Spanked And Humiliated At The Gym

From my twisted and very libidinous mind comes the following fantasy.

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I should not have shot my mouth off, but I am about to pay the price for my mistake. And I deserve all that is coming to me.

The cat-calls and whistling are humiliating enough, every time I bend over and pick up a ball, my short tennis skirt doing very little to conceal my lacy white panties, and the crowd of spectators seems to grow with each enthusiastic outburst.

I am fairly athletic, a former gymnast, but never much of a tennis player, and until this afternoon had never stepped onto a pickleball court, but I was so sure I could win, I accepted the challenge. Now, with certain defeat closing in on me like the breathless orgasm at the end of a marathon masturbation session, I can only reflect on how I got here and the well-earned punishment I am about to receive.

It all started one week ago at this very gym when I noticed a guy ogling me. Instead of just ignoring him, as I would normally do, I channeled my inner-exhibitionist and intentionally put on a show. I spread my legs a little wider than usual to fully display the camel-toe in my spandex work-out tights, then straddled the bench like a cowboy in a western movie, deceptively struggling with the barbell flattening my breasts while thrusting my pelvis and panting provocatively, melodramatically playing the "Damsel in Distress" to an audience of one.

Naturally he rushed right over for a closer view, following the bulge in his shorts to his intended quarry, like a dowsing rod leading him to water, all the while pretending to be there to offer assistance but unable to stop gawking at my breasts and the extrusive outline of my labia.

How chivalrous, right?

The trash-talk began when he told me he was not there to lift weights, his tone indicating that weight-lifting was beneath him, but that he only came to the gym to play pickleball, and asked if I would like to play sometime.

Was that his best line?

Although I really did not know anything about pickleball, I told him it sounded like a stupid game and I was sure I could beat him without much of a challenge.

I was looking for a fight, and I found one.

He did not look like much: skinny legs, pale skin, shorts too short and shirt too tight for his scrawny frame. And I had no doubt about two things: the prominent bulge on display was a pair of socks or a bar of soap, and I could beat him at his own stupid game.

I was so confident of the latter, in fact, that I not only agreed to play the stupid game, but also accepted the ridiculous terms of his bet: if I won, which was the only sure outcome as far as I was concerned, he would pay for my gym membership for the next two years; if he won, which was unthinkable at this point, he would spank my naked backside with my own pickleball paddle right there on the court, with spectators welcome to witness the entire flogging. Then he would show me exactly what my cocky mouth was good for.

Although I had never played pickleball in my life and did not even know the rules, I would have agreed to any challenge just to shut this squirrelly guy up.

So the pickleball court was reserved and our match was arranged, amid more trash-talk and back-and-forth bantering.

I could hardly wait to win the match and button this guy's lip once and for all!

Little did I know he had earned a varsity letter in tennis back in high school, and was the gym's only in-house pickleball pro.

Oops!

So here I am, one week later, trying to distract my libidinous opponent by wearing the shortest tennis skirt I could find, my sexy white panties in full view with every step I take, and still losing badly. I could not have guessed things would get so out of hand so quickly, or I might have opted for a pair of knee-pads instead of a short skirt!

Our gym has only one pickleball court, and it is in a separate room across from the locker rooms. Whenever I walked past, the room was empty and the lights were off, but I could see what reminded me of a miniature tennis court, with large paddles hanging from the back wall, a net in the middle, and a small set of bleachers on one side. I could not imagine spectators being interested in watching such a stupid game, but today the bleachers are full, with additional gawkers lining all four walls; apparently word of our bet got out, and the curious had to see for themselves if the rumors were true. Despite my confidence going into today's match, it appears that my short skirt and lacy panties are only a modest prelude to the show they will soon be witnessing, a performance they will not soon forget.

Now, with him serving the match point and a room full of spectators cheering him on, I can only blame myself for the precarious position I am in, the mouth I so arrogantly shot off soon to be filled with his hot semen, after my naked backside is thoroughly walloped by my own pickleball paddle.

