Spanking erotica...
"Therapy," a sex story by Victoria Ward
“Leslie, you do realize that it’s a waste of your time and money to pay for therapy if you aren’t going to do the work?” Dr. Spencer asked.
Leslie didn’t like all this blame. Since session one, Dr. Spencer had chastised her for one minor thing or another. Good thing he wasn’t a medical doctor who had to tell people they were dying. He’d probably chide them for not trying hard enough to recover and then he’d chide them for not dying fast enough.
“I forget things, Dr. Spencer, especially when I’m drinking and I don’t see how keeping a journal helps. It’s stupid!”
“Leslie, I can’t help you unless I can analyze the mental state you’re in when you drink, which includes what you’re thinking, feeling and doing, so we can identify patterns and work on changing those patterns. I’m not a miracle worker. You need to do your part in this.”
“Look, I broke up with that guy I was seeing this week and I had more important things on my mind. Give me a break.”
“This is the fourth one in the three weeks I’ve known you. From what I’ve gathered this has been a problem for you since high school. I don’t think your dating issues and your drinking are mutually exclusive.”
“But I don’t-they don’t,” she stammered. “They don’t make me…happy.” The truth was that they didn’t make her come. Just once, she’d like to have a screaming, quaking orgasm but at this rate, she’d settle for any orgasm, even it was quick and less satisfying than a sneeze with a long build-up. Of course, she wasn’t about to tell this to Dr. Spencer.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand my relationships,” she told him. “You’re coming at it from a man’s perspective; an old man’s perspective.”
He smiled in a way that showed too many teeth, they way people did when they were being made to smile for a photo but they didn’t want to. People his age were so easy to insult. Senior citizens didn’t care if you called them old because they’d accepted it by then but men in their mid-forties were still young enough to be offended by old man comments and false teeth jokes. Truthfully, Dr. Spencer didn’t look his age. He had a head full of chestnut hair that many younger men would envy, he lacked the beer gut that plagued middle-aged men, and there were only a few, faint wrinkles on his otherwise unblemished face. Plus, he looked so put-together, with his blue tie, white, button-down shirt and black, pleated pants. Even his old-fashioned silver-rimmed glasses didn’t make him look old, as much as dignified, more like an English professor than a therapist. All he needed to complete the look was a brown jacket with elbow patches. Leslie pictured Dr. Spencer as a college student and realized that she was attracted to him, even if it was just the younger, imaginary version of him. She shifted in her chair, averted her gaze and tried not to picture him naked.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Dr. Spencer asked. “You look like you’re thinking about something.”
For a moment, Leslie worried that he could actually read her mind. The only deflection she could come up with was a childish one. “I was thinking that I shouldn’t listen to someone who’s old enough to eat dinner at four o’ clock and complain about how not enough stores offer senior discounts. I’d get more current advice from a Magic 8 Ball.”
There was a brief pause while Dr. Spencer furrowed his brow and made a steeple with his fingers. Leslie thought both gestures pretentious and hoped this wasn’t a habit of his.
He broke the silence with an unexpected question. “Did you parents ever spank you?”
Here we go, Leslie thought. Blame the parents.
“Oh, my parents weren’t abusive,” she said. “This isn’t their fault.”
“I didn’t ask if you were abused; I asked if you were spanked. Those are two different questions with different implications.”
“Well, not according to my parents. They thought spanking was abuse. I got time-outs.”
“In my day, bad behavior was corrected in a swift, clear manner before bad habits became permanent traits.”
“Yeah, well, in your day, people drove chariots to the forum and thought the sun revolved around the earth,” she said with a smirk.
“I’ve had it with your attitude, young lady. Take your pants down and get across my lap,” Dr. Spencer ordered calmly, as if he had said he needed to borrow a pen.
Leslie laughed and rolled her eyes. “Real funny. You should do stand-up comedy.”
“I’m not joking,” he replied. “You need a good spanking and I’m going to give you one.” His legs had been crossed in the masculine, foot-against-knee position but Leslie knew he was serious when he uncrossed them, patted his lap and said, “Let’s not delay it any longer. Get into position right now.”
“That seems wildly inappropriate to me.”
