Author's note: You can think of this as a fan fiction of sorts because I wrote it after watching an intriguing spanking video of the same title--and I found myself thirsting for the backstory why this beautiful woman is spanked. Regarding the choice of Literotica category, it's too light for BDSM and it doesn't fit into Nonconsent/Reluctance because she (literally!) gives consent. So here we are in Erotic Couplings. This is a quick read. I hope you enjoy it!
*****
Dating Nick was all-consuming. I had never known anyone more intense before, or since. He was a tall and athletic junior majoring in "business administration," but I didn't know what that meant, as a freshman. Whether he was preparing a class presentation, or with his buddies playing basketball or hanging out at the bar, or just with me in our private time, he was always 100% on and in your face. He had no off switch. I never saw him relax the entire time I dated him.
That was a big part of the attraction, I'm sure. His intensity. Because when he was 100% focused on me, it felt like the whole world was paying attention. I was center stage. Was I making up for a childhood with two sisters and distracted, traveling parents? Maybe. All I know is that holding a captive audience was a treat for me. Even if some of the attention got uncomfortable.
And I should also mention: he was drop dead gorgeous. It was a bold move in my first year of college to date an upperclassman--to the jibes of my hallmates--but he was so mysteriously handsome that I fell hard for him. I was powerless to avoid it.
This story begins on a stormy east coast night at the end of January. We'd been on three or four dates by that point, and had fooled around to second base under the blankets in the dorm rec room at the end of the hall, and then again and a little more in my room, but we hadn't gone all the way yet. I was a more reserved about sex than the average college freshman girl, I supposed, and even though he was forceful about many things in our relationship, he was respectful and hadn't pushed me for that.
I suppose I would have been introduced to Nick's darker interests one way or another, but my mistake was confiding in my fears of French Literature 102. It was a tough class known for weeding out freshman from the honors program that I was so proud to be a part of.
The term had gotten under way and I was already behind and worried about the big midterms creeping up on me. He was holed up at our dorm during the storm and we were in the rec room, alone on the big couch there with the TV muted so we could make progress on our homework. I'd been kvetching to him about my worries over school and grades, which I should have known would set him into problem solving mode. He was stereotypically male in this regard, that he couldn't just sit and listen to me.
"Why do you think you won't do well in that class?" He asked, in his deep and direct voice. I thought with dread about the volume of work I faced this next week and beyond.
"Because I know myself too well," I said honestly. "And I know I can procrastinate. Like really put the work off. I've usually gotten away with it--maybe always gotten away with it, since high school--but I have a feeling this time with French Lit it's going too fast and I'm getting over my head."
He pulled himself up on the couch and looked at me seriously.
"Kris, you are very smart, you know. You just need to develop your discipline."
"Sure, sounds easy," I said sarcastically, and laughed. "All of the sudden I will just start doing everything I need to, every day. On time."
He remained serious. "Yes, exactly that. You can train yourself. You just need the proper framework."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise at this comment. "What does that mean?" I said back to him with a little heat.
"I'll show you," he said. "We'll write up a contract for the work you need to do for your French Lit class, and we'll both sign it." He looked at me with unmoving eyes. "You'll authorize me to manage your behavior."
"Nick," I said, dropping my voice to match his tone. "That's a little weird. What are you going to do if I don't do my homework, put me over your knee and spank me?"
"Well, in fact, yes, that's one appropriate penalty that could be given."
"Oh my God, Nick!" I looked around the empty room to make sure nobody was within earshot. "Are you serious? You want me to sign one of these bondage contracts that says I'm your slave or something?"
"It would be a program to ensure your performance for this one class. You would be amazed how having real consequences will teach you self discipline in a hurry. Your grade is determined directly by the choices that you make, and you have plenty of time. You have full control over it."
"No way! I'm not up for that." I looked back down at my textbook, nervously. It freaked me out a little, seeing how stern he became telling me about this idea of his. I was already scared enough of the work in the honors program, without being worried about having my boyfriend judge me and enforce some vague penalties--maybe even smack me around.
I dismissed that conversation and for the next week went back to school as normal. As things would go, and not really a surprise knowing myself, I did goof off on Thursday with two girlfriends from the dorm--we skipped our last class and went shopping downtown and ended up catching a movie and some dessert afterwards, coming home late. It was therapeutic to hang out with friends and de-stress. I needed it.
However, there was a surprise quiz in the dreaded French Lit the very next morning, and I hadn't prepared at all. I bombed it badly. We scored the quizzes in class on the spot, so it gave me a wake up call. I left the class shaken, again unsure if I would survive this term in the honors program.
That night Nick took me out for a late pizza dinner. I shouldn't have disclosed what happened, but I was glum and he wormed it out of me. I can never hide my emotions, and he's quite perceptive, and persistent, and once he grabbed hold of this he wouldn't let it go.
"Kris, you need to ace this class. You want to stay in honors, right?"
"Yes, yes." I said reluctantly, and looked up to see him staring directly back at me. "Oh no, you're going to bring up the slave contract again, right? You actually want me to sign that?"
"Yes, I do. And look, it's not a 'slave contract'. Trust me on this. Let me show you what it would be."
Right there in the restaurant booth he pulled out his notebook and started intently writing on a blank page. I leaned back and sipped my Coke, wondering if this was real. I looked at all the other couples making small talk with their dinner dates, smiling and laughing with each other. At one table, a joke's punchline sent a foursome into loud guffawing. One girl couldn't stop snorting.
And here I was, being given a slave contract from my new dead-serious boyfriend saying, yeah sure, tie me up and spank my ass if I failed French Lit.
"There," he said, proudly as he pushed the notebook towards me. Rows of his neat handwriting filled the top half of the page and there were two signature blanks at the bottom.
"This isn't actually legally binding, right?" I ventured.
"No, not in a court of law. But you can bet that I will enforce it." He looked at me without any trace of humor. It sent a little shiver through my spine. "Without that, it's a meaningless piece of paper. You would just ignore it."
I thought that over. He was right. If I knew it didn't matter--that he wouldn't follow through--then I wouldn't take it seriously, and I would just put off my homework as I'd been doing.
