#147) The Test for Being a Good Girl – GRAPHIC CONTENT

I met a guy on Fetlife. We corresponded/flirted by email for a month, then over the phone for over a week. We got together for coffee at Starbucks. All systems seemed “go” so I invited Jim over for dinner the next night. I really liked him, he seemed to really like me, and I think we both realized that the evening was going to end with frivolity ensuing, meaning that I’d let him spank me and then fuck me. That would be the test as to whether we truly had a future together.
I’m something of a gourmet cook, so prepared a standing rib roast, mashed potatoes, minted carrots, with chocolate cake for dessert. Jim brought a nice red table wine. After we ate, we moved to the couch in the living room, where he took off some of my clothing and I loosened some of his as we kissed and made-out. I enjoyed kissing Jim very much, but also was dying of curiosity, aching to find out what kind of lover he was, what kind of Dominant.
“I’d like to make love with you…” I whispered between kisses, our faces inches apart.
“Good, because I’d like that, too,” he responded as he removed my bra. He kissed his way from my mouth, down my neck, to suck on an ever-hardening nipple. My nips ached for attention. I wanted to scream, instead I sighed. I ran my hands through his hair. His suction turned into a soft bite, which excited me all the more. We were on the same page; this was going to be epic!
I was panting, but tried to articulate my desires, “Wanna spank me first…?” This was another test. Spanking is the best foreplay on earth in my opinion. I needed to see if Jim agreed. But if he launched into it right away, this would be a major red flag. No matter how eager we both were, I hoped he’d stop to ask me what my likes and dislikes were. No one is a mind-reader; these are things that need to be talked through. Still sucking and biting my tits, Jim pulled my panties down to mid-thigh. I could smell my fragrant arousal, wondered if Jim could. His right hand returned to my bottom and caressed it. I moaned, loving his touch. Our mouths were back to exploring with tongues intertwined. He pulled his head back to look me in the eye.
“I passionately want to spank you, Jeanie, but…”
Yes, my eyes pleaded… talk to me… even though we’re as horny as can be, talk to me…
“But first, I have a test for you…”
Wait… what? I thought. I was kneeling on the couch cushion next to him. He eased me across his lap into that ignominious position every spanko knows so well. I looked back at Jim with my most fetching, come-hither expression. He didn’t raise his hand to start spanking, but he didn’t speak, either. Jim kept his eyes locked on mine as he took a firm pinch of fanny and parted me. He brought his hand to his mouth. With his middle finger extended as if he was flipping me the bird, Jim spit on his fingertip and edged me. My eyes unfocused, I think I bit my lower lip to try to keep from climaxing. It took a lot of effort. How did he know that I was extremely anal-erotic? “Is this the test…?” I stammered, as Jim spit on his fingertip again and returned it to anointing my rosebud.
“Shhh,” was all he answered, then spit on that same fingertip once more, and inserted that finger directly up my anus. The saliva had lubricated the orifice a little, and I was relaxed, but Jim didn’t stop pushing until he’d penetrated my butthole with two knuckles of that middle finger. “This is a test,” he stated simply, like some announcer on TV when they are testing the emergency notification system.
On the one hand, I didn’t expect to be goosed, but on the other, I liked it (probably all the more because I wasn’t well-lubed for it. It burned a little, which was divine). I felt sexy as could be nearly-naked over the knee of a hunky man, but I desperately wanted/needed to talk first. Speaking of talking, Jim was elaborating on what he’d said about a “test.” I tried to listen instead of give myself over to my ravenous appetites.
“This is kind of a pop quiz that you can’t prepare for. I’m going to keep my finger lodged up your cute, tight asshole for another minute or so. When I take it out, we’ll see how you did on the test. If my finger is clean and smells only of my spit, you’ll be praised and rewarded as a Good Girl. If, on the other hand, my finger is streaked with shit, even just smells of it, you’ll be lectured about how your hygiene has to improve, the ways you’ll accomplish that change, and then you’ll be punished. Hard. Because this is a deal-breaker. Understood?”
I nodded as I thought to myself that it was a fifty-fifty proposition whether his finger came out clean or dirty. I wanted to be his good girl, I was fearful, but also a little intrigued what his punishment for this offense might be.