“What it seems to you doesn’t matter. I’m trying to prevent you from becoming a full-blown alcoholic but I can’t do that until you learn to get out of your own way.”
“So, you think you’re going to make me?” Leslie could almost hear the roar of lawyers fighting each other to represent her in a sexual harassment suit.
“To force a patient to participate in unwanted treatment is barbaric so this is entirely your choice. Just keep in mind that anything I recommend to you is for your own good. I’m your ally, not your enemy.”
Wrong as it seemed, it was still strangely intriguing. Nothing else was helping and the last thing Leslie wanted was to destroy herself. What if things got worse? What if she lost the job she just got? What if she never had a stable relationship for the rest of her life? Visions of herself as a lonely, forty-year old, desiccated alcoholic with advanced wrinkling, permanent glassy eyes and nothing to show for her life, danced in her head. Unorthodox therapy appeared to be the only viable choice she had.
Before she could change her mind, she ignored her pride, tentatively walked to Dr. Spencer and then halted abruptly with one hand on the button of her jeans.
“Wait, are you gonna hit me with, like, a board or something?” she asked.
“No, I was never one for objects. A strong hand is all I use.”
Slightly relieved, she lowered her head, stared at the floor and fumbled with the button and zipper. As quickly as she could, she pushed her pants down to her knees and bent over his lap. She closed her eyes and tried not to be ashamed when he grabbed her hips and adjusted her position to better suit him.
“Good girl,” Dr. Spencer said, “but you forgot one thing.” His warm, thin fingers gently worked her panties down and a twinge of panic rose in her.
“That’s really not necessary,” she insisted. She felt like an absolute fool, draped across this man’s lap with her ass exposed and the wooden arm of the chair pressing uncomfortably against her ribcage. Until this, she never really believed that people could be so easily convinced to do things that were out of character for them.
“I’d spank you with your panties on if you had forgotten to write in your journal, but to willingly neglect it several times and then be combative and defiant in my office warrants bare-bottom punishment,” he said. “And you’re going to regret those age jokes.”
Leslie was about to argue that her comments were funny, not insulting, when she felt a sharp slap on her right ass cheek and then another on her left. It was certainly startling but not awful and if that’s all there was, then, Dr. Spencer was the one who should feel foolish.
“That was to get you ready for the full experience,” Dr. Spencer said while rubbing her ass in a way that relaxed her despite his ominous words. “And remember,” he added. “I’m doing this because I care about you.”
The stoic Dr. Spencer she had come to know over the course of three sessions became a merciless disciplinarian. He punished her ass with repeated swats from a hand that felt as flat and unyielding as a concrete slab.
“Bad! Bad! Bad!” Dr. Spencer said, punctuating each word with a hard slap.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” she cried in response.
Leslie gritted her teeth as her ass grew hot and each spank felt harder than the previous one. She squirmed in an effort to dodge the blows but he held her in place with his free arm. He raised his voice louder than she thought him capable of and said, “Don’t you try to get away. You’ve been a petulant, bad girl and you’re going to take the spanking you’ve earned!”
For reasons Leslie didn’t comprehend, his words, coupled with her aching ass, made her body tingle in a confusing way. She begged him not to continue because it was her brain’s automatic response but, she was stunned to discover that she actually wanted more. Something inside her felt an emptiness being filled by his discipline and she wasn’t ready for it to end.
“Begging gets you nowhere. Are you going to take it like a big girl?”
“Yes,” she moaned. She hoped Dr. Spencer hadn’t heard the lust in her voice.
The force of Dr. Spencer’s renewed intensity was unlike anything Leslie had ever felt. The harsh slapping sensation seemed to light up every nerve in her body and she thought that this was what people meant when they talked about “good pain.” Her whole body grew hot, her breathing grew heavy and she felt her face flush as her excitement grew. No one had ever treated her like this before and five minutes ago she would’ve been appalled by the very idea of it, so why was it so pleasurable? Had she wanted this all along and not known? She shook the hair out of her face and gazed at Dr. Spencer’s wall of credentials as she grew wet from sweet sting of his authority.
She let out a few squeals of joy, which the doctor seemed to mistake for pain because he told her, “Almost done. Just a few more and I want you say you’re sorry each time, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Leslie answered, her loins burning.
