Secret Desires

Secret Desires

****Sniplet turned Story For Mary Ann source of light and uplifter of souls****

A gentle touch zephyr-like in quality calmed her as she looked at the intersection of the walls yet again. Mean thoughts raced through her head. Odd bits of anger and frailty jumbled together to form her at that moment in time.

Nothing was clear. There was no way out. She was stuck there in the corner just as she was stuck in her life. That's all there is to it. "Stuck."

"OUCH!"

She hadn't realized that she had spoken aloud. She stomped her foot at the simple unfairness of it all. Spanked for swear words. Spanked for disobedience. Spanked for defiance.

Peevishly thinking, 'Why not just set me back in pre-school and spank me for forgetting how to use the crayons?' Another stomp of her foot is met with a sharp slap to her tush. It jiggles on contact. Jarring her from her thoughts, moving her into a fresh stream of hatred for her beloved spanker.

She could feel him behind her. She tried to project hate thoughts at him. She felt him tense behind her. Suddenly frightened, she began to apologize. "I..."

"Shush, young lady. Right now. I've had enough of this nonsense." The harsh words belied the soft voice and gentle touch to the small of her back guiding her right back into her very own corner.

Determinedly she spoke from her appointed place. "I'm not a little girl. This isn't necessary. Don't you feel bad doing this to me? Where is your conscience?"

He remained quiet. In fact the room felt too quiet. There seemed to be a bigger little breeze than normal about her naked self. She fidgets trying to gain a lecture or a slap to her bum for her trouble. Anything but this deafening quiet which reminds her of a black hole which never releases its      prey. Frustrated, she half-turns to check the room only to be greeted by the sting of a rubber tipped fly swatter. She cries out and grabs her bum.

Jumping up and down holding her burning bottom, the fly swatter finds her upper thighs an acceptable target. She lowers her hands. Her bottom is swatted.

He watches her impassively moving her hands to and fro, jumping up and down. He wasn't impressed by her display. He wasn't impressed by her at all. This was the hundredth girl that he'd spanked. They all did the same thing. They all seemed the same to him.

Approached by strange women, he spanked them on a daily basis. Sometimes several he had several appointments in one day; but none satisfied him. None of them exhibited the qualities that he desired. He sighs quietly to himself as he moves the fly swatter up and down marking her bottom and thighs and avoiding her hands neatly. He had them strip. He spanked them with his hand, hairbrush, and leather paddle. He set them in the corner for some randomly allotted time. He always waited for them to accept the spanking, to move their hands, to obey him. Every spanking parodied the one before it. Nothing seemed distinct or original. Nothing held meaning or value for him. He was simply an arm made to spank the bottoms of women that he cared nothing about. He idly wondered if he was the rich man in the fables of old in which the rich man is really poor and the poor man is really rich.

Pulled out of his reverie, surprised by the humbling of this last steed, he surprises himself by saying 'Finally!' He rarely speaks during these sessions. It is his parent's job to marry him. It is his job to remain single. That is the law of his life. He will never agree with what his parents say or do. He is his own man. He will never bend his will to theirs on the important matters of his life.

He marks that this woman at least knows that she can't get out of it. She has finally succumbed to the strength of his arm. Unlike the others, she does not scream, beg, or pray. Her lips move soundlessly to the count of the strokes. It's as if she welcomes the pain. Using an especially powerful stroke, he surprises her and bends her at the waist and tucks her head between the wall and her own legs. A slight pressure on her back holds her in position. She is trapped there. Oddly she doesn't struggle. He sees her hatred and acceptance of the pain; yet, he sees no arousal in this woman.

Is it possible that there is one? That there exists a woman that he can truly discipline and love? One who will not fight his power or his position, bur will uphold him? He sings raptures in his mind imagining the glory of such a position with one so lovely as she. While he is in his reverie of thought, she stands and positions herself behind him. She pushes his back and pulls at the waist of his pants. He bends easily. She jostles him to stand next to the wall, in that very same position that she just held. She takes up a leather paddle and shows her teacher how well she has learned her lesson. She repeats his questions. She awaits the proper answers, occasionally applying the prope encouragement. It hurts her to see him in pain; yet, she enjoys spanking him and helping him.

She holds him down firmly, crowding her body to his, giving him little room to rise. Near her hip, his bottom radiates a warm heat. Nearing the end of the session with him, she focuses on the lower portion of his buttocks and the upper portion of his thighs. He howls as she applies the strokes firmly and repetitively on that necessarily mobile skin. His every step is guaranteed to remind him of this spanking. He bursts into tears understanding and knowing now what he has given those that came before her. Now that he has found her, he knows what was missing with the others. He likes her spirit and courage. He enjoys her quick thought. It pleases him to know that she is strong. He smiles through his tears as the last few swats fall to the underside of his bottom.

Misinterpreting his smile, she orders him up. He obeys. He turns to kiss her. She grabs his arm, pivots him about, and smacks his bottom five times. He is nearly hopping. His bottom is on fire. His hands go to soothe his bottom. The fly swatter now burns his thighs. He jumps at the shock the stroke. He moves his hands quickly to his side. The rubber tipped fly swatter attacks his lower bottom. His lower lip trembles as he fidgets trying to hold his position as she spanks him.

Suddenly her soft voice enters the haze of his mind. He hears the softly spoken command. "Drop those pants." He obeys quickly. He easily bends as she helps him forward. He is held by the wall and his own legs. His bottom is a dark shade of red.

She applies the wooden paddle with holes to his burning bottom. He bumps his shoulders against the wall trying to stand. His hands attempt to soothe his bottom. His thighs are ignited. He yells loudly and sobs steadily now. He cries out at each stroke of fire. The swats seem to be harder and harder. He holds himself still there. She approves of his position and demeanor. She applies five fast and hard low ones. Sitting at high court with the queen at the kitchen table on hard wood chairs should prove to be entertaining tomorrow.

Five swats later, she helps him up, refastens his pants to their proper position. She settles into her proper position, nose to knees, back to wall, bottom high and awaiting his strokes. Soft and soothing, he gently pets her and strokes her back. He caresses her as he has no other. He feels caring for this woman who so thoroughly tanned him and now awaits her own tanning. Grabbing the leather paddle, he finishes her spanking. He sees her jump slightly at each of the hard 18 strokes. Her bottom is a deep red color. This time, she stands and faces the corner without argument. Her hands hang at her sides.

Swatting her backside playfully with his hand, he smiles to himself as he sees the small secret smile that she carries in her eyes and the upward quirk of her mouth.