Spanking Lottery

September 4, 2007 – 10:00 am

     I was surprised, to say the least.  As most everyone knew
her name and had seen her pictures all over the world, I was
surprised that I had won the drawing to give her the spanking she
so obviously deserved and needed.  In an effort to raise money
for her legal fees and such, a worldwide lottery was held.  Five
dollars American bought the chance to soundly spank those gor-
geous buns.  I figured the five bucks was worth it just for the
fantasy.  Over a half-million dollars was raised and I was
shocked to get the certified letter telling me I had won.  I
phoned and identified myself, they wired me a round trip ticket
and two days later I was jetting to the West Coast.

     Her lawyer met me at the airport and told me that his own
wife had suggested the spanking and the lottery idea followed.
“Even though my client didn’t commit the actual assault, nor was
she involved in planning it, she is guilty of marrying a man
who’s emotionally screwed up.  Everyone can see she’s got prob-
lems herself and can only benefit from some attitude adjusting.
It certainly works on my wife, so I agreed that my client would
benefit.

     “We felt that there were likely many others who felt that
way and who would pay for the chance to spank her.  Certainly
raised a nice sum.  Not as much as her rival, but then, she
doesn’t have to work for it or talk with cartoon animals to earn
it.

     “I guess her aggressive attitude makes her seem more deserv-
ing of some bun warming,” he went on.  “She chose to compete in a
sport where the image tends to favor competitors who are quiet
and passive, traits which obviously don’t fit her character.”

     “Well, I never paid attention to any ice sport until this
whole mess hit the news,” I said.  “I noticed that she had a
great body:  petite, fit and, oh those thighs.  I imagine she’s
got lot of protective muscle in her butt.”

     “Yes, but that means more nerve endings.”  He went on to
tell me that the spanking would be done in his home.  She knew
what was in store for her.

     “I told her that even the admission of knowing about the
crime after the fact and saying nothing was going to blemish her
future, that she needed to change some of her behavior and
dysfunctional habits in order to avoid trouble in the coming
years.  She’s not happy about it, but she realizes jail could be
worse.”

     He and his wife live in a large, expensive house.  Only he
and his wife were there.  And the “trailer-park babe” herself.
But she was in the basement where a comfortable sound-insulated
room had been constructed.  He introduced me to his wife, an
attractive blonde haired woman whom I had also seen several times
on television news stories.  She remained upstairs while the
attorney led me downstairs.

     “Before we go down there, let me again remind you of the
ground rules.  We’ll be videotaping the entire session when you
are with her.  You will wear a mask and under no circumstances
are you to call her by name.   She won’t know who you are, so she
won’t be calling you by name.

     “Don’t break he skin or inflict any permanent damage.  Is
this clear?”  I acquiesced and, when we reached the bottom of the
stairs, he handed me a silver colored mask and flipped some
switches to turn on video recorders. 

     “I’ll stay out here and monitor the session.”  He looked at
his watch.  “My wife will have dinner ready at 7:30, an hour from
now.  That should give you time to ‘introduce’ yourself and give
her a taste of what’s in store for her.”

     “In the letter and on the telephone you mentioned a paddle
collection . . . . .”

     “Let’s see how this session goes, first,” he said as he sat
down at a console with video monitors.

     When I opened the door, a small spotlight was the only
illumination in the room, and that light fell directly on the
naked form of the athlete whose face had become familiar to so
many in recent months.  The blonde hair was tightly drawn up
behind her head and she wore only a small cross on a chain which
rested between her small breasts.  She was standing against a
wall, holding, but not tied to, straps which kept her arms high
and wide.  She stood with her bare feet about two feet apart and
it was difficult for me to keep my gaze from constantly returning
to take in the magnificence of those strong, naked thighs I’d
dreamed about.

     “Hello,” I whispered.

