[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m0xwl9/erins_spanking_part_1_mf_spanking_no_sex/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m1srsf/erins_spanking_part_2_mf_spanking_no_sex/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/m36v3h/erins_spanking_part_3_mf_spanking_no_sex/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
The next few minutes flicked by in a blur. She had stopped crying but knew it wouldn’t take much to make her start again. She was conflicted on how to feel about what was coming next. On the one hand, there was apprehension and dread. On the hand, she very much wanted to be punished more, like a person who has finally waded into the shallow end, only to wonder what happens when the water becomes deeper.
He returned to the room, pulled a chair from the dining table near to her, and sat down. He didn’t speak for a time, but she could sense his gaze wandering over her body–red and scarlett upturned cheeks, marks across her legs where the belt had landed, asshole and pussy on display, breasts hanging beneath her so that her nipples just rested on the cold wooden floor.
“I hope this lesson is sinking in Erin,” he said, at last.
“Yes sir, it is.”
“I hope you’ve learned who is in charge of this punishment too.”
“You are sir.”
“Good. Now you’ve got one portion of this punishment left,” he said, and she heard him tapping something wooden against his palm. “I’m going to paddle you like the naughty girl you are.”
She whimpered.
“And you’re going to take this paddling obediently because you deserve it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s not a large paddle, like some of my others. And for that reason, you’re going to get twenty-five strokes with it.” The number started her heart pounding. When he had suggested a paddling in the coffee shop she had imagined maybe ten at most.
“You’re going to count each stroke,” he continued. “If you miscount, that stroke doesn’t count. And you’re going to thank me for each stroke. Is this understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay go ahead and stand up.”
She raised herself off the pillows and pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were warm to the touch. As she turned, she saw the paddle in his hand. It was maybe a little over a foot long and wide enough to accommodate a series of cylindrical holes ran down the middle. It looked sturdy and menacing.
“Bend over the back of the couch,” he said, pointing with the paddle.
She stepped behind the couch nearest her and bent at the waist so that her elbows rested against the seat cushion and her bottom was raised over the seatback. He came to stand next to her and tapped the wood against her bottom gently. It was cool against her hot skin.
“Do not move, and do not lose count,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his arm pull back, and then *smack* the paddle landed on her bottom. Both cheeks exploded in pain and she leaned her forehead against her palms.
“One, thank you sir,” she said. Almost at once another smack landed, seemingly catching the very same spot.
“Two, thank you sir.” Another landed, and then another. “Three, thank you sir. Four, thank you sir.”
Her bottom burned hotter with every stroke, the impacts layering one on top of the other with no time for recovery in between. Her instincts told her to jump up or shield herself with her hands, but she remained in place, bottom exposed, ready to receive more. If she resisted, he would spank her more, she thought. The way through this was acceptance–acceptance of the punishment, acceptance of his control, acceptance that she would do whatever he asked.
By the eighth count, she had begun to sob.
“Eight! Owww. Ohh thank you sir.”
“Nine! Ahh thank you sir.”
“Am I starting to get through to you?” he asked, bringing down the paddle again.
“T-t-ten thank you sir,” she said through welling tears. “Yes sir, you are getting through to me.”
*smack* “Eleven, thank you sir.”
*smack* “Twelve, thank you sir.” She was openly crying now, her tears falling in soft pats against the couch cushions, darkening and spreading in the fabric. Her nose began to run.
“But I’m only giving you what you know you deserve, aren’t I?” he asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Erin I want you to tell me that you deserve this punishment.”
“I deserve this punishment, sir.” *smack* “Oww oww oww thirteen, thank you sir.”
“Tell me in your own words,” he said.
“I deserve to be punished because I am a naughty naughty girl. I deserve to be spanked hard by you. I deserve to be paddled.” *smack* “Fourteen thank you sir.”
“Mhm, and you want to be paddled don’t you?”
“Yes sir, I want to be paddled.”
*smack* “Fifteen thank you sir.”
“Why don’t you beg me to spank you,” he said, tapping her bottom with the paddle. She was letting out loud desperate sobs. The pain in her bottom had moved, she thought, beyond pain, into something all consuming and total. There was no world outside of this room, no time outside of the count.
“Please spank me sir.”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Please spank my ass with your paddle sir. Please spank me until I have bruises. Please spank me sir. Please, please, please.”
*smack* “Sixteen thank you sir.”
*smack* “Seventeen thank you sir.”
“And you want to be controlled by me right?”
“Yes sir, I want to be controlled by you,” she said. *smack* “Eighteen, thank you sir.”
“So if I told you now that I thought you needed a belt whipping, you would do what?”
