#107) The Way It Should Have Been – GRAPHIC CONTENT in the FORMAL TONE of YESTERYEAR

In surfing around the web, I came upon this illustration, done by someone named Mr. Skor, accompanying a short story by a Ms. Shipman. Her story was entitled, “Experiment with Love,” was written decades ago. It was so saccharine, it nearly gave me diabetes in just a skimming. Consequently, I offer my own, quite different version of the tale, in the style of the original. I had fun writing this (and intend to give the reader a few laughs), but it’s not a piece of fluff. (And I don’t think that title fits this piece.)
“Mary, I loved you back when we attended college here a decade and a half ago! But if this class reunion has taught me anything, it’s that you’ve changed.” Mary starts to speak, but John cuts her off abruptly. “I don’t know what life events have occurred, but you are now selfish, so self-centered that you’re narcissistic! You were always pretty, but now you’ve become vain. You were strong willed, but now are hardened to the point of brittle.” Again the lovely lass opens her mouth to voice her perspective, but again her once-upon-a-time lover dominates both her and the conversation. “In a moment, I’m going to spank you, Mary. Spank you like I used to spank you on dates at Lookout Point in my old jalopy. But, whereas those spankings were playful, administered to a girl who was too willful for her own good, the spanking you have coming will be punishing, long and hard, and will only cease when I’m convinced that I’ve broken through that hard shell of an exterior you’ve constructed! I’m going to spank you until you agree with me that you need a good thrashing! And then I’m going to give you just that…”
Without further ado, the handsome gentleman, normally patient and slow to anger, forcefully turns the lithe lady over his knee. With very little resistance, he raises her long skirt and slip, then lowers her panties, baring a porcelain pale posterior. He remembers the fulsome fanny, little changed from when he used to pinken it with love pats and swats before they made love years before. John raises his hand high, and when he brings it down unerringly on the target, Mary’s bottom was made redder than he ever had before with just one fearsome wallop. He does not stop there, giving her other, twin orb its equal, and repeats the process again and again. Mary struggles against the pain, trying to reach back to protect her innocent flesh with her hand, but John adroitly wrenches her hand behind her back and pins it there, while he just keeps spanking. Mary kicks her legs furiously, so John is forced to trap her gams between his. He spanks uninterrupted, as Mary spits out invectives, then as she begins to cry, and finally when she cries out for mercy. Unmoved, John keeps up the onslaught, while her once-pristine buttocks turn red, then magenta, and finally a deep dusty rose. As he dissipates his anger upon her bottom, he finds that the entire erotic area never looked lovelier.
In a vocal tone so different from what she’d used of late that neither participant recognizes it at first, Mary speaks above the cacophony of chastisement. “You’re right, John, I have been a perfect bitch with you! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I need just what you’re dishing out. I won’t fight you, I deserve a sound thrashing for a lifetime of wrongs. Please give it to me…”
Impressed with her words and even more moved by her sincerity, John lifts the girl from his lap and places her on the divan where she’d lain in his embrace mere moments before, but perpendicular now, so that her forearms rest on the upholstery and her well-upholstered derriere sticks out in the air above her knees, which rest on the carpet. John takes off the belt that encircled his waist. It hisses like a snake as it slithers through his trousers’ loops. Both know that it will bite her tender flesh just like a vicious snake. Nonetheless, the winsome Mary arches her lower back, arches her fiery fanny outward, offers her flesh to the punishment in-store. From between her thighs, her engorged sex peeks out, swollen and shiny with arousal, no matter the pain that Mary had just endured. Her supplicant posture impresses the man above her with the belt doubled in his hand. He’d have to take careful aim to punish her where she’s so well padded, and not here, where she’s so vulnerable.
He takes aim, and gives her a hard lick with the leather, bisecting both buttocks, making them flex and contort, making Mary wince and yelp.
But she recovers quickly, sticks her backside out once more just as submissively and enunciates, “One, thank you, sir! I need it, may I have another?”
And so it goes, a call-and-response spiritual sung as a duet, a dance for two partners in perfect synchronicity, a symphony of retribution visited on Mary’s hindquarters by John’s right hand. Only when her entire rounded bottom and the backs of her pillar-like thighs are covered in welts does he relent, slow the pace, to give her the last of a long and thorough thrashing. Through it all, Mary keeps the vocal count, keeps repeating the desire for more punishment. Finally, her voice brakes, signaling her broken spirit, and signaling John’s success in changing this leopard’s spots to a tamed tigress’ stripes.
He drops the belt, takes Mary into his arms, holds her close, pets her hair with one hand and caresses her wounded bum with the other. He kisses away her profuse tears, tells her that she is his good girl, that it’s all over.
Mary looks John in the eye and whispers, “Make love to me, like we used to, just for old times’ sake, please…”
Maintaining that eye contact, he lays her prone form back down where she first had resided, extracts his erection, and touches it to her sex. He finds her eagerly excited and very ready for impaling. With one smooth thrust, he sheaths his sword in her velvet scabbard. Mary arches up at him at the incredibly incapacitating intrusion, and they make love, bodies in harmony, mouths joined as their sexes are, in a tight embrace. Both partners are spiraling higher, like two eagles riding the thermals ever upwards. Eagles grip talons, touch cloacae, tumble down through the air to consummate the deed; these two are reaching just such a pinnacle, when Mary interjects.
“You were wrong about me, John. You were back then, and you are now! I’ve always been vain, narcissistic, hard. You were just too blinded by love to see it.” John wants to speak, but now Mary cuts him off, dominating the colloquy as John had earlier. “It’s the truth! Only you had a strong enough hand to control me. I used to love those playful spankings you’d give me, ache for them to be more like what you just administered to my deserving derriere, a real blistering! I’d try to goad you into unleashing a real spanking on me, but you were too forgiving, too much of a gentleman. You’d spank me nicely and share intercourse with me nicely, and go home so self-satisfied, while I went home and masturbated to the fantasy of a real beating, like you just proved you’re capable of giving, and real love-making! In my bedroom, I’d wear my poor bottom out with a hairbrush paddling, then masturbate with the handle, and when I was close to orgasm, I’d jam that slick brush handle deep up into me in another place, a place I longed to be touched, a place… where the sun doesn’t shine! Do you hear me, John? Do you understand for the first time? I like it dirty! Why don’t you take me like I’d like it for a change?” Mary has her legs cocked in the air in their coital embrace. Now she rolls her lower back up off the divan, so that her knees are close by her ears and her red rump and all her charms are on full display. “Why don’t you put it in me here?” And she parts her cheeks with both hands rudely, to the point of obscenely, if dramatically. The question is posed as a primal scream, coming from the deep recesses in Mary’s psyche. If John had penetrated Mary’s hard exterior before, she has just shattered his polite edifice now. He is stunned, dumbfounded, both by Mary’s words and actions. He realizes that his very manhood is being questioned, not the one he’s using for sex, but his entire identity. He slowly arches his hips back just a bit further than he had been, thereby withdrawing his manhood from Mary’s sex, and inexorably sinks it into her rear dimple, just an inch below the other orifice, but a world away. He is fascinated to the point of mesmerized by seeing his prodigious member disappear within the tiny, tight aperture. A guttural moan comes out of Mary as his great manhood goes in, “Ooooh, God!” She sighs and immediately begins to climax in convulsions. The ecstatic spasms prove too much for John, he is no sooner testicles deep up her other, forbidden place, than he joins her in monumental release. His baritone groans drowned out her exclamations, his flooding fountain nearly filling her bowels with ejaculate.
All is silent save the raged panting of the two conjoined copulaters. There doesn’t seem to be a dignified way for John to extricate himself from the situation. With a guilt-stricken face, he withdraws his now rapidly-deflating member from out of her eliminatory canal. For the life of him, he cannot remember a more titularly satisfying orgasm coupled with a more base and embarrassing afterglow.
For her part, Mary seems quite content, having finally gotten what she’d longed-for, for lo, these many years. Her facial cheeks radiate almost as brightly as her dorsal ones. No sooner does her little rosebud of a rectum relearn how to close again after such a royal rogering, than it emits a long, loud wet raspberry of flatulence, audibly poo-poo’ing the situation. Her guts are telling them both that it is disgusting that they didn’t spend a lifetime together, as their matching yin and yang personalities proclaim that they ought to have, in the only way a gastro-intestinal system can. “You pumped a lot of air up there, it has to come out… somehow… eventually…” she says, trying to talk over the obnoxious interjection unsuccessfully. With an air of casualness that completely eluded John, Mary gets dressed by pulling up her panties and straightening her hose seams. When she is presentable again, she pats the hand that had finally patted her bottom in the manner she’d longed for, and says, “It’s nice to know you actually had it in you, John. I wish things could’ve worked out differently for us…”