Jim rotated his finger, which made me squeal with delight, then extracted his finger just as rudely (meaning suddenly) as he’d inserted it. My butt-hole tingled from the intrusion. Jim inspected his digit closely, even smelled it, then pronounced, “Clean as a whistle, Good Girl.” He picked me up and placed me over the edge of the couch cushion, so that he was free to stand up. He walked to the nearly kitchen-sink and washed his hands. He walked back to me; our eyes locked in the passionate embrace I wanted our bodies to replicate. But he knelt down behind my behind, parted my buttocks with both hands, and kissed my anus. He just parted my cheeks, and planted his mouth right on my butt-hole, then inserted his tongue. Deep. I thought of his phrase, “clean as a whistle,” as he played me like one. No one had ever done such a thing to me in any of my committed, long, intimate relationships, and I barely knew this guy. I closed my eyes, my mouth fell open.
“Oh, God, that’s… so fucking good… I think I’m gonna cum…!” I do this. A lot. I say that phrase because orgasms were so ephemeral for me, they’d sometimes evaporate into thin air before I could experience them fully, especially as a younger woman. So, I say it to try to will the Gods to give it to me, to make the sensations stay and build and wash over me. So I said it, and I’d probably say it over and over until the tidal wave swept me away.
But as soon as I sighed it for the first time, Jim stopped the analingus, released my butt cheeks, reached up and took my chin by his forefinger and thumb to command my full attention, and whispered, “No, no, you’re not. You don’t have my permission to cum. You’re going to ride the crest of that wave, teetering on the brink of ecstasy, but not cum, for as long as I like. Clear?”
He turned me over, so my ass was perched on the edge of the couch cushion, and my legs were splayed wide, and applied his talented mouth to my wet pussy. I dug my fingernails into the upholstery and tried with all my might to be obedient and not climax.
“Listen,” I gasped, surprised to hear the naked need in my voice, “I love cunnilingus as much as the next girl… but I love something more… spank me… like we talked about on-line…”
“But you don’t deserve a spanking,” he returned.
“But that’s just it… I think I do…” I sat up from my precarious perch and pulled Jim closer between my open thighs. “I think it was just lucky that your ‘test’ came out positive. I don’t want to disappoint you. I really like you. And so that I don’t, I think we ought to go back to square one…”
I looked Jim in the eye, loving how he was listening to me, how connected we were, so felt emboldened to continue.
“I passed your test, but I’m not confident that it was due to my competence. So review the lesson in hygiene with me, and then give me the lesson in obedience. Maybe not as severe a lesson as you’d give a girl who failed the test, but…”
“On a scale from one to ten, with ten being a really sound, ass-annihilating thrashing, what are you thinking…?” he solicited.
It occurred to me that we were really talking, communicating about the important stuff that builds a strong D/s relationship. It made me smile.
“Thanks for asking that way!” and I kissed him, tasting my pussy for the first time on his mouth. “I guess… about a six, maybe a seven for ‘topping from the bottom’ so much… How’s that sound…?”
Jim took my chin in that affectionate, intimate way with his thumb and forefinger, so I was sure to focus, as he said simply, “Your perfect ass now has two distinct functions, completely separate from one another. One is elimination, which I don’t want to know anything about. Every time you take a shit, even poot a fart, you are to scrub yourself thoroughly, as in get in the shower and work a soapy finger way up there. Clear?”
I nodded.
“The other function,” Jim continued is for fun, where I spank and kiss and lick and fuck and spank and pinch and caress and massage and… did I say ‘spank’ already?”
“Yes, Sir,” I breathed, “and I’m ready for mine… I want to be your Good Girl…”
Jim sat next to me on the couch, took me by the wrist, and helped me drape myself over his knee. I kicked the panties that were coiled around my left ankle off and wiggled my butt invitingly. I felt his left hand pin me in place by pressing on the small of my back. I arched my ass up with anticipation. His right hand circled my ample curves for a long minute, then it was gone.
And he spanked me.
That’s just a simple sentence, four little words, conjunction, subject, active verb, and object. But it encompasses my whole being. Jim applied his large hand at high velocity to my bared and proffered butt repeatedly. So marvelously hard and rapidly and without mercy or respite. It was so sensual being nude over his knee, writhing on him, feeling that hard hand punish me stinging after stinging swat, all across the ample expanse of my ass. He took my breath away with the first spanks, made me wince with the ones that followed. My poor butt jiggled and bounced, contracted in pain, and absorbed the sting and reddened and ignited, as my heart leapt and my inhalations became shortened and labored. I swooned, feeling like I’d wasted my life up until this moment across this man’s lap. I finally understood why spankings are traditional at birthdays; I felt reborn. He stopped spanking to lecture.
