'Brief' Encounter - The Response
I have had a couple of goes at doing this writing justice by responding from ‘the other side of the fence’, but failed miserably. This was my first attempt…
It all began as cordial exchanges of emails in the course of normal daily life. It wasn’t too long before your inbuilt cheekiness began to shine through though, and it became clear that you were one of those girls who would always be able to talk herself into a spanking, whether she meant to, or not. And yes, I have read your ‘thoughts’ on our encounter, very carefully. We will be having a ‘discussion’ on that subject, in the not too distant future.
It is true that I did notice a change in the content of your emails, but due to our circumstances I just put it down to ‘high spirits’, or some such. There was no way for me to know that you were plotting and scheming an opportunity for you to throw yourself across my knee at the earliest opportunity, why would you want to? I played along, fulfilling my role as willing stooge to your cyber teasing, after all it is not uncommon between people who know they have no chance of ever meeting.
But then, obviously tired of subtle hints falling on numb male ears, you did indeed whack me with your mallet. You were on the move, and wickedly proposing that you take advantage of your employers generosity to meet up with me to say ‘Hi’. Phah! Even I could see through that one! Your bag was so heavy I am sure you had your etchings in there, just in case.
And I could see through the next one too. *I* had to call *you*, so as to make it all look like my idea!
Anyway, you talked me into meeting you for a drink at your hotel, and I duly set off. But then you came up with some lame excuse about a transport mix-up and could I pick you up at the airport instead. I’m not stupid and knew you were just trying to save the taxi fare, but since it would give me a chance to check you out before placing myself at risk in some dodgy hotel, I agreed.
You didn’t know it, but you turned out to be precisely as I imagined. Travelling ‘scruffy’, as only a posh bird can, but not a hair out of place and makeup professionally applied in order to guarantee that you attract admiring glances from everyone you pass. And yes, the tightest possible jeans, accentuating the burgeoning bulge of your naughty backside to maximum effect. Oh yes, you planned to get your arse spanked good and hard, and nothing was going to stand in your way.
You were so eager to get your hands on my body, you had to keep clasping them together in the car. And to cover up your inadvertent growls of lust you made small talk as I drove. I concentrated on making sure I was safe, and always had an easy escape route planned, just in case.
Once at your hotel, you did your best to get me sozzled in the bar, before going up ahead to prepare your lair. I thought I ought to at least attempt to retain some element of control, and when I firmly asserted myself it was clear from your expression that you realised you had met your match. I was not about to be a helpless pawn in your ‘topping from the bottom’ games, and for the first time you began to realise that an unwelcome sore bottom was heading your way. As I watched you stalk away, I made a careful study of your rear-facing anatomy and began to formulate a plan that might get me out of your trap with a degree of dignity still intact. If that was your game, then I would match you, palm to buttock, and if I was going to go down, I would go down spanking.
When I entered your lair I kept my eyes on you at all times, watching for the first subtle shift of balance that you were about to attack. I circled you, checking for hidden implements and rope, and finding none decided it was safe to take a seat out in the centre of the room. The best form of defence is always attack, and keeping you off-balance I tipped you face down across my knee.
It was then that the full depths of your deviousness became clear. Gone were the figure-hugging ‘spank me now!’ jeans, to be replaced by heavy armour. A thick woollen skirt protected your most precious asset, ensuring that even my most vigorous assault on your nether regions would leave you laughing and ready to wreak your revenge. But you had seriously underestimated my instinct for self-preservation and before you had an opportunity to parry, I whisked your skirt high over your back leaving the way clear for me to press home my advantage in the time honoured fashion, where it would do most good.
I had to be careful not to reveal too much of my strategy too soon, and so my assault on your rear trench began slowly. You seemed to think that you would be able to withstand me easily, but as I poured more resources into the attack I could see that you were being forced into increasingly desparate measures. Your bottom assumed the classic zig-zag evasion technique, but I simply paused during the ‘zig’, waited for the ‘zag’, and then pounced. I was unable to press home my advantage to the max, however, as you had deployed yet another devious defensive shield. Heavily ruffled knickers. Under the pretence of looking pretty, they were providing a multi-tiered defensive screen around your asset. I had no choice and commenced an all-out assault. Your knickers were ceremoniously lowered to knee-level where they could do little to protect you, and I turned them to my advantage by using them to hobble you, should you attempt a tactical retreat.
And there was the battlefield, laid out in all its glory. It was clear why you were so keen to protect it, and I mused that on another day it would be charming in all its rotund pearly whiteness. But right now it was important that I finished what I had started, pinkening the previously protected areas in order to acheive an all-over hue to be proud of.
[Queue music - Pink Floyd: Two Suns in the Sunset]
And this was my slightly more earnest response that still fails to do the occasion justice…
It has to be the ultimate irony that a recently chastised girl – chastised for ‘personal naughtiness’ you understand – would see fit to write about the incident while in the process of being naughty, again! ‘Provocative’ doesn’t come close.
I have done this sort of thing before, although not all that often, and it has never gone to plan yet. In my capacity as ‘the experienced one’, it falls to me to ensure not only that ‘she’ is safe, but that we adopt all the personal safety procedures that serve to virtually guarantee that safety. We go through the process, acquiring sufficient detail about each other so as to render the other easily identifiable, should anything bad happen. We organise ‘guardian angels’, who will raise the alarm if certain events don’t happen as planned.