Sometimes writing is a kind of therapy, some of my issues arise as I write. This seeming-fluff-piece is a good example. I’ve been struggling with the fact that I’m not 100% submissive 100% of the time. (I don’t know about others, maybe nobody is.) Sometimes I hate being submissive; spankings hurt! Sometimes I need a good spanking just to bring me around to the place of acknowledging that I need a good spanking. (This is addressed here in this piece by Mary.) Sometimes I am of a divided mind, other times I am of a completely unified point of view that I crave nothing more than to have my panties ripped off and my bared butt beaten good and hard. Like Mary, if I’ve been transported to my sub-space, I also crave sexual attention “back there.” And like Mary, once I’ve been satisfied in that way, I usually have to fart. I spell that out just that graphically so that if some newbie tries this fun endeavor, they won’t be put off by this natural outcome/outburst.

10 responses to “#107) The Way It Should Have Been – GRAPHIC CONTENT in the FORMAL TONE of YESTERYEAR”

  1. A good story and an enjoyable read. As for your last paragraph, no one is truly submissive 24/7, just as no one is truly dominant 24/7. Life is there at all times and at it’s whim we must step into different roles that are required of us. It doesn’t make you less of a sub or dominant it is just the natural ebb and flow of life.

    Liked by 3 people

    • That is really well articulated, John! I know that most of us have to hide that part of ourselves out in the world, but I wondered if most people felt that orientation strongly even while keeping it under wraps. It’s nice to know that you think there is that “ebb & flow” for many. Thanks!

      Liked by 2 people

  2. ”… he sheaths his sword in her velvet scabbard.”

    Now there’s a descriptive line!

    Less sure about ‘velvet’, though.
    “Moist”?
    “Silken”?

    One of my fav moments having sex with my GF’s is always first penetration. Watching her eyes. Seeing her mouth slightly open as I penetrate. Her head tilts back, she breaths in and holds her breath, and you hear that little ”Uhhh.”

    Once fully in, I don’t begin thrusting. I just stay in as deep as I can, not moving. Feeling her. Letting her “scabbard” adapt to my “sword.”

    And she does. And then I’m not penetrating her, she has enveloped me!

    Damn, I’m horny.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Dear A.J.,
    Mine is velvet. Some people (particularly women) have a problem with the word “moist.” I don’t, but some do. Mine is more velvet than silken. You are perfectly describing how I like to be possessed up my bum. Why is it that we open our mouths in order to open wider “down there”?
    I really resonate with your comments; thanks for posting them!

    Like

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