This extract is from the first chapter of
"Boys Need a Spanking
“Boys all need a good spanking,” Paula said with a grin.
“No,” he replied, “You just enjoy spanking them!”
They both laughed. Neither of them took it seriously.
“I told my friends,” she said, “About what you found on my computer.”
“Dirty Denise? And the rest!”
“It wasn’t me. Really it wasn’t. I’m not interested in THAT sort of thing.” She was quite indignant. “It must have been Phil when he was here last weekend.”
“It doesn’t bother me if it was you,” he told her, “Whatever. You’d be surprised what people look at on the Internet. You wouldn’t believe some of them!”
“I don’t look at that sort of stuff. Really I don’t. It doesn’t interest me.” She was still indignant.
“Not even boys getting spanked?” He laughed at her.
“Not even that,” she said firmly. “There’s no fun in looking at it. Doing it would be the thing, but there’s precious little of that sort of thing these days.”
He looked at her. They had known each other for years, worked together, and had always been good friends. She was really very attractive, no youngster, but tall and with a fine figure.
“I’d have thought that a woman like you would have no trouble finding boyfriends?”
“They’re all too serious, and all with too much baggage. All I want is someone to go out with, have some fun, a good meal, and then maybe a shag afterwards.”
He smiled, but he was more than a little startled at her frankness.
“So you want a shag?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Behave yourself,” she told him. “Not with you.”
“Pity,” he said, still trying to maintain the grin and keep the conversation light-hearted.
“All you men think about is sex,” she told him, crossly.
“You mentioned shagging, not me.” He tried to sound indignant. “It never crossed my mind until you mentioned it!”
“Pigs might fly. You’re not telling me that you, or any man, doesn’t go five minutes without thinking about sex one way or another.”
“No, really, “ he assured her, “If you hadn’t mentioned it, it would never have occurred to me. But...” he studied her from head to foot, “... you are a very attractive women. I wouldn’t turn you down!”
“You’re heading for that spanking,” she warned him.
“Yes please,” he muttered, quietly so that she would not hear. Her eyes opened wide. She had heard.
“You really are into kinky stuff? I thought you might be.” She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips aggressively. He blushed, but said nothing.
She seemed to be thinking. “I’m not going to shag you,” she said firmly. “You could kiss me, if you want.”
He stood up, losing no time in moving towards her. She pushed him away.
“No,” she told him firmly. “You may kiss my feet.”
He looked doubtfully downwards. She kicked her shoes off.
“Go on then. If you don’t, you won’t get another chance.” She reached forward, her hand outstretched as if to push him downward.
“You serious?” he asked.
“If you are.”
“The floor’s not too comfortable,” he said doubtfully.
“Wimp.”
“Yeah, OK. I’m a wimp. But you haven’t even got a carpet here.”
“There’s a carpet in the bedroom. A nice soft one.”
They stared at each other for several minutes in silence.
“Come on,” she said at last, and took his hand. She led him upstairs and into the bedroom.
“Kneel,” she ordered, sitting herself on the edge of the bed. She waved her bare feet in his direction. “Kiss these.”
Kneeling, he took one of her feet in his hands.
“Kiss it, slave,” she commanded him.
He glanced up. Seeing the mischievous grin on her face, he planted a big, sloppy kiss in the middle of her foot.
She jerked her foot away. “Do it properly. Or forget it.”
He reached for her foot again, this time kissing each toe gently.
“Lick,” she told him softly.
His tongue explored her foot, and then her ankle..
He looked up at her. “Higher?” he asked.
“Mmmm.” Her eyes were closed and her head was back.
His tongue circled her ankle then slowly, almost daringly, edged upward towards her knee.
She moaned, and raised her other leg, resting it on his shoulder. He looked up at her, and saw her eyes still closed. Her legs were slightly apart, and her short skirt was crumpled high up her thighs.
“Stop looking,” she said, although her eyes remained closed.
“I wasn’t,” he protested.
“They’re black,” she told him confidently. “So now you don’t need to look. Get on with it.”
He kissed her knees, first one and then the other. She moved towards him slightly, her skirt riding higher. They were black. They were black and silky.