I swallow my pride as I cross the court to congratulate him on his decisive victory, fully aware that I will soon be swallowing much more than that, amid the cheers and jeers of the circle of spectators closing in all around us.

Yet, despite the humiliation and pain I know I am about to endure, my loins are on fire with pure carnal lust!

Someone brings him a chair and he sits and motions for me to lay across his lap.

I hand him my paddle as I assume the position, and I feel the cool air on my flesh as he lifts my skirt to more cheers and whistles, and then lowers my lacy white panties past my thighs to my knees. The hoots and hollers from men and women alike are almost deafening, and the humiliation I feel sends a chill up my spine.

Whack!

I nearly jump off of his lap as the first spank stings my naked backside.

"One..." the crowd counts enthusiastically.

Whack!!

"Two..." they count, and the pain and humiliation send a bucket of tears to my eyes as I desperately fight to hold them in.

Whack!! Whack!!!

The torrent of tears begins, followed almost immediately by loud sobbing.

Whack!! Whack!! WHACK!!!

Now I am wailing and kicking my feet so profusely, my panties slip down to my ankles and soon are gone.

I hear the sound of fabric being torn to shreds as a group of spectators fight over possession of my panties.

WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!!

It goes on and on as I continue to shriek and wail.

"Forty-seven... forty-eight... forty-nine..." they count in unison.

WHACK!!!

Will it ever end?

Finally I am allowed to stand up on wobbly legs, and dozens of cell-phone selfies are taken as people jockey to pose with my fire-engine-red backside, which I try unsuccessfully to cover with my skimpy tennis skirt. I bury my face in my hands as I continue to cry and wail uncontrollably from the pain and humiliation. The circle of spectators continues to close in on us, and when all of the selfies have been taken, he lowers me to my knees and unzips his tennis shorts.

I continue to sob as he enters my mouth, and it is not with a bar of soap or pair of socks, then gag a little as he reaches the back of my throat, but soon I am bobbing my head, sucking and slurping, cupping him with one hand and stroking him with the other.

The jeers and cat-calls continue as he rides my wet face to an explosive orgasm, which he displays proudly by holding my chin down for cell-phone pictures of my semen-filled mouth before allowing me to swallow it all down.

I hear the sounds of other zippers being lowered, and am faced with a seemingly endless sea of throbbing male genitalia, which push their way into my mouth one or two at a time as strong hands direct my head. I swallow mouthful after mouthful of fresh semen, barely able to catch my breath in between hot loads.

When I think I have sucked and swallowed every man in the room at least once, the chair is placed in front of me and a woman sits down and spreads her legs invitingly. Still on my knees, my face is pushed into her fully-blossomed flower, and I lick and eat her ravenously until she moans with pleasure and finally surrenders to my busy tongue. She is immediately replaced by another woman, and another, and so on, until I have eaten and sucked everyone in the room.

I stand on weak legs and walk gingerly toward the women's locker room, not even bothering to cover my naked, battered backside, my face glistening with orgasmic juices from some of those I have gratified, but my head held high. Somehow, I feel empowered and liberated, despite the shameful acts I have performed for the past hour-and-a-half. As I pass through, the circle opens into two flanking rows and in unison begin a slow clap... clap... clap... clap...

Finally, alone in the shower, my belly full of semen and female nectar, I am so aroused by my recent acts of debauchery, I masturbate maniacally with a shampoo bottle until several intense orgasms make my head spin and weaken my legs even further. Although remaining upright is a challenge, I know I will not be able to sit comfortably for a very long time!

As I gradually regain composure from my latest shuddering orgasm, I wonder if my pickleball opponent will consider a rematch, with the same terms, soon.

I do not mind paying for my own gym membership!

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I hope you enjoyed reading my depraved fantasy! I tried very diligently to keep my fingers on the computer keyboard, and out of my raging furnace, as I typed it for you, but only with limited success. I could not help myself, but oh, my fingers taste so yummy now!!