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In Hot Water, Spanking Erotica

There's nothing better than a good old-fashioned spanking to get the sexual juices flowing, even if this one is all about punishment and nothing more...


The bratty, misbehaving Cissy pays for her most recent crimes with a good hard spanking from her irate cousin, right in front of her boyfriend, the Sherriff
 
In Hot Water from Birches

Cissy Riverton was headed for trouble. Sauntering from the ranch house toward the stables of Grey Gulch Ranch, she cocked her head sassily and rolled her hips in a nonchalant manner, which suggested she hadn’t a care in the world. At that very moment, she didn’t. Unabashedly innocent, looking more like a sixteen-year-old kid than a woman of twenty—which she was—Cissy could be the poster child of untainted virtuosity when a prim attitude suited her fancy. Her short red mop of curls framed a petite face, great wide blue eyes, and a broad, happy mouth. The body below was shapely, her breasts small, her waist slim, and her ass quite generous—though not out of proportion to the rest of her. She could look gracefully demure or vampish depending on her mood; but, regardless of any pose she struck—for any reason, legitimate or devious—her body communicated exactly what she wanted. And since Cissy Riverton was a conniving schemer and a shameless flirt at heart, she used her body well.

    At the moment, she was looking for Garth, who was visiting Jake—her cousin once removed. (The removed part was a bit of a joke between them—the rock solid Jake Colton might have been removed in theory, but he was hardly removed in practice, having played a very substantial role in Cissy’s life for the past five years.)

    “Well, well, well,” she heard Jake’s familiar drawl, just as she ambled through the stable door. Though her eyes might naturally move toward Garth, the county’s dreamy young sheriff whom she’d been dating for several months, they settled on her cousin’s scowl instead. “Just who I was looking for,” he droned on. Something simmered beyond his cool exterior, and as the lanky cowboy pulled himself upright with his green eyes focused keenly on his redheaded cousin, he drilled her with the question, “Want to tell me where you’ve been?”

    “Where I’ve been?” Though she was hardly ready for an interrogation, her brain worked fast—after all, she’d had lots of practice. Her eyebrows knit with puzzlement as a beautifully contrived blank expression filled her guileless features.

    “The question is pretty direct, Cis, answer it.”

    “Oh, hon, you are steamed,” she read him rightly, seeing his mood shift quickly from sarcastic to severe.

    This was worse than Cissy had expected and her brain was in high gear.

    “I’ve been around,” she quipped, in an attempt to remain clueless about the charges he might have against her. “When, exactly, are you talking about?”

    “How about the middle of the night?”

    Oops! She could hardly hide her surprise. He knows. Damn how could he? There weren’t enough gears in her brain to handle this overload.

    “I’m sorry, Cis,” Garth stepped forward, his face so sorry-looking and sweet. “It’s a small town, you ought to know that. People are basically nosy.”

    “It was just one night.”

    “You’re on probation,” Garth went on, sounding rather grim for the mild-mannered young man he was. She’d always liked his gentleness, the way she could sweet-talk her way around him, run her hands over his sandy buzz cut, kiss his cheek, purr in his ear—he was so easy. But maybe not now. He struck a formidable looking pose, which was pretty enticing all by itself. Made him even more appealing—in a weird sort of way that only Cissy would understand. Garth Branch was as solid as her fuming cousin behind him, just shorter and stockier, his muscles bulging from his official sheriff’s short-sleeve shirt. Now, however, she wasn’t sure if there was enough sweet-talk in her to soften his forbidding stance. Of course, it didn’t help that Jake stood behind him like the original man of steel. “Driving without a license, violating your probation with midnight rides. You weren’t very discreet about it,” he shook his head, appearing both amazed and saddened by her foolishness. “I’m going to have to take you in.”

    “What?”

    “’Fraid so.”

    “But….”

    “But first, your cousin has a few things to say.”
    Cissy turned her attention back to Jake, immediately thinking that she should turn tail and run.

    Reading her mind like a book, Jake held her fast with his razor sharp eyes. “Don’t even think about taking off, Cis. I’m gonna blister that ass of yours before you get out of here, and running would only make it worse.”

    “Now wait,” she turned to Garth, imploringly, unsure which man should hear her plea.

    The Sheriff shook his head. “Take it, Cissy. It’ll go a whole lot easier for you with the judge.”

    “The judge! You’re not going to tell the judge!”

    “If he thought you had your cousin watching you a little more attentively, he might not revoke your probation. That is, unless you want to spend the next six months in jail?”

    “You, you….” she seethed. Though her eyes were leveled on Garth, they quickly moved on, focusing directly on Jake. “You arranged this, didn’t you!” She bolted toward her cousin, only to have him capture her by the wrist. The way he towered over Cissy’s small frame and held her off, there was no way she was going to strike, kick, hit, punch, or do any of the other things that immediately came to mind. Actually, her anger short-circuited any reasonable response—as it usually did. If she’d been sane at all, she would have held off, taken her licking and been done with it, without the fight. As it turned out, she got more than a simple paddling—and this one would hurt for a lot longer than a half-hour afterwards.