He gave her a spank and she mumbled, “I’m not sorry.”
“Say you’re sorry!” Dr. Spencer commanded.
An extra-hard blow landed, prompting Leslie to cry out, “I’m not sorry, old man!”
Instead of more, Leslie felt an unwelcome cessation of her punishment.
“You are unbelievably difficult,” Dr. Spencer said. “I’ve never had to rest my hand before.”
Leslie, thinking her fun was over, attempted to get up but Dr. Spencer placed his hands on her sides and urged her back down. “No getting up for you. You’re going to stay in this position until I’m ready to continue.”
She didn’t know what felt worse, the hot, throbbing sensation on her ass, the humiliation of being an independent, college-educated woman allowing a man twenty years her senior to spank her like a disobedient child or that both of those things had aroused her like nothing else ever had.
A couple of knocks, followed by a familiar creaking noise interrupted Leslie’s thoughts. Her eyes widened as she whipped her head toward the door and saw a tall, thin, 20-something blond man standing in the room. She immediately tried to cover herself with her hands but it wasn’t exactly camouflage in the jungle.
“Sorry,” he said, walking over to them and eyeing Leslie’s barely covered butt. “Didn’t realize you were with a patient. Defiant, is she?”
“Very. She’s wearing me down. I’m not sure if I can go on but she desperately needs further correction. Would you like to assist?”
“It would be my pleasure,” the man said. “I’ll make those cheeks glow redder than the August sun.”
“Hey, wait!” Leslie yelled. “I don’t even know this guy! Dr. Spencer!” Arguing effectively wasn’t easy in such in undignified position, especially in such a surreal situation. It was starting to feel as if she were in some pornographic Twilight Zone.
“Don’t worry, Leslie, this is David Whitley. He’s a student and I’ve been mentoring him. You’ll be in good hands.”
“Okay, then,” was David’s only response.
Without warning, a fierce series of slaps pelted Leslie’s ass. There was no warm-up, no slow increase, just zero to sixty in an instant. Dr. Spencer’s spanks had been harder and more drawn out, as if he had been reaching his arm back as far as it would go each time. David’s were shorter, faster and less forceful, yet they stung her ass like the wrath of a hundred bees. The machine-like speed with which he alternated between one cheek and the other left no time for momentary recovery. Taunts from David only made her grow hotter as she squirmed and squeaked.
“The price for disobedience is high, isn’t it?” he said. “Have you had enough?”
Leslie turned her head toward David and said, “You’re a future quack!” She had no idea why she said it, but it was too late to be taken back.
“She’s feisty. She needs to be naked,” David said calmly.
Those words made Leslie flush with excitement and shame. Their eyes would be all over her naked body and God only knows where their hands would go. Hidden desires had put her on autopilot and she wasn’t entirely shocked that she acquiesced instead of running for the door.
She heard her boots being unzipped and falling to the floor. Drafty air chilled her calves as her bunched-up pants were tugged off.
“Nice socks,” David said, giving her green and black stripped feet a tickle. “I’ll leave them on.”
A dreamlike feeling washed over Leslie as her body was lifted off the chair, her arms were raised and her shirt was pulled off. The only things that felt tangible were the warmth of David’s breath on her neck and the scent of his cologne when he reached around her back and unhooked her bra. He leaned even closer into her and gave her ass a squeeze. Despite her shame, Leslie looked into David’s bright, blue eyes and decided she never wanted to look away. There was sweetness to his features, his kind eyes and kissable lips balancing out the harshness of his prominent cheekbones. Any thinner and his face would’ve looked sharp and gaunt but it was perfect the way it was. He was gorgeous enough to almost make Dr. Spencer look like a troll. Leslie had to stop herself from jumping into his arms, running her fingers through his bushy blond hair and kissing him.
She was ordered down on all fours and as soon as she was in position, she heard a drawer opening, followed by rustling.
