X Rated Reads Free Stories

It is a pleasant fall afternoon. I am in my home office; my wife is in her garden and the kids have returned to their respective schools. Everything is just how I like it. Quiet with no interruptions. It’s the perfect time to delve into my favorite pastime...looking, on the internet for ladies to spank. Ahh, such a pleasurable hobby.

My desk sits in front of a large bay window. Two straight back chairs sit diagonally at either end and a leather couch is on my left against the wall.

As I peruse through different sites, the doorbell rings. My wife answers and I hear female chatter and laughter. I figure it must be an old friend from college, so I go back to my fun.

A few minutes later my wife barges into my office followed by her friend.

Her friend is a stunningly-beautiful woman, introduced to me as Miss M. She’s wearing an emerald green suit, matching shoes and a yellow blouse. This outfit complements her ginger-red hair. She is an absolute Knockout!

Arrogantly I think that she is going to be my next conquest! Who needs the internet!

After the obligatory pleasantries, Miss M sits in one of the chairs in front of my desk. My wife sits on the sofa against the wall.

Both women carry shopping bags. My wife has a canvas bag with a bunch of floral things. Miss M has an orange pebble-grain leatherette bag with her initials MM stamped on the top left hand corner. Her bag also has the number 18 in white numerals directly in the middle.

"Must be a Bronco Fan,” I think.

Miss M starts the conversation by stating why she is here. I’m not too attentive until I heard that it is about ME!

"What about me?" I ask excitedly.

"Your wife has told me about your spanking fantasies,” Miss M replies, her voice even and calm. “I’m here today to fulfill your dreams.”

Angry and embarrassed, I shoot a hateful glance at my wife, who is fiddling with those damned branches.

I turn my attention back to Miss M. "What the hell do you know about it!"

She reaches into her No.18 bag and pulls out a cell phone. My mouth drops, my head suddenly gets too heavy for my neck. She has my BC phone. I use it when I want a booty call.

She looks at me with a self-assured "I GOTCHA" smile and continues. "Your lovely wife found your hidden extra cell, and look what it has on it?" She mocks me. "Text messages, phone numbers, addresses and what is this?" She turns the screen so I can see what she sees. "Pictures!Pictures of you and red-bottomed women.”

She sets the phone on the desk and says, "What do you have to for yourself, young man?"

"Young man!" I think. "Who does she think she is? I'm older than her." Of course I’m not going to tell her that.

As she continues lecturing, I feel myself shrinking. Actually shrinking. Mentally I am ten years old and being scolded for bad behavior.

After the tongue-lashing, she asks, "You know what happens next don't you?"

I choose not to answer.

She asks again, in a more forceful manner, "You know what happens next don't you!"

"Yes Ma’am." My reply is feeble.

"What is it?" she demands.

In that same little voice I say, "I get a spanking."

"Louder!"

"I get a spanking!”

Miss M then says, "Bobby, get up from behind that desk and get across my lap.”

In a last ditch effort of defiance, I say, "My name is Robert, not Bobby!"

She gives me a look that would turn stone into lava and says, "If I say your name is Bobby, it is Bobby. Do I make myself clear, BOBBY!"

"Yes Ma’am."

"Now get over here and get across my lap! If you don't want your neighbors to see you get spanked, then you'd better close those curtains.”

I stand up to close the curtains. She stands up to take her suit-coat off, rolls up her sleeves and sits down again.

I sullenly shuffle to Miss M and start to get across her lap. She stops me and says, "Pants and undies off.”

I look at her incredulously, and exclaim, "In front of my wife?”

"Especially in front of your wife," she answers. "She's the injured party because of your behavior.”

I hesitantly get over her lap thinking, "She's not that big of a person, so how bad can it be?"

I guess that she works out because her thighs feel firm; but as firm as her thighs, her hand is firmer. She pelts my butt like hail in a thunderstorm. I am no longer Robert, the man, but Bobby, the boy who is getting severely chastised. I begin begging and pleading for her to stop but to no avail.