     “Okay, I agreed to do this, but I don’t have to like it,”
she said.  I could hear her nervousness and the fear behind her
words of defiance.  I directed her to the leather-covered vault-
ing horse which was instantly spotlighted as she walked over to
it.  The attorney was evidently watching from the control panel
in the next room and I wondered where the video cameras were.

     I had her bend over the shortened vaulting horse and told
her to hold on to the straps which I handed her.  Stepping around
behind her, I spent a few moment admiring her lovely bottom, so
muscular and firm, so inviting.  I felt, but resisted, the urge
to plant an adoring kiss on each glorious cheek.  Instead, I
placed both of my hands on her butt and squeezed the flesh.  At
first her muscles tightened, but after several seconds they
relaxed and gave way for the massaging action of my fingers.

     She let out a loud sigh, as if she were bored.  Annoying and
definitely defiant.  “I thought this was supposed to teach me
something.  Are you just teaching me that you’re some sort of
pervert who gets off rubbing asses?”

     The first swat was hard and loud.  I knew that there was a
limit as to what a bare-handed spanking could deliver but I
applied a forceful blow to shock her.  I knew it would sting her
into a quick silence, at least for a moment.

     “Oww!” she yelped, quite startled.  The sharp sound of
flesh-on-flesh didn’t reverberate off the walls, but it was loud.
The muscles in her butt and thighs quivered beneath her skin, and
the pink imprint rose on her cheek.  She inhaled quickly, but
said nothing.  I rubbed long enough to relax the tense muscles
again, then administered another stinging slap to her other
cheek, raising a matching pink imprint.   This time, there was no
sound from her other than the sharp hissing of air as it rushed
out of her mouth.  Again, her thighs quivered as did her well-
developed butt.  Years of falling on ice had made that an area of
high resistance but I had come prepared.

     “I guess you know my asshole ex-husband used to punch me and
beat me.  I learned to take a lot of pain that way.  If you’re
waiting for me to cry before you’ll stop, you got a long wait,
bub.  Unless I fake it. 

     “Oh, boo hoo, mister, don’t spank me anymore.  {sniff}
You’ve made your point.  I promise to be a good girl from now on
and to stay away from emotionally immature jerks like my ex. 

     “There.  Satisfied?” she said, her voice changing back to a
bratty, irritating, recalcitrant tone.  While she had been
talking and putting on her act, I had donned a latex glove and
smeared it with the menthol-scented cream which would sensitize
her flesh.

     “Oh, damn, that’s cold!” she said, startled yet again at the
feel of my hand on her backside, rubbing soothingly. 

     “Hmmm, that feels good, ya know?  Kinda warm.  It smells
like stuff I get rubdowns with.  Is it?” 

     My reply?

     WHAP!

     “AoowH!” she cried, genuinely stung.  Quickly she stood,
letting go of the hand straps and grabbing her own stinging buns.
“Shit, that hurt!”

     “Bend over,” I told her sternly.  She didn’t move fast
enough to suit me so I took hold of one of her wrists, went to
the other side of the vaulting horse and cinched her wrist.  She
was struggling but I returned and secured a strap to her left
ankle.  The straps weren’t tight at all, giving her plenty range
of motion, yet still she was bent over, that ass wonderfully
poised and beckoning.

     “I told you not to let go.”  Then I brought my gloved hand
up high and brought it down on that delectable derriere.

     WHAP!!

     She jerked hard against the straps and she couldn’t stifle
the cry that came from deep within.  Again and again I covered
her cheeks with my hand until they were flushed scarlet and her
sobs were real, not fake.  But this was only a warm-up, so I
released her foot and reached beneath the horse and freed her
wrist from the strap.

     “You may stand,” I told her.  Again, her hands went to her
rear, but the contact this time was no longer comforting.  She
groaned at the contact and jerked her hands away.  When I saw her
face, her blue eyes were shedding real tears.

     While I joined my hosts for a delicious dinner, they en-
lightened me on a few things.