“Such a pretty bottom. Such a shame I have to punish it because you’re such a bad girl…”
I felt like a girl of twelve, like I was feeling sexual impulses for the first time, associating those delightful ripplings inside me with the heat he was instilling across my backside. My backside became the seat of my sexuality. I needed this, I deserved this. I craved it. He began spanking me with a second set, just as hard, just as long, just as unrelenting and merciless. The intensity of the pain was rivaled only by the intensity of the arousal in my sex. Just when I thought that I could not withstand any more, Jim stopped spanking. He rubbed my bottom, slightly soothing the terrible burn. He parted my crease and saw that my sex was very wet and engorged.
“That’ll be enough with my hand. You need to feel the effects of several implements. Please stand up.”
And he helped me to my feet, bent me over the dining room table. I looked back over my shoulder to see him pulling his belt through the loops of his pants and doubling the leather in his hand.
“If you were a bad girl, I’d administer this hard. You were not a bad girl. Even though this’ll hurt, I think you’re going to benefit from it more than you can imagine. After each belt lash, I want you to rub your thighs together.”
He stood back and gave my bum a vicious lick. The loud crack it made across my flesh scared me, the concentrated impact was worse than his hand. But the pain quickly turned to an all-consuming warmth. I scissored my thighs and felt the warmth in my sex. Before he’d administered ten lashes, I was cumming. The orgasm came upon me suddenly.
“May… may I… cum, Sir?” I tried to enunciate.
“Good girl, yes, you may,” and he gave them to me harder and faster, which only accelerated my reactions, both painful and pleasure-filled. I don’t know how many licks he laid into me, but when he finally put the belt back on, I was higher than I have ever been in my life. Endorphins are a much better high than booze or weed or even coke. “Do you have any skin lotion, Jeanie?”
“Yes, in the bathroom.”
“Be a good girl and bring it to me.” By the time I got back with he, Jim was sitting back on the couch and he had my purse next to him on the cushion. He took the bottle from me and helped me back over his knee. He rubbed a liberal amount of lotion into my abused backside. I orgasmed again. He parted my thighs and played in my drenched pussy with slick fingers. I orgasmed with a series on convulsive spasms.
Jim took his handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his hands, then delved into my purse and extracted my hairbrush.
“Next you’re going to get a paddling. As erotic as the strapping was, this is gonna be excruciating.”
“Not a hairbrush paddling, please! I hate wooden implements!”
“I know; you mentioned it once in our correspondence. You need this. If I stopped now, you’d be stiff and sore tomorrow, but not much the worse for wear. But this paddling is gonna leave bruises, bruises you’ll have across your butt for the better part of a week. Not get ready, this is gonna really smart on your moistened bottom…”
A flood of emotions engulfed me. I loved that he’d remembered what I’d shared about implement-preferences. But I hated that he was now using that intelligence against me. I loved that he knew submissives well enough to understand our infatuation with vivid bruises, but I was afraid of the pain that would inspire them. And I’d loved the lotion massage, but I knew I was going to pay for it now.
The first wallop with the back of my large wooden hairbrush hurt so fucking much, I turned around to make sure he was using that tool. It felt like he’d taken a metal pancake turner, heated it over an open fire, and was simultaneously paddling and branding my butt! Tears sprung to my eyes, my mouth opened wide, every hair on my body stood on end. The second wallop only confirmed that it wasn’t a fluke, it hurt exponentially more.
“Count your strokes starting with number three, young lady,” he directed.
WOMP! “OOOWWW! Three, Sir, thank you!”
On the fifth wallop, my voice cracked and I couldn’t count it, so Jim just gave me a series of uncounted blows. Lots of them. It seemed like a hundred, but probably amounted to fifty or so. I cried like a baby, unable to absorb the incredible pain. After a while I realized that I was still crying, but that he wasn’t paddling any more. He helped me turn and sit on his lap, which was too painful, so I sat on my thighs and hung my ass off into the air. Jim caressed it gently, smoothed my hair, kissed my tears, muttered, “There, there. You took your medicine very well.”
