Here’s an excerpt from “The Spanking of Megan Riley”, which appears in Butt Stuff. So you know: this takes place in the 1940s, Megan is the daughter of an Irish crime family, and David is her husband. He spanked her some weeks ago when she gave him attitude.
David bolted Sean’s front door behind himself and Megan and led her by the wrist through the house, to the sitting room on the first floor. No one was home: Sean was out doing family business, and his wife and children were away, safe with Lillian’s parents in Vermont. David had said he and Megan were just going to go over to Sean’s to look for something, and while they’d been escorted to the house by a couple of bodyguards, the two burly men had let them go inside alone, leaving with strict orders that David call them when he was done.
All of it had gone in one ear and out the other. David was only concerned with Megan’s strange attitude. It was as if she wanted him to punish her, even though she’d cried the last time, and been cool to him afterward.
David pulled Megan around Sean’s desk and pushed her forward on it. She reached across and hooked her fingertips on the far edge as he lifted her skirt and tucked it in.
Then she felt his fingers yank down her panties and she tried to squirm away. “David! No!”
He stroked her bare bottom with her fingertips, placed a soft kiss on her right hip. “You wanted to be punished,” he said in that soft, kind voice. “So I’ll punish you.” He rested his palm on her bottom and she gasped, but instead of raising it and leaving a handprint on her white, unblemished skin, he reached down and picked something off the desk.
“David, what are you doing?”
He adjusted the long wooden ruler, and then swung it through the air a couple of times. “Punishing you.”
The ruler wasn’t very big, but Megan’s bottom was large enough that, when David drove the ruler against her flesh, one cheek was spared but the other immediately showed a bright-red welt.
She cried out, half-choking on the sound when he whacked her again. The tears came easily after that, dripping off her cheeks and nose as blow after blow landed on her bare, defenseless backside. She tried to move, tried to sway, but David had his hand on just the right spot and her bottom couldn’t escape. Her cheeks jiggled and swayed with each impact; moans and cries and yowls were swallowed by the wood-paneled walls and deep pile carpet of the office.
“David!” She was almost screaming, and still he punished her, still she heard the sharp snap of wood striking flesh. “David, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll be good!” She was pleading, knowing she wouldn’t sit for days, maybe even weeks. “David, please!”
When he finally stopped, the absence of pain was almost as sharp as the presence of it. She was gasping for air, the desk blotter soaked with tears as she’d cried her eyes out, pounding her fists, begging him to stop.
He knelt behind her, ran his hands over her scalded cheeks. She hissed and tried to move away.
“Stay still,” he said, and she did so. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t smack her again, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances.
“You’ll have bruises,” David told her, “but no lasting damage.”
Megan sighed, and as she felt David’s breath between her legs, she realized just how aroused she was. He must have seen it; he leaned forward and flicked his tongue over her skin, and Megan moaned, long and low. “Oh, David…”
That was all the encouragement he apparently needed. She heard him fumbled with his belt, with his button and zipper and slacks and briefs, and then she whimpered as he teased her with his head. Sooner than she’d expected, though, she found herself arching and yelping as he grabbed her cheeks hard and plunged into her.
It wasn’t long before her orgasm hit.