“Just what I was looking for,” David said. Leslie craned her neck around and saw David holding an old-fashioned wooden ruler, the kind that had long ago been replaced by cheap, plastic ones. The sound of the ruler being slapped into the open palm of his left hand filled the room and the sly smile on his face nearly made Leslie lose her mind. There had never been a sexier sight to behold but Leslie wondered whether she should be alarmed. How could she go from spanking virgin to disciplined with a ruler so fast? Worse yet, she was almost uncontrollably aroused. What if this pushed her over the edge?
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Leslie turned to Dr. Spencer and said, “I thought you didn’t use objects.”
“I don’t, but David obviously has different methods.”
She was not amused with his smug sense of humor.
David instructed her to face forward and to call him “sir,” when she spoke to him. She wasn’t quite ready yet when the first powerful hit landed and made her cry out.
“Do you like it?” David asked harshly.
“No,” she lied.
Another hard strike came down. “No, what?” he asked.
“No, sir!” she hollered.
One ruthless spank after another assaulted her ass with a steady rhythm that was predictable but with a pattern that was not, like heavy rain against a windowpane on a windy day. David spanked her every which way, horizontally, vertically, sideways, across both cheeks or back and forth between one and the other. The sound seemed louder than possible, magnified by Leslie’s malfunctioning senses, yet overpowered by her shrieks.
At one point he stopped and rubbed the ruler all over her burning ass, allowing her to savor the combination of pulsing pain and a soft, calming touch. She was lulled into a sensual haze.
“Do you like it?” David repeated.
“No, sir!” she said again.
The spanking resumed with viciousness, causing Leslie to gasp and wail while happily growing acquainted with the ruler’s smarting kiss. Blood pounded loudly in her head and she grew dizzy from labored breathing. The bright, fluorescent lights left black and gold imprints behind her lids every time she shut her eyes. In front of her, the colors in the generic, landscape prints that hung on the wall blurred and melted into rainbow swirls, prompting her to keep her eyes closed for good. Being drunk was nothing compared to this.
She was so lost in the chaos of her satisfying suffering that she almost didn’t notice Dr. Spencer’s familiar hands on her breasts, squeezing roughly, then snaking his fingers around her nipples in circles, teasing and pinching until Leslie panted and moaned. She wanted to say something, to ask what was going on. Instead, Dr. Spencer’s tender bites on her neck led her to yell, “I can’t take anymore! Please!”
“Have you learned your lesson?” David asked.
“Yes, sir!” she cried.
“Wrong answer!” he yelled. “Get your face into the carpet and get your ass into the air!” He asked Dr. Spencer to assist him and as Leslie pressed her forehead into the rough fibers of the carpet, she felt her ass cheeks being clutched and spread, followed by the brutal, vertical strike of the ruler into her ass-crack.
“Ahhh!” she screamed, more out for surprise than pain. Several more cruel whacks hit her sensitive strip of flesh and she pleaded with him to stop.
“Have you learned your lesson?” David asked again.
“Um,” Leslie panted. She could barely speak and she didn’t know which answer was the right one.
“Answer me!” he demanded, giving her another slap.
“Um, no, sir!”
David laughed and told her, “There’s no right answer honey, but I think you’ve had enough.”
Leslie came to see that the torture wasn’t the spanking; it was the longing, the denial she had been made to feel since Dr. Spencer’s first smacks.
An arm came around her waist and rolled her onto her back. With the spanking over and her raw ass aching, a feeling of exhilaration settled in, oddly similar to the one that followed the gradual recovery from a brain freeze.
Both men rubbed probing fingers around her sopping pussy. There was no hiding her pleasure anymore and Leslie no longer cared.
“Looks like someone enjoyed her spanking,” David said. Her legs were nudged open and her clit received sharp, quick slaps from David’s upside-down palm at the same time that the inner thigh of her right leg was bathed by Dr. Spencer’s tongue.
Two of David’s slender fingers worked their way into her pussy and explored previously undiscovered places. All these years, she had figured she was just sexually defective but lying there, with David waking a long-dormant volcano of passion between her legs and Dr. Spencer giving her chills with the combined magic of his strokes and kisses, she finally knew herself to be a highly-functioning sexual machine. The others just hadn’t known what buttons to push.
Right as she began to work her hips and make noises of approval, the instruments of happiness were withdrawn.
