by Jaie Helier
It was that kind of night -- the kind you just hope you'll never be old enough to forget; a night filled with marvelous accidents and astonishing chance -- and Bethanie.
The long evening at dinner with four or five others had drawn us closer, building on some inexorable, instinctive need we had vainly tried to ignore all day. Conversation had been funny, sometimes revealing, but the other conference delegates were just a sideshow. Perhaps they sensed it. Towards the end of the evening, they all drifted away and, by this strange chance, we were left alone. Bethanie said she had the oddest feeling that the real meal was only just beginning.
It happened to be cold outside, though not as cold as we pretended. Bethanie shivered as we walked back through the empty streets. By one of those marvelous coincidences for which the night would become memorable, I put my arm around her shoulders and with gratifying eagerness she snuggled close. She was twenty-one -- petite with dark blonde curls, soft brown eyes and the most appealing smile I had ever seen. My smile wasnít as great as hers, but as we walked down that grimy street I just couldn't get it off my face.
When we got to her hotel room, she kissed me lightly on the lips and murmured about the sadness of a cold bed in an unfamiliar place. I kissed her long and hard, offering gallantly to see if I could think of any way of making it more comfortable. She considered this proposition for an entire nanosecond and then, taking my hand, opened her door and drew me inside. It wasn't so unwelcoming -- just a typical hotel room really -- but we tongue-kissed anyway and concluded that the only possible course of action was to lie close together on her bed and see if that warmed it up. Fully clothed, we sank onto the bed, wrapped in each otherís arms. She pulled the thick feather duvet tightly round us.
Chance took over again. Her tongue accidentally slipped between my lips; my hands somehow became entangled beneath her thick woolen sweater where they discovered that her firm little breasts were quite bare, the nipples stiff and eager. She found the closeness of our bodies warmed her greatly and said so in a feverish whisper as she dragged her skirt up to flatten her lower body against the bulge in my pants. Reaching behind her, I soon found she had a soft fleshy bulge of her own -- I discovered it by pressing my fingers between her thighs and letting them slip over the smoothness of her satin knickers. I could feel the heat in her growing moment by moment. I took this as a good sign.
Delicious minutes went past as we kissed and caressed and then I felt her fingers busy with my clothes. She had pulled her scanty knickers aside and it seemed she sought to fill her pussy with my cock -- she said her pussy was aching for it. Even with all my long experience in human resources, I could think of no more effective strategy for our mutual well being so I encouraged her, moaning approvingly as I felt my rigid flesh slither sweetly into her warm wet depths.
She wanted to fuck -- there was no doubt about it. I obliged, of course, obliged and then obliged some more. It quickly became apparent to me that to satiate this girl was almost beyond human possibility but, such was the feeling between us, that I resolved to try all night if need be.
At around 5 a.m., she finally declared herself "completely fucked" and promptly slipped into a deep and contented sleep on my shoulder. I turned out the light and listened to her breathing, even and serene.
My first thought at eleven o'clock the next morning was not of the conference we were missing. It was that I desperately wanted to do it with her again -- to do it with her all day and all the following night too; to eat her and drink her and breathe no air that was not filled with her scent. I suppose, being a guy, my inclinations were predictable, my needs inevitably lacking in nuance. I was about to discover, though, that there was no subtlety lacking about Bethanie's needs.
"I've done something terrible."
She was sitting on the bed near me. She was once again wearing her blue satin panties, but that was all. I remembered that, last night, I had held her panties in my hand for a long time before losing them amongst the sheets in our frenzy. I wanted to hold them again -- especially now she was wearing them. I couldn't imagine what terrible thing could possibly be troubling this erotic angel. I hoped it was nothing that would prevent me fucking her to sleep again. I urgently needed to do that and I was prepared to start right now because I knew it would most certainly take all day and all evening at least. I started to investigate.
"We only missed the field trip," I said reassuringly. "What the hell -- they'll all think we're with some other group."
"It's not that," she said gravely. "Though Marisa will know exactly what I've been doing and she'll tease me, but I think I can take that. I'm sure I can. Marisa's really mean when she teases. She can make me cry and she probably will, just out of jealousy. But it's not that."
"Well, what then?"
She looked so deliciously vulnerable with her blond curls awry and her little pointed breasts shaking. Her nipples were erect again -- they seemed permanently excited -- and she was sitting cross-legged which stretched the blue satin tight over the soft mound of her pussy. Whatever the problem was, I had to solve it soon. My cock was so hard it was beginning to hurt. The tensions she awakened all through my body made it difficult to breathe.
"I promised her." She looked at me and a deep blush transformed her cheeks. "I feel ashamed of myself."
"What did you promise?"
"She's so afraid I'll go wild." She lowered her eyes. "She was a little wild herself when she was young. She knows I'm not a virgin but ...when she found out, she made me promise to be...restrained."