I don't know how long the onslaught lasted but eventually she reaches into No. 18 to retrieve a tortoise-shell hairbrush. She adroitly uses that on my burning backside.

Pure agony!

When she finally tells me to get up, no longer am I arrogant and insolent but have been transformed into a contrite young man.

Thinking that my ordeal is over I start to pull my shorts and pants up.

She stops me saying, "Did I tell you to get dressed?"

"No Ma'am.”

"Then you don't do anything until I tell you. Understand?"

"Yes Ma'am".

"Clean everything off your desk.” She points at the papers scattered there. I do and wait for further instruction.

"Next, I want you as bare as your desk and when that is done you will bend over the desk and remain there until I tell you to get up.”

I do, but think to myself, "Great, here I am butt-ass naked, bent over this desk like a damn research monkey with glowing ischial callosities."

Another lecture ensues. "The first spanking was for your arrogant and despicable behavior. This next phase is for your belief that as you were growing up, all females in superior positions either failed to correct you or you were able to beguile them not to punish you when needed. Today we're going to reset the clock and take care of those missed opportunities of the past.” She calls my wife over. She brings her bag. Come to find out, this whole time while I was getting scolded and punished, my wife was plaiting switches together, three to a bundle making one big, mean looking switch. She hands one to Miss M to admire. It was taped at the bottom, like a handle and every few inches tape encircled the three branches to keep them from fraying.

I look on in horror. This weapon is going to rip my nether regions apart!

“I normally require the penitent to count after each stroke; One...two...three...and so forth,” Miss M says. “But since this is a special occasion, you will count backwards after each stroke.”

"Backwards from WHAT?" I ask.

"What year were you born?"

"1955.”

"What year is this?"

"2015"

“Now, we have the parameters set. I want you to call out the year after each stroke. Starting with the current year. Remember, I represent all the females in your past that neglected their duties during your upbringing.”

“Great,” I think, and the punishment begins.

I hear a SWISH as the branches cut through the air, then I hear and feel a THWICK as the super switch makes contact with my butt. Pain to the tenth power warps through my nervous system. Neighbors or not, I throw decorum to the wind and scream. “2015!”

SWISH-THWICK. “2014!”

The unrelenting assault continues until she gets to 1955. By this time I am a gelatinous mess. I feel like one of those Salvador Dali Clocks!

While I lie drooped over the desk, I hear Miss M tell my wife, "You may baptize him now.” My "darling" wife giggles, reaches in her bag and withdraws a spray bottle. She sprays my swollen hindquarters. At first it feels cool and refreshing but then serious pain erupts. She has sprayed my ass with salt water. SALT WATER! OWWW!

I am done. I can’t take any more. I slide to my knees begging and pleading for this torment to end. While in this disgraced position I see Miss M reach into No.18. "No More. Please no more!” I am a whimpering mass of protoplasm, but to my relief Miss M brings out a T-Shirt instead of a disciplinary weapon.

On the front of the shirt, over the left breast, are the initials "MM". On the back a message is printed.

"I JUST GOT A SPANKING BECAUSE I'VE BEEN A BAD BOY!”

“Put it on, stand behind the desk, hands on head, back to the window,” Miss M instructs. “Do not move until someone gives you permission.”

Miss M and my wife then pick up their bags and head for the door. I hear Miss M say on her way out, “If Bobby gives you ANY trouble, you know how to reach me.”

"Whew, I’m glad thats was over,” I mumble, but no sooner than I say it, my wife runs back into the room, opens the curtains and turns on the ceiling lights. The neighbors can now all see my glowing red butt and the T-shirt message, I JUST GOT A SPANKING BECAUSE I'VE BEEN A BAD BOY!

“Don’t move,” Miss M reminds, and they leave me exposed and displayed. As they depart I can only think of Miss M and how SHE W(ore) O(ut) M(y) A(ss)(...while I was) N(aked).