“No!” she protested. “Please, please don’t stop!” Frustration led her to shut her eyes, rub her face with one hand and grip her hair at the roots with other. Tearing herself apart would be better than leaving things unfinished.
“Don’t worry,” David said. Leslie opened her eyes and saw David undressing. “I’m not a sadist, you know,” he said with a smile. “I just need a minute.”
Upon seeing his beautiful, pale, hairless chest, Leslie relaxed and let her hands fall carelessly to her sides, awaiting the bliss that was sure to come. A thousand Christmas mornings couldn’t equal this kind of anticipation.
Leslie couldn’t hold back a little laughter as David pulled a condom out of his pocket and put it in his mouth for safekeeping while he unzipped his pants. Stumbling awkwardly, he looked like he was dancing a jig as he hopped on one foot, then the other in an effort to pull his pants off.
Like a horny teenager, Leslie gawked at David’s long, lean naked body. There was something so arousing about watching him inspect the condom like a detective and then roll it onto his hard cock. It was the most perfect cock she’d ever seen; not too big, not too small, with the right amount of girth to satisfy and not terrify. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’d been designed for her.
David fixed his eyes on her with a look of smoldering sexuality that she’d never seen before, like he didn’t just want sex, he wanted her. She opened her legs in invitation and when he knelt down, raised her ass off the floor and slid into her, she wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever. His fingers deftly worked her clit as he fucked her slowly, at first, torturing her with his refusal to give it to her as hard and fast as she wanted it. Every sweet spot, inside and out, was attended to. Dr. Spencer’s velvety licks landed on her stomach and his hands traced delicately along her sides, making her break out in goosebumps. Nothing had ever felt so good.
“I’m going to ask you again,” David said. “Do you like it?”
“Yes!” Leslie screamed. “Yes! I like it!”
Her honesty was reward with the most vigorous fucking she’d ever received. She didn’t know whether or not the g-spot was real, but whatever David was reaching inside her made her legs tremble and her entire body sizzle. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she struggled to push her hips into him faster than her body would allow. Howls of unbearable pleasure filled the air and David responded by fondling her clit with the dexterity of a guitarist playing a solo and thrusting deeper into her, setting countless little blazes in nerves she never knew she had.
The exertion made her lightheaded and she almost felt ready to pass out. She sensed something stirring within her and when Dr. Spencer’s tongue explored her earlobe and his fingers tweaked her nipples one last time, Leslie’s churning sexual concoction of need, want, pain, shame, and lust couldn’t be contained anymore.
A scream so loud and guttural that it could only comes from years of latency, erupted from her as an internal explosion tightened every muscle and dispersed shocks of heat through her body. Her mind went completely blank, her worries and anxieties erased by something more powerful than her overworked brain. She twitched a few times as her screams became moans and her body started to quietly relax.
“My turn,” she heard David say.
How sweet to hold back, Leslie thought.
He came barely two seconds after the announcement, grunting, shaking and making such a sexy face that it nearly got her going again. Still, she felt she had upstaged him.
When he finished, he pulled out, flopped down beside her and planted a kiss on her lips. Never did she think that she would be basking in the fuzzy afterglow of her first orgasm in the unassuming office of her therapist, the same man who now kneeled next to her on the floor, smirking.
“What?” she asked.
“I think we’ve cured your sexual dysfunction,” he said.
“Dysfunction? I-I didn’t have sexual dysfunction.”
“Psychologically you did,” he responded, folding his hands together and going back into therapist mode. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know when someone’s real problem is lack of good sex, which they then treat with things like alcohol. I thought David and I could give you a push in the right direction.”
She sat up and looked confusedly at David and back at the doctor. “You set this all up?”
“Yes. I do apologize for the deception but the two of you seem like a good match and I was hoping you might hit it off, you know, with him being your age and not an old geezer,” Dr. Spencer’s said with a beaming smile.
Leslie’s face burned with embarrassment. Having her therapist play matchmaker was somehow more awkward than everything that had just happened; not bad, but still awkward.
“I’d like to do this again,” David said. “We really should do it as much as we need to.”
Leslie whoheartedly agreed. As Dr. Spencer had said, successful therapy required her to work at it.
Originally published September 2010