     “You’re getting punished by me, brat!” he grimaced. “Your promises are worthless. You give me the old song and dance about how you’ve reformed, how six nights in jail taught you ‘a lesson you’ll never forget’.” His eyes narrowed into tiny points of light, hardly a color to define them at all. “I’ve been played the fool for the last time.” With Jake pointing his index finger in her face, Cissy shrank back as best she could, though she had little space to maneuver. “Consider your freedom revoked. You may, just may, avert jail with this punishment, but you’ll think you’re in jail by the time your penance with me is done.”

    “C’mon, Jake, please.”

    “Get me the paddle, will you Garth?”

    The lawman moved to the back of the stables where a strap and wooden paddle hung on pegs. They’d been hanging there for thirty years having blistered many a young behind—and a few older ones. As far as Jake Colton was concerned, they’d keep their place as long as he had anything to say about Cissy Riverton’s behavior. There’d never been a woman in his memory who needed it more than his bratty cousin.

    Finally, letting go of her wrist, Jake gave her a gentle shove toward the old workbench. “Drop your pants.”

    “Jake! But…” her face twisted dolefully—as though he were truly wounding the young woman.

    “Now!”

    “But Jake, Garth’s here.”

    “He can see your ass, too. That way he can assure the judge that the punishment was done properly.”

    Her glassy eyes pooled with tears that were about to drizzle down her cheek. Seeing the despondency in her face, the young sheriff was moved, and about to turn away.

    “You can stay right here, Garth. Cissy plays a good game. The sooner you understand that, the better off you’ll be.”

     Pressing her forward toward the bench, the fretting Cissy was still searching for some means out of this catastrophe. Here she’d been trying to woo the Sheriff for two months, and now her bastard cousin was going to humiliate her right in front of him.

    She toyed with the buttons on her blue jeans, thinking hard. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much room for manipulation here. Any plea she’d try would land with a hallow thud, and she’d only make Jake more pissed. She struggled for an answer, but none came in time to save her. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes—as though she could close out the entire ordeal—she pushed the denim off her hips and leaned over the unyielding wood. She was going to take this paddling ass-naked whether she liked it or not.

    Jack Colton gripped the leather-covered handle of the punishment paddle with a firm resolve, determined that his cousin get the best of it. Three months before, the brassy tart sideswiped him with a lot of honey-coated nonsense. She’s sworn, pleaded and cajoled him with her flirtatious eyes and heart-rending pleas for mercy, getting him to lift the rules he imposed on her after the arrest. That had been a messy scene—and for some ridiculous reason, he believed she might just have seen the error of her ways and was ready to join the human race as a responsible adult. Obviously, he’d been hoodwinked by someone more masterful than he. It would be a cold day in hell before he believed a word that came out of her mouth.

    “Let’s see if you can get through this without letting the entire world know,” Jake suggested as he swatted his own hand with the two-foot paddle several times, letting Cissy hear the threatening tone it made when it struck bare skin. He hadn’t used the paddle on her in well over a year; and this session would be a worthy display of just how far he’d go to correct her bad behavior.
    Beyond the sound of the paddle striking flesh, the stable was still. At the other end of the building, one of the mares whinnied, and Clem, the old plug-horse pawed at the straw in his stall. A few sparrows flit in and out among the rafters and a nervous Sheriff Branch coughed quietly. Otherwise, the setting was eerily silent, and almost painfully calm until the first strike landed on Cissy’s behind. Her ass was a lovely, creamy, flawless sort of pale, which most men found delightful—clothed or not. Ready to be punished, her legs were tightly clamped together, which pushed out her flesh and raised it as though it were actually greeting the occasion eagerly.

    There were many men who would relish the task of reddening that pale skin until it shone with red. If she’d been his lover, Jake might have as well. But there was no lust in his loins for this one. She was pure hell, a lot of work, and, despite her indisputable charms, a pain in the neck.

    Settling back to the task of her punishment, Jake reared back  and brought the paddle forward brusquely with a wide sweep of his arm.

    Thwack!

    The clear, sharp crack of hard wood meeting skin shook the entire stable as the restless energy of its force rippled through the boards and bricks. The strike landed squarely, covering both of Cissy’s cheeks, hitting hard and firm on the rounded centers of the brat’s behind.

    Cissy’s grunted breath followed, while her jiggling ass struggled to absorb the shock, and her skin began to turn pink.

    Jake’s second smack was equally as powerful; the first of two dozen, which would pepper her cheeks until the fire on her ass became so burning hot that she was begging for some compassion.