     “She received so many threats, she feared going out in
public,” the attorney explained.  “We already owned the house
next door, so we constructed a connecting tunnel and she lives in
that house.  She has several fitness machines and a hot tub
there.  Her close friends come and go and she goes for evening
jogs from there without trouble.”

     “In disguise, of course,” his wife added.  She said that all
the publicity had a depressing effect on the 23-year-old, but
she’s tough.  “She knows the mess won’t ever be forgotten but
sooner or later the media hype will.  She just wants to drive her
truck and ride her motorcycle and go shopping  without the mob of
photographers.”

     “In the meantime,” the attorney continued, “she has bills to
pay and a life to lead.  She wants to invest all she can now
because she knows she’ll likely never get the chance to make as
much money.  There just isn’t a big demand for former athletes in
her field, regardless of public opinion.”

     “The friends she hangs out with seem to be fine,” his wife
commented.  “But like so many people from dysfunctional back-
grounds, sometimes she’s attracted to mixed-up people.  Like her
ex-husband.  She’s obviously grown up a lot in the last few
months.  I think she’s turned 180ø as far as being attracted to
that type.”

     “Yes, but even she acknowledged that there was still some
sort of attraction to the brooding, sinister types.”

     “So, what made you decide on spanking as a measure?” I
asked.

     “Her therapist agreed that she was consciously aware of why
she had made those wrong choices in the past.  Continuing the
therapy would have been reinforcing but repetitive and definitely
expensive.  With no big contract offers, that would have been a
financial drain she couldn’t afford.”

     “She has known for years that my husband and I were involved
in the spanking scene.  We discussed it often.  This may sound
over-simplified, but she needs and wants a strong, intelligent,
self-confident man, but she has always settled for the emotional-
ly weak men of less intelligence because, I think, she believes
she doesn’t deserve better.  And she does.  She’s talented,
beautiful, smart . . . .”

     “The lottery concept was her idea,” the attorney said.

     “Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

     “She had offers to do nude layouts, but the idea of being
ogled by thousands of masturbators didn’t thrill her, and the
monetary offers didn’t seem to be enough to offset the obligatory
sanctimonious moralizing that was sure to follow.”

     He went on.  “One of her friends happened to tell her that
there’d been a discussion on The Internet about how she needed to
be spanked.  She knew that people on the Information Superhighway
are intelligent and she figured to get the word out that her ass
was available for a good spanking.”

     “And the videotapes?” |I asked.

     “Primarily for security:  hers, ours and yours.  The tapes
will verify that she is consenting, that she’s free to come and
go as she likes, and that you aren’t inflicting any serious
injury.

     “There’s a second reason, though, and I waited to mention it
until we had a chance to talk about it.” 

     He paused to pour himself a glass of wine.

     “As you can imagine, she’s had offers from several private
collectors.   Even we were amazed at the amounts being offered by
some noted people.  So far, we’ve not decided anything, but I
have a contract here for you to study.  Quite simply, we’re
offering you $10,000 up front for your role in this tape, with
provisions for a percentage of the sale price if and when we sell
it to a private collector.”

     By 9:30, we had completed our discussion and I returned to
the recreation room.  She was waiting, having spent the last
several hours in the other house.  She had worked out, prepared
and eaten dinner, and showered.  She wore a floor-length, trans-
parent gown and her hair hung naturally.  A lovely picture of
innocence clothed only in gossamer.

     I had chosen from my host’s large collection of implements
two paddles, which she eyed with curiosity and fear.  She watched
me walk over to a straight back chair which we had placed near
the padded horse.  I sat and placed the paddles in the floor.

     “Uh, listen, I really don’t need this,” she said quietly,
and nervously, attempting to talk her way out of the arrangement.
“You already got your kicks.  I got spanked.  We have the video
to sell if we want.  You have your money.  Why do I need a pad-
dling now?

