The other day, the well-known blogger, Bonnie, posted a “Never Have I Ever” game on her site, My Bottom Smarts. Out of thirty six activities, I’d done all but two. That didn’t matter to me as much as the pleasant memories that kept flooding back to me as I thought about what I had done. This is just one of those recollections.
I met a guy online after just coming out to myself as a spanko. Having held my strong impulses in-check for so long, now I was overdoing it, indulging them whenever I got the chance. We chatted, he was a switch, but when I told him that I strictly wanted to bottom, he said that this was agreeable. He said his name was Jason, and that he found me attractive by what I’d shared. I stupidly told him that I was a professional fashion model, then honestly confessed that I wasn’t setting this world on fire because I was thought to be too big-bottomed to please fashionistas who liked women rail thin. These two details seemed to drive him crazy with lust, he really wanted to meet me in-person. It turns out that we didn’t live too far away from one another. I didn’t want him knowing where I lived, so said that I’d drive to his city the next weekend. Again, for safety sake, I specified that we meet in a famous hotel’s bar there.
Turns out that he was a graduate student in a prestigious college there. He was scruffy-bearded and tweedily-dressed, articulate but soft-spoken, nice with kind eyes. After half an hour of animated conversation and a drink a piece, he suggested that we split the cost of one of this hotel’s upscale rooms. I replied with the question why we should waste the money when he lived nearby. Jason liked that, expressed appreciation for the trust I’d placed in him. We took our own cars, I had condoms with me in case he didn’t. I thought I was being safe and sane with this hot hook-up.
His apartment looked like a grad student lived there, but it was clean and impressed me by being filled with interesting books. I looked forward to seeing how we’d mesh when playing together. He poured me a glass of white wine and escorted me into his bedroom.
The décor was… interesting. The walls were covered with those thin wooden paddles that were popular back then as a child’s game, the kind with an elastic string stapled to the wood on one end and a red rubber ball on the other. But Jason had pulled this elastic off. About twenty paddles were nailed to his bedroom walls, each one signed in marker with a different name. I couldn’t help but inspect them, and still confused, ask him about them.
“I paddled a different woman with each one of those toy paddles, then got her to sign her name as a memento.”
I was intrigued as I started to take off my clothes. “Being a switch, did some of the women paddle you with the same paddle?”
“Sometimes!” he answered brightly.
“And did you make love with each of the women afterward?” I pressed, not judgmentally, just curious.
“Yes… Some were reticent at first… but to a person, they found the sting of my paddling them with this toy… intriguing at first, then intoxicating, finally a lot of fun… So it was a natural transition from spanking to sex…” He reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser, which contained, on top of some t-shirts, about ten of those thin, wooden play paddles. “Want to try it?”
I was naked by this point. I downed the rest of my wine, set my glass down on his bedside table, and crawled across his lap. “Sure,” I smiled. This should be…novel… I thought to myself.
Without any other warm-up or further words, Jason began really whacking me hard and fast with the toy. It made a high pitched “whap!” sound in contact with my thick tushy. It didn’t hurt so much as sting with a kind of infuriating itch. But the cumulative effect of the many smacks he administered really started to build into an intense fire.
“A moment’s mercy!” I cried out, and Jason immediately stopped. “Rub me for a minute, please?” I asked and he complied with this, too.
He massaged me energetically, enthusiastically. “I love your butt!” he exclaimed. I was used to this. Men who took weeks to be able to say, “I love you” to my face said those words about my ass almost as soon as they saw it. I knew it to be all the more mesmerizing when my caboose was painted red. Jason just kept rubbing and repeating his infatuation with my phat fanny.
