#136) Guerilla Spanking – mild sexual content

I had a dinner date with my new lover last night at a swanky Italian restaurant. The place stresses Old World charm and romance, so, many of the booths, like the one we sat in, have curtains that can be drawn, affording some measure of privacy for the patrons. My lover and I giggled about it all during the delicious meal, but over a decadent dessert, we decided to try it out. We began kissing passionately.
The waiter knocked on an ornately carved wooden post by the outside of our booth before placing the bill on the table. “There is no hurry with the check, please enjoy the rest of your meal,” he said. And before he turned his back, my lover took him at his word and put her hand in my blouse. The waiter drew the curtains around us once more.
Twenty minutes later, the waiter was back, knocking and entering once more. Our hands by this time were in each other’s panties, hers were knuckle deep in my pussy.
“We’ve decided to have some espressos,” my lover, Rachel, told him. Please take the bill back, bring us our coffees, and we’ll see if that will be all.”
“Very good, ma’am,” he answered, eyes on what was going on under the table. He left, making sure that the curtain was tightly closed.
“Do you know what guerilla theater is?” I asked her, trying not to moan from what she was doing to my pussy. “Back in the Vietnam war era, theater troupes would perform extemporaneous performances designed to disturb the establishment. Think of it as a flash mob dance by the previous generation,” I said.
“Okay…” Rachel said, as if saying “so what?” because she was of the opinion that I should be swooning instead of talking.
“Well, I’ve always had a potent fantasy about being spanked in public, in front of a lot of unsuspecting witnesses… kind of a way of flaunting my orientation as a spanko, something like Shock and Awe across my bared butt,” I said. “And by the way, what you’re doing to my pussy is as delicious as this whole meal was!”
The waiter knocked, came in with our small cups of coffee, which he sat on the table, and whisked away the black plastic-covered folder containing our check. To the man, Rachel said, “We’ve decided that this will be all, add our espressos to the rest and this will take care of it,” and she handed him two-one hundred dollar bills. Then, just as loudly, she said to me, “Keep acting up, and I swear I’ll spank you right here, young lady!”
The waiter expressed obsequious thanks as I started to raise a fuss. “I said I was taking you out! Take that money back, this is one me!” The waiter paused at the curtain-opening for this matter to be resolved. Instead, it escalated.
“No, I will not! Now you’re ruining what has been a lovely evening, stop this at once or I swear I’ll…”
“It’s YOU who is ruining things,” I countered. The look on Rachel’s pretty face said that she’d had enough.
“Very well. I warned you…”
And I found myself suddenly turned over the table. I felt my short skirt being flipped up on my back, and then, with a blush, even though I’d instigated all this, I felt my underpants being pulled roughly down to mid-thigh. Without further ado, my marvelously masterful mistress began belaboring my buttocks with sharp, stinging slaps, a whole butt-load of them. I punctuated each with a whimpered, “Ow!” or “Ooh!” as I felt other diners pull their curtains back a bit to see the spectacle. From my vantage point, it was spectacular! This seemed confirmed by the waiter, who had quite an impressive stiffy sticking out against his black slacks.
Rach left my panties at half-staff as she yanked me to my feet and marched me out the front door, saying, “Just you wait ‘til I get you home, young lady! The spanking you just got will seem like a game of patty-cake by comparison.” She opened my car door for me.
“I can’t wait ‘til we get home, so I’m not getting in there,” I said, nodding toward the front seat. “Get in the back with me and fuck my brains out, or I swear I’ll open the moon roof, impale myself on the gearshift and fuck myself!”
Fortunately, the windows to Rachel’s car are darkly tinted; what went on thereafter was not for public view.
This morning, like every Saturday, we went grocery shopping together first thing, before we settle in for a leisurely breakfast and a day of fun and frolic.
“What did you think of our guerilla spanking performance last night?” I asked Rachel as we approached the check-out line.
She smirked at me, putting together that I was bringing this matter up as we were about to leave, just like in the restaurant. “I think we were lucky not to get arrested for lewd public behavior, but that it was fun… it got you very wet, so our sex in the car afterward was incendiary! I bet if I pushed a finger into your vagina right now like a dip-stick, I’d find your fluid levels high and your engine running hot! What do you have in mind…?”
I smirked back. “A repeat performance adapted to this venue…”
My lover replied like an indulgent parent with her obstreperous child, “Please be sure that we’re all checked-out first! I mean it, we could get arrested…”
We put our items on the conveyor belt together, I helped bag our groceries as Rach paid, and we wheeled our cart toward the automatic doors. Suddenly I reached into a bag, withdrew a jar of peanut butter, and threw a fit.
“I didn’t know you bought THIS brand! I hate this brand! Exchange it; I don’t want it, I won’t eat it!”
“Stop that fussing this minute!”
“I hate you!” I yelled. Several small children were staring at me, as if learning pointers and taking notes on how to be a brat. Most older eyes were turned our way, too.
Once again, with efficiency and control, Rach upended me over the handle of the shopping cart, quickly pulled the flannel pajama bottoms and underpants I was wearing down in one smooth gesture, and started to spank. She really gave it to me this time, each swat was administered with vengeance, and I got a lot of them. It seemed like I got about fifteen hard spanks last night. This time I must have gotten thirty or forty full-arm wallops before Rachel thought I’d had enough.
“The wooden spoon and your bared butt have an appointment when we get home, young lady,” she pronounced. “Unless you’d like to give me another ration of back-talk, in which case I can take off my belt and put you over the fender of the car…”
I pulled my pants up and rubbed my warmed cheeks. Where did she get this “young lady” stuff, I wondered? We’re the same age. Actually, I was impressed with her improvisational skills. I’ve always been impressed with her disciplinary skills!
Once again, we couldn’t wait until we got home to continue our play. Our frozen foods thawed as we generated lots of heat, and the car’s suspension rocked.
But Rach wasn’t finished with her in-character display of talent. When the grocery items were put away, she took me by the earlobe and marched me to our bedroom, saying, “Clearly, we need to have a little talk…” She sat me on the edge of our bed and sat down next to me. I was reminded of my mother doing the exact same thing before turning me over her knee decades previous. The parallel excited me, and sitting on still-warm cheeks had me squirming a bit. “Okay, guerilla spanking is sexy as hell, and our love-life is benefiting tremendously, but we need to set some limits. I’m afraid this is going to snowball! We cannot do performances everywhere we go, all over town! I suggest we plan ahead, do about one performance a week, sound good?”
Part of me wanted to play the smart-aleck and respond, “Got something against spontaneity?” but I didn’t. I tried to see the wisdom in what she was saying. But my gut-level feelings burst out of my mouth, “It was so hot!”
“It was, and it will be again, just not every twelve hours!” Rachel admonished, but then smiled and hugged me, and we kissed.
“It MIGHT be all the sexier to be able to plan the guerilla spanking in detail ahead of time…” I acquiesced. I kissed my lover some more. “Aren’t you forgetting something…?”
Rachel gave me a puzzled look.
“I remember being promised a wooden spoon paddling when we got home…”
Rachel smiled, “Go fetch the long-handled wooden spoon and bring it back here to me. Someone’s not going to be able to sit for breakfast.”
I scampered to obey.

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