     I looked at her and saw that she had the act down very well,
having developed her manipulative skills over the years.  With
her face framed by her soft, blonde hair, and with those blue
eyes filling with crocodile tears and her girlish, quavering
voice and pouting lips projecting innocence and naivete, it was
easy to see how she had been able to work her way into and out of
situations all her life.

     But not this one.

     “Lie over my lap,” I told her.  She sniffed, a whimper came
from her throat and she pouted as she walked toward me, but her
eyes betrayed the insolence inside.  They were almost flashing
defiance.

     She stood beside me and began to remove the gown, but I told
her to leave it on.  As she stretched out across my lap, I put my
arm across her back.  I lifted the gown, exposing that wondrous
ass and reached down for the first of the two paddles, a thin,
wide paddle about 3/8 of an inch thick and a little over 4 inches
wide.  This paddle would sting sharply and get her attention
quickly.  I rubbed her smooth, hard cheeks, cool to the touch
compared to the warming they were about to receive.  I lingered,
enjoying the experience of fulfilling this desire to administer
these corrective measures to this lovely, misguided and misused,
young woman.

     My arm rose high.  The silence was palpable as she held her
breath.  The muscles of her thighs and butt quivered in anticipa-
tion of the inevitable.

     WHOOSH — CRACK!!  She almost levitated as her body jolted
at the impact.  “OH, DAMN!!”  she managed to gasp as blood rushed
to the impact area, turning parts of both cheeks scarlet almost
instantaneously.

     “Oh, shitfuckgoddamn!” I heard as she felt the genuine pang
of that swat.  But there was more to come.  I waited about
fifteen seconds, allowing the complete effect to set in.  She had
time to feel the sharp pain and for the muscles in her rear to
harden in reaction.  I raised the paddle, targeting the area
where her bubble butt met her thighs, where there yet lingered a
faint panty line indentation.

     CRACK!  So much for the panty line.  Her right hand appeared
to protect her rear, but I grabbed it and held it firmly in the
middle of her back, glad that I was able to keep her off balance
enough so that she couldn’t get the leverage to stand.  Her
thighs were too muscular and her legs just not long enough for
her feet to touch the floor, so her wailing and her thrashing
legs were the only ways she could react.  The red area on her
butt had almost doubled in size and in the fifteen seconds after
the swat, she cast aspersions against my family lineage as well
as accused me of being — well, a man of questionable moral
integrity, a sexual deviant of extraordinary depravity, and other
imaginative characterizations.

     CRACK!  That blow had a bit more force behind it, though I
knew she wasn’t feeling the blows deeply.  But the pain certainly
grabbed her attention and stopped her tirade, at least temporari-
ly.

     CRACK!  I no longer waited for fifteen seconds.  I knew that
the thin paddle would only have a limited effect on that athletic
ass and now swift, loud stings were probably most effective.

     CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  Each swat
was followed by a high-pitched cry.  No longer was she yelling
insults.  She was focused on the pain in her backside, a pain I
knew was dulling as her skin was being numbed by her own endor-
phins.  And as an athlete, she was accustomed to working through
pain.

     Before she could fully realize what I was doing, I dropped
the paddle, gripped her waist, stood and hurriedly carried her to
the padded vaulting horse.  She was almost rag-doll limp, having
just emptied her lungs with a cry, but even as I laid her out and
quickly moved to attach the straps to her, she became aware that
she could move.  Her calves were against my shoulder as I reached
under the stand to grab her wrist.  I could feel the muscles
tense and I slipped the strap over her right hand a fraction of a
second before she jerked her hand.  I quickly secured her ankles
and then walked around to slide the remaining strap over her left
hand.

     The exertions of the last few minutes had made both of us
hot and sweaty.  I unbuttoned and removed my shirt as I took in
the sight of her damp gown, more transparent now, clinging to her
struggling body.  Once again she had begun yelling invectives at
me, haranguing me with a vitriolic tongue-lashing that would have
shamed many truck drivers.

