Short Story

I am not a Top and I have never spanked anyone.  I have talked with a couple of them though.  I think that being a spankee and on the receiving end it can be difficult to get an idea of what is going on inside of the Top.  After a few discussions with a couple of friends, this is a version of something I came up with a few years ago.  The original copy is long gone and it was fun to try to rewrite it.


As I sit in my chair, I watch you.  In the corner, bared bottom on display, oh the thoughts that run through me.  I can see your body slightly trembling and it humors me.  You know what is coming, as do I.  The weight of the hairbrush in my hand is familiar and comfortable.  Just for fun, I slap it against my left hand.  Your reaction almost makes me giggle.  You cannot hide the fearful anticipation you are feeling and the sound of my hairbrush makes you jerk in such a beautiful way.  You dare not turn around even though we both know you want to.  I know that at this moment, even though you really wanted this, you are questioning yourself.  Some small part of you wants to pull your pants up quickly and run out the door.  So many tell me afterward that they felt this way.  I am sure you are the same.  I know it is the wait that is getting to you.  Your ears are on high alert for any sound.  I decide to click the heel of my shoe against the floor.  Oh, that sure got your attention!  So, you thought I was rising to come and get you now, didn't you?  Not so fast, I am savoring this part.  

You have no idea really how much this delights me.  Watching you there and knowing that I can command you to come to me at any moment, and you will.  Pants around your ankles in that shuffling walk of humility.  Looking at your trembling body, I am reminded of the gift you are giving me.  That gift of submission that can only be given and never taken.  You are entrusting to me, that glorious backside.  Those two wonderful globes that are such a blank canvas.  Inspecting that canvas from where I am seated, I do imagine how I will apply my paint, or rather pain, to it.  What shades of color will appear and spread from my handiwork?

Will you wiggle and squirm?  There is a secret I probably should tell you, but I wont, at least not now.  They all wiggle and try to move from the strikes of my hand or implement.  I have felt them over my lap, tense, stoic.  I know they are thinking that they can hold out, they can *take it*  Is that what is going through your mind as well?  You must remember that you are the one who came to me for this punishment.  You didn't come here to try and outlast me, but to find a release.  As it starts to happen, you won't want it to.  You will fight it.  The choice really is yours.  I am not here to break you.  Why would I want to break one of my beautiful playthings? I want you to return.  I want to share this with you again and again as you come and submit.

As much fun as these moments are, my hand is getting that itch.  I need to begin painting those pale cheeks with my favorite colors.  Are you ready?  I know that I am.  Laying the hairbrush at my ankle as quietly as possible, I take one more look at you over there.  My voice whispers: It is time for your spanking.  You immediately turn around to find my gaze directly on you, your mouth falls open as I very sternly say: Did I tell you to turn around?