Even Good Girls Need Spanking
Author’s note: You can think of this as a fan fiction of sorts because I wrote it after watching an intriguing spanking video of the same title–and I found myself thirsting for the backstory why this beautiful woman is spanked. Regarding the choice of Literotica category, it’s too light for BDSM and it doesn’t fit into Nonconsent/Reluctance because she (literally!) gives consent. So here we are in Erotic Couplings. This is a quick read. I hope you enjoy it!
Dating Nick was all-consuming. I had never known anyone more intense before, or since. He was a tall and athletic junior majoring in “business administration,” but I didn’t know what that meant, as a freshman. Whether he was preparing a class presentation, or with his buddies playing basketball or hanging out at the bar, or just with me in our private time, he was always 100% on and in your face. He had no off switch. I never saw him relax the entire time I dated him.
That was a big part of the attraction, I’m sure. His intensity. Because when he was 100% focused on me, it felt like the whole world was paying attention. I was center stage. Was I making up for a childhood with two sisters and distracted, traveling parents? Maybe. All I know is that holding a captive audience was a treat for me. Even if some of the attention got uncomfortable.
And I should also mention: he was drop dead gorgeous. It was a bold move in my first year of college to date an upperclassman–to the jibes of my hallmates–but he was so mysteriously handsome that I fell hard for him. I was powerless to avoid it.
This story begins on a stormy east coast night at the end of January. We’d been on three or four dates by that point, and had fooled around to second base under the blankets in the dorm rec room at the end of the hall, and then again and a little more in my room, but we hadn’t gone all the way yet. I was a more reserved about sex than the average college freshman girl, I supposed, and even though he was forceful about many things in our relationship, he was respectful and hadn’t pushed me for that.
I suppose I would have been introduced to Nick’s darker interests one way or another, but my mistake was confiding in my fears of French Literature 102. It was a tough class known for weeding out freshman from the honors program that I was so proud to be a part of.
The term had gotten under way and I was already behind and worried about the big midterms creeping up on me. He was holed up at our dorm during the storm and we were in the rec room, alone on the big couch there with the TV muted so we could make progress on our homework. I’d been kvetching to him about my worries over school and grades, which I should have known would set him into problem solving mode. He was stereotypically male in this regard, that he couldn’t just sit and listen to me.
“Why do you think you won’t do well in that class?” He asked, in his deep and direct voice. I thought with dread about the volume of work I faced this next week and beyond.
“Because I know myself too well,” I said honestly. “And I know I can procrastinate. Like really put the work off. I’ve usually gotten away with it–maybe always gotten away with it, since high school–but I have a feeling this time with French Lit it’s going too fast and I’m getting over my head.”
He pulled himself up on the couch and looked at me seriously.
“Kris, you are very smart, you know. You just need to develop your discipline.”
“Sure, sounds easy,” I said sarcastically, and laughed. “All of the sudden I will just start doing everything I need to, every day. On time.”
He remained serious. “Yes, exactly that. You can train yourself. You just need the proper framework.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise at this comment. “What does that mean?” I said back to him with a little heat.
“I’ll show you,” he said. “We’ll write up a contract for the work you need to do for your French Lit class, and we’ll both sign it.” He looked at me with unmoving eyes. “You’ll authorize me to manage your behavior.”
“Nick,” I said, dropping my voice to match his tone. “That’s a little weird. What are you going to do if I don’t do my homework, put me over your knee and spank me?”
“Well, in fact, yes, that’s one appropriate penalty that could be given.”
“Oh my God, Nick!” I looked around the empty room to make sure nobody was within earshot. “Are you serious? You want me to sign one of these bondage contracts that says I’m your slave or something?”
“It would be a program to ensure your performance for this one class. You would be amazed how having real consequences will teach you self discipline in a hurry. Your grade is determined directly by the choices that you make, and you have plenty of time. You have full control over it.”
“No way! I’m not up for that.” I looked back down at my textbook, nervously. It freaked me out a little, seeing how stern he became telling me about this idea of his. I was already scared enough of the work in the honors program, without being pendik escort worried about having my boyfriend judge me and enforce some vague penalties–maybe even smack me around.