"I have to admit you weren't what I could honestly call 'restrained.' But neither was I."
"You don't have to be -- you haven't promised your mom. I've been naughty -- I know it. I've broken my promise. I've behaved wildly and...and the worst thing is..." Her lip trembled as she went on. "The worst thing is...I want to do it all again."
"So do I..."
"I want it desperately."
"What am I going to do?" she wailed, letting herself sink into my arms.
"Perhaps we should just do it anyway. Maybe something will occur to us like...shit, I donít know. I need to make love to you and then I promise I'll think of something."
Our hands were all over each other but suddenly she drew back.
"No...you must punish me first, my darling, my love. You must beat me -- without mercy."
I had not, until that moment, thought that my penis could get any harder but, at her words, so much of my lifeblood crowded into that one pulsing peninsula, so distant from my brain, that truly I thought I would faint.
"You understand, don't you?" she asked anxiously, her eyes flickering hungrily over the disturbance in the sheets that covered me from the waist down.
"I ... I think I do," I nodded, still a little dazed but quickly coming around to the idea.
"I must be very thoroughly punished. Promise you will or I can't...you know...let you fuck me." She lowered her voice in shame. "Breaking a promise to Mom -- for a girl, it's a terrible thing to do."
"Of course," I said, with all the seriousness the situation seemed to demand.
"But, " she continued, "yesterday you made me forget to keep it, but today...today I'll be breaking it deliberately. It'll become more wicked with every kiss, every touch, with every time I take you in my fingers or my mouth or push your big beautiful cock up into my slit. Will you be able to punish me enough that I can do those things all the rest of today?"
"You might have to take it in installments."
"Yes! Punish me, then fuck me, then punish me again. I want to be a good girl -- while I'm being bad. Let's start now -- before breakfast."
Our chances of getting breakfast at this hour were nil, but it seemed irrelevant. My appetites were all for her anyway, and I knew we could send out for lunch after twelve. I balanced myself on the edge of the bed and waited for her to stand up. When she did we accidentally embraced passionately -- which was not in the original plan but demonstrated that the laws of chance were still in play.
After several minutes, she disentangled her body from mine and prepared to present herself for chastisement, a simple matter made slightly more complicated by the intrusion of my rampant cock. Politely, she moved it out of the way as she laid herself gracefully over my lap.
Bethanie's back was, without exception, the most elegant expanse of human anatomy I have ever beheld. Even over my knee, she seemed effortlessly to hold perfect poise, delicately curved and rounded. Between her legs and her back, both marvelously straight, were sculpted hips and a neat firm fleshy bottom covered in blue satin. It seemed it was just begging to be smacked. Gazing avidly at her wildly inviting buttocks, quivering slightly in anticipation, I couldn't imagine why I hadn't thought of this myself. How could I have spent an entire night kissing and caressing this same willing flesh without having realised how desperately it needed to be spanked? I decided to make up for my oversight immediately and decisively.
I raised my hand and gave Bethanie a good hard smack on her right buttock. She bounced. This wasn't so much her flesh, which was very firm, but rather a shudder, which passed through her whole body. I gave her four more, alternating right and left, and realised that the shock I felt in her body was renewed with every slap. There was something enormously satisfying about the immediacy of her response. It was like buying a lottery ticket and instantly winning the prize. I redoubled my efforts: resounding slaps echoed around the room. Bethanie yelped each time my hand smacked. She was really feeling this but that was as it should be, I reasoned. She felt she had been naughty and, clearly, a half-hearted spanking was not going to suffice.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ow! Ooh, yes," she squealed. "That's right...Ow! Ow! Yes, I need it. Yeow!"
"Bethanie," I said, pausing for a moment. "I'm going to have to pull your panties down."
"Oh, yes," she mumbled, struggling up. "Smack my bare bottom."
She stood and waited patiently while I approached the task of removing her panties. I suppose I could simply have grasped the sides and tugged but somehow it was not to be. Accidentally, I happened to run my fingers up the inside of her thigh several times, getting a little closer to her pussy each moment. I could feel her holding her breath. Realising that was not a situation that could endure for long, I caressed the delicate mound of her pussy. Immediately, she began to breathe again -- in fact she began to breathe deeply. In appreciation, I slid my fingers inside her knickers, letting the back of them brush the folds of flesh that covered her slit. She breathed more -- in fact she almost panted. She was also quite wet which I thought naughty of her since she was supposed to in a state of penitence. I think she realised from my happy frown that she was not behaving as her mother would have wanted.
"I think I'd better get the hairbrush," she breathed, although she didn't move.
"Wait a moment," I murmured, even though she wasn't showing any signs of going anywhere.
