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Sore Bottoms 1

35000 words

Style: Spanking and Bondage, Erotic Short Stories

There is perhaps no more perfect measure of female submission than to be punished by a good hard spanking. No matter their position in life, be they college feminist or policewoman, be they business professional or housewife, all women are forced back into the position of helpless little girls when placed across someone's lap or forced to bend across a desk for a strapping on their soft, round bottoms

And who can blame their stern punishers, be they men or women, when the sight of a naked female bottoms and soft inner thighs tempts the hands and fingers and causes lust to rise to their minds.

Here is Beacher in a softer mood, but with all the makings of deliciously erotic stories of female submission and shame.

Price:  $5.95

Formats Available:   PALM (PDB)  Mobi (MOBI - Kindle Compatible)  
PDF  MSReader (LIT)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  

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EXCERPT

Spanking Ashley

I suppose one could say I brought it on myself initially, the first spanking I had suffered since childhood. I was, like many teenagers, quite upset at the end of my parents' marriage, and not enough time passed between that and my mother's new relationship with Brian.
Worse, Brian was nothing like my father. My father was a little overweight, cuddly, balding and gray haired. Brian was younger, and looked much younger. His hair was still dark, and he had a firm jaw, a handsome, rangy face, and a tall, powerfully built body.
All of which was quite intolerable to me. And my attitude towards him was far less than what one could consider pleasant, never mind polite. That attitude, if anything, got worse when, after far too brief a time, he moved in with us.
I did my best to ignore him utterly, not speaking to him, conveying my disdain through my aloof behaviour. When I was forced to speak with him I kept my tone quite chill.
But as time progressed my mother gave over to him more and more responsibility for maintaining the house, and allowed him greater latitude and freedom in disciplining me.
I found this quite unacceptable. I was, after all, old enough, I thought, to look after myself, and needed no guidance or discipline, certainly not from the likes of him. However, as my mother's work kept her late often while Brian's left him home even more so, clashes between us arose more frequently.
Often he would do such things as order me to my room, deny me what he liked to call "privileges", such as television, my stereo, or my telephone. Sometimes he ordered me to my room, or grounded me for what he called my impertinence.
One morning in the summer I woke early, and slipped out of bed. I went to the window to judge the weather, and almost at once saw him downstairs in our fenced-in yard walking around the pool, apparently cleaning it with a scoop.
What surprised me was that he appeared on first glance to be naked. I quickly rushed to my closet and snatched up the binoculars which had long lain at the bottom, then hurried back to the window.
After bringing them to my eyes and focusing I saw that I was wrong. Brian was wearing a thong style bikini bathing suit. I marvelled at his indiscretion, amazed that a man like him would wear even a bikini bathing suit, much less a thong.
But there it was, the flimsy garment wrapped around his very narrow hips, just below his even narrower waist.
Despite my intense dislike for him I could not but help admire his physical features. Brian truly was a handsome man, and now, seeing him like this, I could only wonder how he had come to be with my mother, who, though not unattractive, hardly begins to compare with him.
His shoulders were high and wide, his chest thick and muscular, the pectoral muscles clearly outlined under his tanned skin. His arms bulged as he pulled and pushed at the long-handled scoop, and even his stomach showed muscles beneath as he bent over.
And then there was the surprisingly large and suggestive bulge in the front of his tight, skimpy bathing suit, a bulge that made my chest tighten perceptibly and caused a small fluttering in my lower belly.
His buttocks were as tanned as the rest of him, tight and firm, leading to strong, muscular thighs and legs, and I felt a small fantasy flash through my mind of such a hard body laying atop me, between my spread thighs, his cock pushing into me with merciless force.
As he turned I focussed in on his bulging crotch, wondering how large he was, comparing him to the few guys' cocks I had seen. He seemed quite large, though it was hard for me to compare as I was something of a novice to such things. The guys' cocks I had seen had all been erect and in the fumbling, urgent darkness of parked cars.
I had not yet given up my virginity, though it was dearly sought after by many guys. Some of them had gone to great lengths to pry it free from me, to excite or impress me to the point where I would surrender myself to them. There were two reasons why none had yet succeeded.
The first was that I did not trust them. I was quite certain that the moment one of them managed to take my cherry they would be on the phone to the news media and screaming out a point by point, blow by blow description of everything they'd seen, done and said.
In other words, guys are terrible gossips and braggarts, and I did not want the subject of my deflowering to make the rounds of the locker rooms, guys or girls.
The second reason was that I had defeated many persistent efforts through the fact that I had managed to become, mostly through reading, determination, and practice on a banana, quite an expert in fellatio.
Guys were quite impressed with my ability to give blowjobs, and quite unable to do anything after I had softened their cocks in my mouth.
Not even my lush, semi-nude, thirty-eight, twenty-two, thirty-six inch body could stiffen their flaccid organs quickly, and if it did, well, I would simply deflate them once again.
Rather like pricking a balloon, really, so to speak.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I didn't want sex. I was very, very curious about it, and often fantasised about some beautiful stranger ravishing me for all I was worth, making me climax repeatedly to his expert touch.
Oh, I suppose in retrospect they were the fantasies of a silly young virginal teenager, for none bore much resemblance to what in fact, eventually occurred.
After that day when I saw Brian virtually naked my feelings towards him underwent a subtle change. I still disliked him intensely, but I could not quite help thinking of him occasionally in an erotic way, and could not help sometimes looking at him admiringly.
Yet still we argued bitterly, and in frustration and anger one day he told me that what I really needed was to be taken across someone's lap and have my behind tanned.
Well, of course, the idea was ludicrous. I was eighteen years old, far too old for that sort of thing, and I poured scorn and ridicule on him as a man who simply had no concept of when a girl stopped being a baby, indeed, stopped being a girl, and became a woman.
"And when does she stop being a bitch?" he demanded to know.
Several times after that he repeated his belief that my behaviour would be best improved by having my behind tanned, but I never took this as a serious threat until, in the midst of a furious argument over my curfew, and immediately after I called him an obscene name, he grabbed my wrist in a grip of steel, sat down at the table on a hard-backed chair, and yanked me unceremoniously across his lap.
I was flabbergasted, and stared at the floor in amazement for a moment, then screamed as his hard hand cracked down on my behind.
Only the very thin protection of my bikini panties and my short nightshirt lay between his hand and my suddenly fiercely burning buttocks, and I kicked my legs and shrieked as his hand descended again.
"Bastard!" I raged. "Let me go! Stop it!"
Again his hand slapped down against my behind, the sudden flash of intense pain making me cry out and jerk violently. I writhed in his grasp, my legs flailing as his hand came down yet again, then a final time, each blow sending stinging pain ripping through my body.
He let me up then and ordered me to my room. Eyes tearing, I cursed him and raced up the stairs, slamming the door of my room and locking it.
I moaned in pain, turning and flipping up my thin nightshirt, then lowering my panties to see my reddened cheeks.

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