“I HATE wooden implements! You really paddled me HARD!” I pouted.
“Yes, I did,” Jim stated unapologetically.
Seeing that he was being his authentic self, I added, “My butt feels phenomenal right now!” He rubbed it softly. He kissed passionately. I felt the need to say more. “It’s been SO long, with the corona virus, since someone has given me a really good disciplining. I hated that last session, but love it all right now! Thank you!”
I’m puzzled,” Jim shared. “You came right out and asked for that thrashing, knowing I would be hard on you… Why?”
I thought for a minute. “The only way to explain it is with an analogy. You know in the “Dirty Harry” movie, where Clint Eastwood says, “This is the most powerful handgun in the world, a .44 magnum, bla-bla-bla, and did I five six shots, or only five?” and the criminal says, “I’ve got to know…” So Harry clicks the trigger and he was out of bullets. Do you remember that scene?”
“You describe it well. Yes, I remember.”
“That’s how I felt when you talked about a sound punishment. I had to know if we were on the same page in terms of what constituted a really sound thrashing.” I put my hand on his hand that was still rubbing my sore seat. I smiled through the pain. “I’m pleased to say that we’re in total synchronization! You punished me just like I need to be punished.”
We kissed some more. I lifted his hand from my tush, parted my thighs and put his hand on my soaking wet pussy. “Fuck me now…” I pleaded with naked urgency.
“I will not,” he returned, and I was momentarily crestfallen. “I’ll make love with you, but not fuck you,” and he picked me up like Rhett Butler did to Scarlett and carried me to my bedroom.
We made love with total synchronicity, too. We did it in the missionary position, where I could stare into his eyes. And I came. He flipped me over, and we did it in the doggy position, where he got in real deep and slammed into my bottom with each thrust. And I came ten times and ten times harder than before. He laid me flat on the bed on my tummy and fucked me intensely. At the pinnacle, he pulled out, aligned his cock up my ass crack, pressed my smarting buttocks around his cock, and hot-dogged me, spurting loads of cum across my back and bottom.
Long minutes later, when we could both think coherently and talk in sentences, he played with me by parting my buttocks and releasing his cock from their grip.
“Sometime soon, I want to make love with you up this tight, pink little hole,” Jim said, looking at my winking anus.
I had to say what I needed to say looking him straight in the eye, so I flipped over, not caring about all the spunk I was rubbing into my clean bedsheets. I grabbed Jim with both hands on his jaw (kind of like how he’d taken me by the chin with his finger and thumb), and said with total honesty, “Anytime you want me there, I’m yours!” I think he sensed that I was saying that I was falling in love, that I wanted to be exclusively his… “Let’s nap, in each other’s arms, and when we wake up, I want you to fuck me, er, I mean, make love with me up my butt…”
He laid down next to me, I cuddled in close. We slept so serenely, and awoke at the exact same second about an hour later. Jim took me by the hand and led me into my bathroom. I got out the tube of Astroglide lubricant and took it with me into the shower with him.
“Just a minute,” Jim said when we were about to get started, “I forgot a condom.”
I stopped him from getting out of the shower. “Ride me bareback, lover! I want to feel YOU up my butt, I want to feel your load DIRECTLY up my ass! This isn’t gonna be love-making. I want a dirty fuck…”
It made me giddy feeling his fingers deep up my anus, knowing that we were going to do something really deliciously nasty together, that he shared the exact same taste in all things sexual, that as he fingered copious amounts of lube up my tight tooter, that his finger would emerge, just as his cock did an hour later, clean as whistle.
“I wanna be your Good Girl,” I said when he was about to put his big thing in my tight opening, “now do me like I’m your whore.”
That relationship with Jim was a really good one. It lasted for almost a full year, probably one of my longest, certainly one of my nicest memories. Bridgette Bardot said that the most important thing about love was knowing when to get out. We both sensed, after those ten months or so, that things were getting slightly stale, and didn’t want it to deteriorate, so ended it on good terms.
The serial boyfriends I see/sleep with now are all amazed at my bathroom habits. They chide me for not only being anal-erotic, but being anal about all things ass-related. They think it’s strange that after I go number two, I’ll wipe REALLY well, but then hop in the shower and soap up my rectum. Every time. They can laugh if they want to; I’m just being a good girl.

6 responses to “#147) The Test for Being a Good Girl – GRAPHIC CONTENT”

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