“Okay… I think I’m ready for another set…” I said tentatively. “Do you mind if I masturbate while you paddle me? It’ll help me endure the sting…”
“Oh yeah!” Jason answered. I arched up to get my hand underneath my hips, and no sooner touched fingertips to clit before he started to wail away on me anew. His intensity conditioned my intensity; as he walloped me in hyper speed, I jilled-off just as hard. I had a mild orgasm. I didn’t think Jason noticed, so intent was he on wearing me out with his toy. I said the safeword again, he shifted gears from smacking to soothing. I blinked back the tears that threatened to waterfall down my face. As he did, Jason saw that I was sexually excited.
“For a thin little toy, that thing really stings!” I offered, looking back to see that my fanny’s flesh was ashy gray on top of vibrantly crimson.
“I know! Right?” he responded as he rubbed. “Will you sign it, please… for my wall?” He picked up a felt-tipped pen at the ready from the bedside table and handed both to me.
Maybe it was the wine, maybe I was high on endorphins, I don’t know, but I signed it right away, then immediately regretted it. From my vantage point lying on his bed over his lap, I could clearly see the names of scores of women, Tiffany Hardin, Chloe Wallace, Patricia Louise… I didn’t want to be memorialized on Jason’s wall! What if I became a world-famous model? Jason could tell this story to the tabloid newspapers and prove its truth with the paddle I held in my hands! I wondered if I could snap it in two with my bare hands, maybe a karate chop. Then I got an idea. I spit on the paddle, right where I’d neatly signed my name. I handed it back to Jason.
“Give me one more set… really hard this time!” I instructed, secretly hoping that this would smudge my signature until it was illegible.
Jason took me at my word. He really wore me out with that damned thin weapon of ass destruction. My spittle made it sting all the more! I cried, I masturbated, I prayed that this would be worth it. I didn’t say the safeword, even though I was dying to do so. When he was finished, I glanced back over my shoulder. My ass was smudged with black marker, as well as all the more ashy, all the redder.
To keep Jason from noticing, I rolled over and practically attacked the poor guy. He must’ve though his paddle created a tigress in me. I yanked his cock out of his fly, ripped open a condom and slid it on him, then stuffed it into me. I rode him in the cowgirl position like a rodeo champ.
I have to make a confession here. I love near-anonymous sex! I’ve had some of the best sex of my life with people like Jason, men I barely know. It feels like an amusement park ride, new and thrilling. It feels like a vacation I’m on as well as their bodies, freeing and different for a respite. I guess I was born too late, I should’ve been a hippie in the free-love generation. I can imagine me protesting, carrying a placard proclaiming, “Make Love, Not War (But Feel Free to Go Ballistic on My Ass)!”
I rode Jason hard and put him away wet, grinding my aroused sex and flaming fanny into him, willing the ejaculate to jet out of him. Dismounting, I scooped up my clothes and started putting back on only what was necessary.
“I’ve gotta run, I’m late for an appointment back home!” I offered as an excuse.
“Can I have your phone number?” he asked.
“Sure!” I answered, picked up that felt-tip pen and scribbled “Jane Maris” and a fake number on his sweaty hand.
“I thought your name was Jean…?” he mumbled, perplexed.
I giggled and replied, “Gee, you just fucked me and don’t even know my name, Jason!” and ran out his door. My last sight of this nice guy was him comparing his palm’s writing with the smeared ink on his paddle, both bleeding into illegibility, and a huge load drooping from the condom hanging off his half-staff erection.
Jason, you deserve better! I hope you’ve met a nice, bookish submissive/switch and that you’re both very happy together. I deserve a good, hard thrashing for treating you so shabbily, and I’ve gotten it, multiple times over in fact, with the many men I’ve played with since.
(I chose not to write about my experiences with big, heavy wooden [fraternity-style] paddles, which I’ve felt across my jeans, panties, and bared bottom. I HATE them! This fictionalized retelling of a tale about my tail is more fun. It IS fictionalized; for instance, I’m not the type to give a guy a fake phone number. I only signed a paddle that’d been used on me for just a few minutes, but it should still count for points on the “Never Have I Ever” game.)