I continued to stroke her pussy, pressing my knuckles into the slippery wetness; with the other hand I eased down her panties until they were gathered at the top of her thighs like a frill. She moaned, her body shifting with the discomfort of desire.
"Now," I said. "The hairbrush."
She moaned again, so I gave her a little slap on her bare rump. She hurried to her bag. She looked so pretty with her bottom bare and rosy and her panties hanging just below it. From her bag, she took one of the finest wooden hairbrushes I have ever seen. It was an antique from an age when, clearly, the true purpose of hairbrushes was better understood.
"It was my grandmother's," she mumbled as she brought it to me. "She used to spank my mum and my mum's cousins with it. Now I use it to spank myself when I'm naughty. And to brush my hair."
"Show me," I murmured, my mind immediately filled with images of Bethanie lying on a bed, spanking herself red-raw and crying.
She slowly raised the hairbrush and rearranged her hair, brushing it back out of her eyes. I suspect from the sparkle in her eyes that she knew this wasn't quite what I meant; but it was charming, so I let it pass.
"Bend over, my darling. Give me the hairbrush."
She didn't do it immediately. Instead she pushed the tip of its handle against her soaking pussy and then, with very little manipulation, up into her cunt. She pushed it right up, gasping and shuddering slightly and, for a few moments, she gave serious attention to carefully working it in and out. There was a wonderfully distant expression on her face as if she was listening to a voice from long ago and far away. She must have used her hairbrush this way before. Finally, she took it out, licked it clean and gave it to me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot to tell you that I masturbate with it, too."
It was delightfully sticky to hold. 'All the better,' I thought. 'That will help to keep a good grip.' Bethanie bent and placed her hands on the bed. It made her bottom very round. Her little breasts were pointed directly downwards, their nipples like tiny arrowtips. I stood. From behind, I let my eyes rest on the glistening inner lips of her pussy, on the sweet puckering of her anus and the round pinkness of her buttocks. She really was enough to make one quite giddy. I stepped to the side of her and, without further ceremony, smacked the hairbrush on her nearest buttock. The intense and instant satisfaction of it steadied me. She screeched nicely, but not as loud as the screech she gave when I did the same, twice as sharply, on the other side.
I set to with a will.
It was the fact that she had asked that made it so enjoyable. Giving it to her now -- firmly -- meant that she would always remember to ask whenever she needed a thorough spanking; she only had to get on the phone and there would be someone willing and strict who would give her one. And there would be the bonus of endless fucking. It made me feel as if, with every smack of the hairbrush, I was offering her a lifetime of dedicated service; with every agonised cry, she was accepting it. I whacked each buttock over and over. Screeches became wails. I feasted my eyes as her agile passionate writhing exposed her pussy to me over and over again and showed me the little trail of moisture down her inner thigh.
Finally I could bear it no longer. I dropped the hairbrush and grabbed her buttocks, pressing my cock between her thighs. Hungrily, she stuffed it into the endless wetness of her cunt.
"You will spank me again?" she panted, thrusting back earnestly.
"Yes...of course. Later."
"No, do it now. Please..."
She had said "please." I couldn't refuse. In time to our wild cavorting, I raised my hand and slapped her flanks as hard as I could. She squealed and bucked. She was weeping and moaning, consumed with desire and the gratification of desire. I could see what her mother had been afraid of. I slapped harder, admonishing her to think of restraint, which strangely had the opposite effect. She thrust herself back on my cock so hard that I had to grasp her hips again to avoid falling. By this time, she was beyond noticing. She came, with a series of gasping cries, her body arching against me. I kept going more softly, keeping her orgasm alive until she wept and said she thought she would go crazy. Then I came inside her, which felt like drowning in warm honey, there, deep in her body. We collapsed onto the bed.
For around five minutes, we lay still.
"Will you be my partner?" she murmured, finally.
"Maybe. I think you're the one who can keep me from going wild."
"You could have fooled me."
"I know. That's not difficult."
I like a girl who doesn't put me on a pedestal. I like a girl who is prepared to bend over the pedestal instead and bare her backside. I like a girl who needs things like that and uses them to generate a desire to fuck that could power the international space station. The problem is that girls like that are hard to find. It may be, in fact, that Bethanie is the only one -- and she's beautiful and funny and believes in the kind of chance that led us to collapse over that bed that morning -- so I am sticking with her, for this life at least. What clinched it for me was that, five minutes after having proposed to me, she found another astonishing coincidence.
"You have a leather belt in your pants, don't you?" she murmured.
Her face clouded with sweet shame.
"About an inch wide?"
"I think so."
"It's just that...my pussy's been really naughty and...an inch is perfect."
I cannot say how deeply and eternally grateful I was that, at that moment, I just happened to have the only one-inch wide leather belt on Planet Earth right there with me in that hotel room. Chance is a marvelous thing.