I dismissed that conversation and for the next week went back to school as normal. As things would go, and not really a surprise knowing myself, I did goof off on Thursday with two girlfriends from the dorm–we skipped our last class and went shopping downtown and ended up catching a movie and some dessert afterwards, coming home late. It was therapeutic to hang out with friends and de-stress. I needed it.
However, there was a surprise quiz in the dreaded French Lit the very next morning, and I hadn’t prepared at all. I bombed it badly. We scored the quizzes in class on the spot, so it gave me a wake up call. I left the class shaken, again unsure if I would survive this term in the honors program.
That night Nick took me out for a late pizza dinner. I shouldn’t have disclosed what happened, but I was glum and he wormed it out of me. I can never hide my emotions, and he’s quite perceptive, and persistent, and once he grabbed hold of this he wouldn’t let it go.
“Kris, you need to ace this class. You want to stay in honors, right?”
“Yes, yes.” I said reluctantly, and looked up to see him staring directly back at me. “Oh no, you’re going to bring up the slave contract again, right? You actually want me to sign that?”
“Yes, I do. And look, it’s not a ‘slave contract’. Trust me on this. Let me show you what it would be.”
Right there in the restaurant booth he pulled out his notebook and started intently writing on a blank page. I leaned back and sipped my Coke, wondering if this was real. I looked at all the other couples making small talk with their dinner dates, smiling and laughing with each other. At one table, a joke’s punchline sent a foursome into loud guffawing. One girl couldn’t stop snorting.
And here I was, being given a slave contract from my new dead-serious boyfriend saying, yeah sure, tie me up and spank my ass if I failed French Lit.
“There,” he said, proudly as he pushed the notebook towards me. Rows of his neat handwriting filled the top half of the page and there were two signature blanks at the bottom.
“This isn’t actually legally binding, right?” I ventured.
“No, not in a court of law. But you can bet that I will enforce it.” He looked at me without any trace of humor. It sent a little shiver through my spine. “Without that, it’s a meaningless piece of paper. You would just ignore it.”
I thought that over. He was right. If I knew it didn’t matter–that he wouldn’t follow through–then I wouldn’t take it seriously, and I would just put off my homework as I’d been doing.
I sat up and pushed my plate out of the way, reading through his text carefully. It didn’t specify any specific punishments. It just said that I, Kristina, would empower him, Nick, with all the means he deemed necessary to ensure my performance in the French Literature class this semester.
I thought about the situation carefully. It was true that I was in trouble. Nick was right about that. I needed something bold to jar myself out of the complacency pervading my second semester. My parents were paying a shitload of money for college tuition, and I didn’t want to let them down. Maybe–well hell, yeah definitely–this would keep me focused and working hard.
I looked over at Nick. He was so serious. I smiled, though. Handsome bastard. I know from our long discussions that he cared for me and wouldn’t hurt me. But he was intense enough that this would scare me. I wouldn’t want to find out what punishment he would enact.
“Do you have a pen?” I asked.
“I do,” he said, “but think just a second. This is real. If you sign this, I will be your partner in making sure that you perform in this class.” He stared at me with his dark eyes.
“Shit, Nick, you’re scaring me a little.”
“Yes, just a little is the right amount. You need to have some skin in the game for this to work. And I do mean skin.” He raised his eyebrows.
“What the fuck!” I said in a half laugh, the other half incredulous. “You wouldn’t spank me on my bare ass? Would you?”
“I very well might,” he said. “If that’s the only way to get you to focus on your classwork.” He paused and attempted a sympathetic smile. “You need to do a lot of work, Kris. You’re failing this class and you need to turn that around to an A. In very short order, like this weekend. You need powerful motivation.”
“Oh my God, maybe I need to think about this.”
“Yes, you should. Don’t sign it now. Go home tonight and think on it. You need a deadline. That’s a good start to your discipline lessons. Tomorrow, Saturday, at noon, this paper must be signed and returned to me at my house, in a sealed envelope, if you wish to proceed.” He signed the blank by his name and folded the paper, passing it back across the table, but he put the pen back in his own pocket without giving it kartal escort to me.