     I walked to a nearby table and poured myself a glass of ice
water from a pitcher I had put there.  I drank and walked back
and dropped to sit on my haunches beside her head.  Her hair was
damp but still lovely.   Her eyes were electric, full of spite
and the turmoil and energy that needed to be directed to positive
purposes.

     “I understand that you have been with the behavioral people
and you know what your mistakes have been.  You know what sort of
behavior is proper from a normal human being, let alone a woman
who has been a role model for thousands of impressionable minds.
These disciplinary measures are to drive home the altered pat-
terns.”

     She looked at me with those tear-filled eyes.  “But I didn’t
do anything wrong,” she whined in that familiar voice, repeating
the phrase she had used so often in so many situations.  And
successfully.  But no more.

     “Yes you did.  You chose the wrong man to marry, just as
you’ve often chosen to associate with people who lack your
intelligence and potential.”  I stood, and as I talked, I crossed
the room to retrieve the second paddle.

     “I don’t doubt that you want things to go well and that you
want happiness and success.  The shadow of prison, the ominous
images of trial judges, negative worldwide publicity, expensive
fines — all certainly should influence you to change your
comportment and the direction you will take in life.  These
physical sessions will serve as reminders.”

     I walked behind her and, with the paddle, lifted her gown to
expose her red cheeks.  I then poured some of the ice water over
the inflamed flesh.  She yelped in shocked surprise and her rosy
butt shivered and the skin immediately tightened.  I let water
drip on her back and watched her squirm as the ice water rolled
down her body.  I tossed a few towels on the floor to soak up the
water.

     I set the glass aside and took up my stance.  My right arm
held the paddle at full extension while with my left hand I
caressed that toned, hard butt of hers, feeling muscles relax
after their spasm.

     THWACK!  Her scream was piercing.  She had probably never
felt its like before.  She jerked and strained mightily at the
straps, but could do nothing except feel and vocalize her feel-
ings.

     “No, no, oh God, please, no,” she said, between loud sobs.  
She’d felt that pang deep, far deeper than the epidermal sting of
the earlier spanking or paddling.  I  waited long enough for the
impact to reverberate through her entire body before I landed the
next power stroke.

     THWACK!

     “AAIIEE!”  Her focus was now clearly confined to her vulner-
able ass.  No longer was she directing her anger at me.  She
wasn’t even feeling anger, as the hurt had her complete and
undivided attention.

     THWACK!

     “N-O-O-o-o!”

     THWACK!     THWACK!     THWACK!     THWACK!

     Soon enough, and all too soon, even her shrieks stopped as
her voice gave out and the pain dulled to a throb and her lungs
could no longer force the cries out of her.  I eased the force of
the blows and paused longer between them.  Her entire ass almost
glowed, so scarlet was it.  I knew she would be sore and tender
for some time.  I poured more ice water on her inflamed rump.
She moaned and squirmed weakly at the pleasure/pain the chill in-
stilled.  Then I gave her more applications of the wood, and
again followed by pouring water on the strike zone.

     She was too exhausted to return to her house, so I released
her from the straps and the attorney’s wife and I helped her to a
spare bedroom.  She remained to help the young athlete prepare
for a night’s sleep and I joined my host.

     The next morning she was, of course, quite tender from the
night before, but nevertheless I was able to administer a last
over-the-knees, bare-handed spanking to her with her panties
down, though she was too sore to wear anything over her burning
butt, and would be for several days.  I took my time, reminding
her the entire time that more of the same could easily follow if
she ever showed signs of misbehaving again.

     When I boarded the jet to return home after the fantasy
trip, I had in my pocket some photographs of my hand on a well-
spanked butt, a rear that ached far more than what all her
bruising spills on the ice had.  I have a hunch that she might be
searching for a relationship with a man who can manage her and
can administer the sort of spankings her fine behind deserves and
needs.