She gasped when the tip of his tongue touched the inside of her thigh just above the knee. He lifted his head, just for a minute. Her hand waved above his head, not reaching for him and yet telling him to put his head down, his tongue out, and to continue.
He pressed his tongue against her leg in a long, slow, flat, wet movement up her thigh. She shuddered, putting her hands onto the bed either side of her as if to brace herself. She moved her legs further apart.
Again he pressed his tongue against her in another long slow movement that took him to the very top of her thigh and to the edge of those black, silky knickers. He did not hesitate nor, as he was tempted to do, did he touch those knickers. He moved immediately to her other leg, and started from the very top in a steady movement down towards her knee.
She trembled in anticipation as once more he moved up her leg, now making little circles with his tongue and intermittently sucking gently with his lips. He reached the top... and moved down her other thigh. She fell backwards, and lay panting on the bed, one arm across her face.
Three times he kissed her, moving up one leg and down the other.
“For goodness sake,” she squealed, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “KISS me.”
He stopped. “I am kissing you,” he told her. “Don’t you like it?”
She sat up rapidly and grasped his head in both hands before he could pull away, and forced his face against her with all her strength.
“KISS... ME... THERE,” she shouted with some desperation in her voice.
Her fingers gripped him by his hair. The tendons in her forearms stood out, straining under the force with which she held him. He tried to pull away, to speak. He could do neither. He could hardly breathe.
She held him for only a few seconds before her fingers released his hair and pushed him from her as she once more fell back onto the bed. Her breathing came in short, sharp sobs; tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks. He knelt in front of her, motionless.
“You bastard,” she muttered. “You absolute bastard.”
“I... I only... I thought you were enjoying that.”
In a single, fluid motion she was on her feet, standing over him. All at once she was no longer the weak, trembling creature who lay and waited for him to kiss her.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered him fiercely. “Lie on the bed.”
“But...”
“Just do it. Or I’ll get the whip out.”
“Do you really have a whip?” he asked as he slowly obeyed, fascinated.
“You want to find out?”
He did not reply. He was suddenly very unsure. True, it was an exciting thought to have a woman wielding a whip and ordering him around. In fact, it was the exact theme of many of his fantasies, but now he found himself in almost precisely that position he was far less certain it was what he wanted at all.
The moment he was on her bed she leapt on him. She knelt, knees astride his chest, and looked down at him.
“I’m not sure...” he started to say.
She slapped him on the cheek, not too hard but more than enough to sting.
“Ow! That hurt!”
“It’ll hurt a lot more if you don’t behave yourself. I’m going to tie you to the bed to make sure you do behave.”
Without changing her position on top of him, she leaned across and reached into a drawer by the bed. She pulled out two lengths of silken cord and knotted them tightly around each of his wrists.
“Hey,” he complained. She had already tied the other ends of the cord to the top corners of the bed before he said another word.
“Now you don’t have a choice,” she told him.
She swung one leg over, away from him, and stood up next to the bed. She rummaged in the cupboard and produced a short riding crop.
“See?” she said. “I do have a whip. Just right for dealing with bad boys.”
She swished it through the air.
“OK,” he said, “You’ve got a whip. Now let me go.”
“What? Don’t be silly. You haven’t finished kissing me yet.”
She was on top of him again, the riding crop still in her hand. She moved forward, lifting her short skirt as she eased herself above his head so that he was looking straight up at those black, silky knickers.. She lowered herself very slowly, letting her skirt fall as she pressed down over his mouth and nose.
“That’s better,” she said, satisfied with her position and the pleasant feeling of the contours of his face underneath her.
His senses were full of the silky material and her resilient flesh of her body underneath it. It was nearly half a minute before he realised that he was unable to breathe at all.
He struggled. The silken cords binding his wrists to the bed were strong and, for him, totally inescapable. His arms strained vainly. Her weight on his face made it impossible for him to move his head or his shoulders. His legs, unrestrained, kicked wildly and then with bent knees his feet pressed downward in an effort to arch his back and dislodge her.
She was too heavy.
Boys Need a Spanking 