We said goodnight stiffly and I walked back to my dorm, confused. One moment I would think, this is fucking crazy, I know this guy from only a few dates, do I trust him to manage me like some schoolgirl? The next moment I would think, yes, I know myself well enough that I was in real trouble, as he had pointed out. I could–in fact, would–fail this class if I didn’t change my behavior, and I wasn’t sure that the fear of failing alone would be enough to cause me to change.
Would it even work? I tried to imagine having signed the contract, and knowing my French Lit homework was due Monday. Would I go work on it right this weekend knowing that he was getting ready to spank me if I didn’t?
Yes, I would. Damn straight I would. It would be the first thing I would go do. I’m not going to let him get his hands on my bare ass, I thought. At least not in this way, and I smiled at the image of him on my bare ass in a very different way.
Damn this gorgeous, serious man. He was right that it would be a most powerful motivator.
In the dorm hall, I stopped at the rec room, which was empty of people but someone had left out a tall bottle of cheap tequila, what they make margaritas out of. But in the dorms, like college students everywhere, we just mixed in Kool-Aid with any alcohol available. I poured myself a paper cup of it over crushed ice and thought.
Damn it, I needed the discipline. I signed the paper right there and went back to my room and crashed, fast asleep. I set my alarm for 11 am in order to be a good girl and turn in the form to my boyfriend by noon.
The rest of that weekend, and in fact that whole next week, I was a good girl. I was amazing. A model student. I did all my homework plus the extra credit. I even found that having put the work in, the class was more enjoyable, and by Thursday I felt on top of the world. And it wasn’t just for French Lit–I got my head back into all of my classes. I had to admit, the slave contract was a strong motivator. Even if Nick insisted it wasn’t a slave contract.
On Friday we had a French Lit quiz and it was a breeze. I got a perfect 100%. Take that, Nick, I thought smugly as I looked over the marks from my classmate. You’re not getting your hands on my ass.
We planned to meet at his place to start the evening, so I stopped by my dorm on the way over. I had the urge to look sexy tonight. I was in the mood to let this man stretch my sexual boundaries just a little bit more than I’d let him so far. I picked a comfortable long-sleeve grey top and this cute black skirt, and looked at myself in the mirror.
I’ve got long straight blonde hair, a light complexion and a tight, athletic build. An old boyfriend said that my tits were too small and pointy, what an asshole, but I think they are cute, and I’m in love with my puffy nips. I ran my hand down my skirt over my butt. I was a touch thick down there, I had to admit. But I can tell you one area where I am unsurpassed–I’ve got a babe face. No doubt. And I know how to do my makeup on fleek. Mascara, liner, lip gloss, eyebrows. I could be a model, I’ve been told.
When I arrived at his place, he got down to business right away. He had the only single room in this shared college house of boys. It was quiet. I think we were the only ones there.
“Okay, Kris, let’s see the quiz.” He held his hand out wanting proof, knowing that we graded them for each other in class. I proudly dug the paper out of my backpack and showed him my 100%.
“Nice,” he said. “You’ll be glad you got that 100%.” Then he paused and looked at me seriously.
He added, “But you know, even good girls need spanking.”
“Nick,” I said, surprised and shaking my head, “No way. I worked hard all week and I aced that quiz.”
“And you should be glad. But here’s the way a discipline program works. At first, you are motivated by the fear of the unknown. Remember how you got serious so fast last weekend? But you may easily get complacent if you avoid all consequence for this week. Knowing what could happen is necessary to learning discipline.”
“What the fuck. That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he countered, then pointed in front of him, ordered, “Go to the table.” Still shaking my head, disagreeing with him, I somehow started walking over to the table, anyway. Why did he control me so absolutely? He positioned me to bend over the edge of it.
I turned my head back to him. “Nick, you’re really going to spank me?”
“I am. And there are some rules you need to follow. You are not to speak unless spoken to, and you must call me ‘sir’. If you do not, I will repeat and increase the punishment.”
Jesus Christ. I was getting a little scared now. I got quiet and held my head down.
Maybe he felt my mood go dark, because he lightened up just a little and said in a softer voice, “Kris, this isn’t going to be so bad. And this whole thing will work. You can maltepe escort trust me.”
He paused and resumed his role with a commanding voice.
“Did you study hard this week?”
I paused. What the fuck? Oh, that.
“Yes, sir,” I said meekly.
“And did you get a 100% on the quiz today?”