And most important of all, we arrange to meet for the first time in a very public place, where either can simply walk away if the other does not match up with the descriptions given in advance. Circumstances and ‘thinking on our feet’ resulted in us breaking that rule, trampling on it, and flushing it! I had to park around the back of the airport facilities, illegally, and with no clue where I was in relation to Arrivals. When we finally found each other, instead of taking our time to assess each other, it was a case of taking 10 seconds to hug and say ‘Hi’, jumping in the car and squirting off quickly before the parking police caught up with me. :rolls eyes:
Not too bad for me, doing the driving, but fairly desperate for an already nervous girl. The only thing I could do to help the situation was act completely normally, make no sudden movements (LOL!), and try to converse in such a way as to demonstrate I am reasonably normal.
Now see, here’s a thing. I reckon I’m a fairly typical bloke, and during the ‘getting to know you’ process we suss the girl out, figure out that our minds are broadly compatible, and with a bit of luck we get a look at her and trust our instincts (code for consult with ‘himself’ to see if she is a goer). It is a process that gets its share of criticism, but we know where we stand.
But now take a typical girl. So far as I can tell they follow basically the same process, in spades, but for some reason they don’t accept that the guy method works for us because they seem to think they have to check themselves out on our behalf. Surely Freud had something to say about this?
Anyway, it is nervous kitten time. I do my best to allay the worst of her fears, but I can’t try too hard or that would make her nervous, right? Experience teaches that the best way forward is to break the ice, and then dive in, head first. Once wet (erm?), everything becomes altogether much more possible. So, having done just enough to make her nervous in a good way, it is face down OTK as soon as possible. The body to body contact is reassuring, from both perspectives. Except on this occasion it isn’t! She has formed a human bridge over my lap, afraid of something peculiar that I am not even going to hazard a guess at. That person to person contact is vital, especially in this circumstance, so that I get to feel her vibes, in every sense.
A bit of pushing, pulling, and cajolling leaves me with a sense that I have a small child over my knee, but that will have to do for now. Once she has a sore bottom to think about, all the other nonsense should matter less.
So then, a bottom. A naughty bottom expectantly waiting to be spanked, no less. The initial contact of my stroking palm causes her to jump almost a foot in the air, and I have to physically push her back down! And then the next challenge, her choice of skirt. She has followed the brief, except she neglected to mention its thickness! Did she *really* expect to get away with it?? No matter, she will just have to forego the initial gentle calming pats over her clothing, with the option to get up and walk away with no harm done. Instead, I slide the skirt up off her bottom. I say slide, because the damn thing is not only two inches thick, but lined as well!! But it does slick over her tight silky black knickers beautifully.
This girl knows how to make an effort. Full-fitting ruffled knickers, and hold-ups, with that four inch wide strip of bare flesh between the two. Why does that matter so much? Dunno, but it does. And I should place an accent on the full-fitting bit, so that the contrast between ‘on the panties’ and ‘on the bare’ is all the more stark. Am I drooling? Sorry.
I know this girl is used to ‘getting it hard’, but that is not my style at all. One girl’s ‘hard’ is another girl’s ‘tame’, and so I need to understand how she feels (the reason I need the full body contact) when they are just bottom pats, and when I start to spank her. And I aim to make her feel that she always has an ‘out’, should panic get the better of her. In fact I ‘ratchet’ up the intensity, operating in gradually increasing intensity spurts, with plenty of stroking and soothing going on in between. This girl is so tense, but I could sense that she was beginning to feel it, just a little anyway. Time for an ‘out’ opportunity.
I don’t enjoy corner-time, per se, it is fairly boring, but I do enjoy sending a girl to ‘the corner’. And this one scored full marks for her demeanor. Obviously ‘hating’ the humliation, as only a subbie lass would understand. And an opportunity to break a bit more ice by giving her a thorough groping to.
I like to tell a girl what I plan to do, before I do it. This gives her the opportunity to run, if she feels the need, and by making her say the words, or admit to the reasons, it ensures she is fully focussed on what is about to happen to her, and tacitly agreeing to it.
Why does a spank in a hotel room become amplified to atomic blast levels? Do they deliberatley design them this way, just to cramp our style? Whatever the reason, the sound of the next-door room door opening and closing (and taking a long time over it!) prompts a change of tactic. I have come equipped with a couple of carefully selected ‘silent but stingy’ implements, well almost silent, and that is dependent on how loudly she yelps. One is an old friend, the cane. But the other, a metre long plaited whip, is experimental, and quite scary to look at!
In the normal course of events, I arrange to have any implement I use to be applied to me first, so that I fully appreciate its precise effect. But the circumstances dictate that this isn’t an option, and so I need to be careful. It swings nicely, very controllable through the air, and lands on her bottom with quite a satisfing ‘smack’. I am gratified to note that faint pink stripes are beginning to develop, together with little intakes of breath as its sting registers.
There was never any doubt that she was going to end up a stripey girl. Caning a girl is an intense event, both physically and mentally, and one that we were both familiar with. There is no real need for excessive severity, just enough to make her think twice before she plonks herself down the next day or so.
Throughout, it is apparent that this girl is seriously into her headspace. During punishment I have ‘checked in’ with her a number of times, and always received a coherrent response, but she could not have been more deferrent if I had been Old Nick himself.
In the end, our respective journeys catch up with us, and fatigue has a lot more to do with drawing events to a close than our physical desires. Our time together has been short, way too short, but all the more intense for that. And completely unforgettable.