“I’d take the belt whipping like a good girl.”
He landed a smack lower on her cheeks, close to her thighs. “Nineteen, thank you sir.”
“If I told you I was going to use my cane on you, what would you do?”
*smack* “Ohh oww oww oww, twenty thank you sir,” she said. “I’d let you cane my ass.”
“And if right now, I told you that I thought you needed to be punished by whipping your pussy, what would you do?”
She sobbed. “I’d let you whip my pussy sir, please don’t, please don’t.”
“Show me how you would let me.”
Crying in huge gasps, she spread her knees apart as far as she could. “Please don’t sir, please.” She could feel the air between her legs and the sense of exposure and vulnerability. “Please don’t.”
She tensed herself for a strike but then sensed that he had backed away. The room fell quiet save for the sounds of her whimpers filling the space between them. And as she listened intently for the clink of a belt buckle or the swish of a flogger, she felt both apprehensive and strangely calm in the knowledge that this decision was not up to her and that if Ben chose to whip her like this, she would let him. For the first time in a long time, she had the sense that she was not fighting the current, but settling into it, floating, letting it carry her.
“Close your legs, Erin,” Ben said finally.
She did so quickly, afraid he might change his mind.
“For these last five, you don’t need to count,” he said.
“Yes sir,” she said.
The strokes were the hardest yet, catching her on the sorest parts of her cheeks, setting in the bruises that she knew had already formed. She gripped the couch cushions, no longer counting out loud but counting them down as they landed. Five-four-three-two-one. Then it was over.
She wiped her teary eyes but continued to cry. Her nose was running, and she sniffed and wiped it with her wrist. She told herself that now that the punishment was through, it was time to stop crying. But she couldn’t bring herself to it. The sting of the wood lingered in her skin and the embarrassment of making such a scene lingered in her thoughts. She was embarrassed so she cried, and she cried because she was embarrassed.
“Stand up,” Ben said, and she pushed herself up from the couch. She whimpered when she saw his eyes take in her body, aware once again that she was completely naked. She had almost forgotten during the paddling. He put his arm around her and she buried her face in his t-shirt and let out long, pained sobs.
“I’ll be a good girl,” she mumbled. “You won’t have to spank me again.”
“I know you will. It’s okay, it’s over,” he said, his voice becoming suddenly softer, his manner returning closer to that person she had met in the coffee shop. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”
*********
Their time together after the spanking was brief. She put on her clothes, wincing as she slid her jeans over her bottom, and checked her phone to discover that forty five minutes had elapsed. A friend had texted. She had an email from work. Ben asked her how the spanking had been and how she felt, and she assured him that it had been good and that she felt great–all the time becoming more aware that she was deeply, deeply exhausted. She needed to be alone now, she thought.
So she gathered her things and they exchanged their goodbyes. But just as she stepped out the apartment door, she turned to him. He was standing in the doorway, one arm outstretched against the doorframe, his shoulders rising from under his t-shirt.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you too. Anytime– I mean anytime–“ he said, stumbling on his words for the first time since they had met. “Anytime that you want a spanking, you know where to find me. You have my cell.”
“I do,” she said. “I will.”
*********
Back at home, she threw her things onto the couch and went into the bedroom to examine the damage in the full length mirror. Pulling her pants and panties down, she could see purple bruises blooming on the tops and insides her cheeks and the red stripes where the belt had caught her thighs. *He didn’t hold back*, she thought with a flutter in her stomach.
She collapsed onto her bed and for a long time stared up at the ceiling fan, watching the blades whir, recalling everything that had transpired: his hands, the corner, the belt, the tears. She remembered the feeling of being over his lap, her naked hips against his thighs, his hands pulling back her cheeks, the sting of the spoon against her exposed skin. Lost in her thoughts, she unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them and her panties onto the floor. She turned over on her stomach and keeping her head against the mattress, drew her knees forward and apart. She took a vibrator from the nightstand and placed it against her upturned clit.
In the hum of the vibrator, she began to melt, feeling the world start to dim and fade around her and the rise of a familiar longing within her body. But the longing was different too, more potent and immediate, urgent even. Holding the vibrator firmly against her clit now, she began to rock back and forth. And in her thoughts there he was, stern-faced, staring down at her, taking in her soaking pussy and spread cheeks, watching her as she trembled with the sensation, listening to her begin to gently moan.
And just before the rush overtook her, she whispered into her pillow.
“Spank me harder, sir. Please sir, spank me harder.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/mgz7mw/erins_spanking_part_4_final_part_mf_spanking_no
Thank you for this! ❤️ You’re really great, Sir.