Wendy often did, was pure bliss.
So we see that because of Kristi, Wendy's wonderful derriere became not just a matter of some pride, as it might with any girl, but much more. It was the one feature in which she surpassed her gorgeous sister. Wendy of course dressed to display her buns, discovering that the most flattering garments were thin pants with no back pockets. She filled her closet with just that.
As Wendy and Kristi walked through the mall, they would meet young men walking toward them. The men's eyes would be riveted to Kristi. Wendy might just as well have been invisible, or back home reading a book.
Yet if the men happened to look back at the two girls after they passed, invariably it was Wendy's superb butt that now drew their eyes like a magnet. Wendy sometimes glanced back and caught them admiring it. Far from being offended, she always felt a tightening in her throat and a warm feeling throughout her body.
*******
After the bottom smacking incident at her graduation party, Wendy went on with life. The episode to some extent was forgotten, yet it never entirely left her subconscious. It lay buried there, waiting to emerge. What might happen when it did remained to be seen.
She married Josh Taylor, a young man who, like her, was rather shy and insecure. He did, however, have the grace to not fall hopelessly in love with Kristi, which was usually what happened whenever Wendy brought a boyfriend home to meet the family.
They honeymooned at South Padre Island, where at last Wendy gave up her virginity. She knew by then that Josh truly adored her and was the sweetest, most gentle and respectful husband a woman could hope for. It sometimes grated on Wendy's nerves.
After six months of lovemaking, Wendy had yet to experience an orgasm with her devoted husband. She had not even come close. One night, after another dismal attempt, she quite out of the blue recalled Ted Weems smacking her with that ping-pong paddle. She realized that nothing Josh ever did, neither his warm kisses nor his manhood buried in her, produced the bolt of sexual lightning she had felt that day.
It seemed obvious to Wendy what course of action to take, but just to be sure she scheduled a meeting with Dr. Susan Ellis, a couples therapist. Dr. Ellis' office was quite cozy. With its deep pile carpet and tasteful, soothing décor, it was the perfect haven to seek advice.
On Dr. Ellis' comfortable sofa, Wendy unburdened herself, telling all: her relationship with Kristi and with Josh; her feelings about her body, including her tush; the incident of the paddle on her bottom.
A graduate of one of the finest schools of psychology in the Caribbean, Dr. Ellis was in her early forties, with piercing brown eyes, her face framed by auburn hair in the latest style. With her Ann Taylor ensemble of pale silk blouse and A-line skirt, she was a self-assured professional, in control of any situation.
The therapist was taken aback by Wendy's description of the Ted Weems incident. "That's quite remarkable," she murmured. "You say you experienced sexual feelings .. exciting and intense .. for this man after he gave you a hard smack on your bottom?"
"Did I ever! I mean, he was homely and dumb as a post. But, jeez, if Ted had asked me to meet him out at the gazebo where it's dark and all, I'd have gone running out there. I was just so totally turned on after that whack."
"How curious," the doctor mused. With her legs crossed and notepad in hand, she gazed at Wendy. "My dear, perhaps you'd better tell me more about those feelings of sexual arousal. Take your time, and leave nothing out."
As her therapist was a woman, Wendy had no qualms in describing just how her body had responded, even to the hard nipples. Dr. Ellis wrote furiously as she talked.
"Well, Wendy," said Dr. Ellis after the girl had finished, "the diagnosis seems rather clear. You feel envious, even hostile, toward Kristi because of her beauty and charisma."