“Good girl. You will be spanked but it will be a light session.”
He bent me over at the waist, resting my elbows on this flimsy card table. I hope it didn’t collapse with my weight pressed on it. He stood behind me to my left, with his hands resting on my waist.
I looked up and could see myself in the mirror on Nick’s bedroom door. I was looking fine, although this wasn’t exactly the pose I had dressed up for. Was he really going to spank me? I couldn’t believe it.
“Take your bra off.” He ordered.
Oh, whoa, … now I got the idea, I thought–he has a control fetish and this is all part of making love this afternoon, and the spanking’s just a big tease. I admit I was also getting horny following his orders, and I wanted to let off some steam after my classes, so I played along.
“Yes, sir,” I said back to him, more eagerly with my new understanding of the game, and slipped out of my bra while keeping my shirt on. I pulled it out one sleeve and tossed it on the floor. He kept his hands on my waist the entire time. It was sexy, feeling his hold there.
Then I felt him bring his hands to my shirt, which he pulled up to expose my tits. He was behind me, but he could see me exposed in the mirror. We’d fooled around enough already that this wasn’t new for him, but it was still a turn-on to know he could see my naked chest. I thought about turning to him and reaching down to unzip his pants with one hand, but something about his quiet behavior kept me tense and unmoving.
Then he pushed down firmly on my upper back.
“Ready.” It wasn’t a question, it was a command.
He was going to spank me after all? Shit. I thought we were about to start rolling around in the bed after my bra came off.
“Yes, sir,” I eked out, and waited, looking nervously down at the table, and then glancing to my left where he was standing behind me. His left hand still held onto my waist. I figured his right hand was up in the air about to come down on me.
SLAP. Ouch! His hand slapped my left butt cheek through the skirt. Hell, that hurt more than I thought it would. I wanted to cry out, but I had enough sense to stay quiet.
SLAP. He hit me again, on the right cheek. Now that I knew what was coming, it wasn’t so bad.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. He hit me repeatedly. The last two were both on my right cheek, and milder. I think I even cracked a barest of smiles down at the table. Not pleasant, but I could stand this well enough. Think you’re a tough guy, do you? I thought to myself.
I didn’t realize at the time, though, that he was just warming me up.
SLAP. Back on my left side. That one hurt, and I winced. Shit. This was for real. He was really spanking me. My boyfriend I’d known for less than a month was spanking me, like it was the 1950’s. Or 1890’s. And I hadn’t even done anything wrong, I got a fucking 100% on this quiz. I was going to have to summon some courage and determination to get through this.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. He started a long sequence and these hurt. Some of the blows popped my mouth open to gasp for air, but I didn’t make any noise. Sometimes there was a longer pause and I knew the next one was going to be harder.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. I could feel my eyes tearing up. I licked my lips and stared down at the table. I could feel my tits bounce when his hand made contact on a hard blow.
Without any hesitation, he pulled up my skirt to expose my panties. Before I could say anything, and he would have barked an order at me if I did, I’m sure, he started hitting me again. It was a sharper pain, only a light fabric between his hand and my sensitive skin.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. In between the hits, I felt him adjust my panties. It was humiliating to be managed like that. I swallowed and endured it.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. He rained down some hard ones in a fast sequence and I just about lost it there–I almost yelled out then but he stopped just in time. I think he could tell when I had too much by my flipping of my hair. Then he rubbed me on the ass gently in circles. I couldn’t decide if I liked that or hated it.
SLAP SLAP. These were softer, almost a caress, and he started tipping my hips back and forth with his left hand, to push one cheek towards him. SLAP. Then rotate for the other cheek. SLAP. And back again, repeated, growing in intensity. I didn’t mind it at first, but then he started going harder.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. I was a good girl. I didn’t deserve to be spanked.
Then the part came that I was dreading. Before I could comprehend what was happening, with both hands he pulled my panties right down to my thighs. My bare ass was hanging out there for him. I had the notion earlier that I wouldn’t let him do this, but then before I knew it, he was doing it and I didn’t stop him.
I had to be a good girl now.
SLAP SLAP SLAP. Right on my bare ass. I squirmed. It was more than the pain. It was the embarrassment. I knew he could see my pussy as he slapped me red.