    The methodical gait of Jake’s style was something Cissy Riverton knew well; though, the foreknowledge of what she faced in no way eased her distress. “Oh, for crissakes please!” she finally howled after the sixth sharp crack of wood. She was dancing enough that he had to pause for her to calm.

    “Settle down, or I’ll just keep going,” he warned.

    “Oh, but please…….”

    Her plea fell short as another smack drove the words right out of her mouth.

    Doing her best to bear up, Cissy gritted her teeth, held her breath, and clung to the sides of the dusty workbench so tightly that it appeared her hands would fuse to the boards.

    While the poor girl battled with the punishment, Garth Branch looked on in sheer amazement. He’d been dating Cissy for three months, thought he knew her well, was even aware that the randy young woman was fair game for a good working over with Jake’s leather belt when she crossed him; but he never imagined that she would submit to this kind of treatment—or that Jake Colton could have so much influence on her. When she’d amused him with this little anecdote about her life, he thought of taking her luscious package of femininity over his lap and giving her a spanking with the palm of his hand, but he never imagined anything as severe as this. It was a sight he’d never seen before; and though he had his doubts about its true effectiveness, the effect on him was remarkable. A sexy, shocking, exuberant fire began in his belly and extended all the way to his rising penis. With his hard-on growing firmer with each strike that landed, he hoped the conclusion would be soon, because he was afraid he’d embarrass himself if his physical response became visible.

    The punishment proceeded on cue from beginning to end. Jake didn’t waste time, he expected a reasonably compliant woman; and as long as he didn’t have to fight a defiant mutiny, he ended the session delivering exactly the number of strikes he decided on at the outset.

    Cissy had her twenty-five, each a hellaciously miserable experience of pain for the distraught woman. But she did hold on. She had before. Cissy Riverton wasn’t about to let her cousin crush her spirit. And though she didn’t come up smiling afterwards, she’d managed to dispense with her tears so he wouldn’t see the evidence of the real hurt she felt.

    Having finished, Jake laid the paddle down on the bench beside her face, and then stood back, shoulder to shoulder with the Sheriff. Silently waiting, the two watched the chastised brat slowly work her bottom back inside her blue jeans while trying not to wince so they could see. When she finally accomplished the task, she stood up straight, forced her mouth into a stubborn frown, and waited. She was quite a sight, red locks slightly frazzled, the stain of one errant tear painting a line down her pink cheek, and a dramatically sexual aura billowing about her aroused body.

    Though the Sheriff readily acknowledged the stimulating picture she presented, Jake did not.

    “You’re going with Garth,” he said succinctly. “You’re going to face the judge. And you can hope that after the Sheriff tells him how I’ve handled you, he’ll have some compassion. If not, I’ll bring you a few things from your room to make your stay in jail more bearable.”

    “Gee, thanks for being so heartless,” Cissy sniveled.

    “Oh, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the cause of your suffering. You brought this one on yourself. But hear me loud and clear, if you manage to weasel out of jail time again, once you’re home, you’re on a short tether—a very short tether."

Cissy knew exactly what he meant.

Who darkens my door at this old hour of night?

I wrote this fantasy for Christmas, which as everyone is aware, has now come and gone. For nearly two weeks I've been silent on this blog while the holidays rolled by, a New Year arrived and the snow began, and didn't seem to stop until it turned into a good old fashioned blizzard and now sub-zero temperatures. While it may be frozen outside...it's certainly warm inside the cozy world where these hot lovers meet.



Winter Fantasy

The snow is falling, quietly, a stealthy thief, its silent power spiriting my hopes away as it builds in fury, and the wind whips and the icy mess on the road takes my fondest dreams and tramples them into the drifting white, on this night, this ONE night.

    I lie back in bed and turn off the light, listening as the sounds in the house diminish… the TV off, the cats asleep, the rustle of the quilts settling around my naked body quietly as I lazily meander toward sleep.
Just the sound of the whispering wind outside and my own breath.

    I’ve accepted it. Facts are facts.
    Roads are icy in this wilderness up north
    slick
    covered in snow
    wind sending flurries of white stuff into the air
    into a blizzard
    into one more night without him in my bed
   
I’m drifting off, mind spinning down, but not deep enough that I don’t hear
the sudden sound of the doorknob rattle
    the front door creak open
    the click of the lock as it closes

A sharp intake of breath, panic rises
    Who darkens my door at this old hour of night?
    In the cold, this wind, in this dreadful snow?
    He would have called, I tell myself.
    So, yes, I have reason to panic…

until the light goes on in the hallway,
    and my bedroom door, once standing ajar,
    suddenly opens wide
    so I see the outline of my intruder back lit by the radiance around him
    No face, no eyes, nothing to identify him
    but the shape of his body
    And that I recognize
    I breathe deep again
    this time a sigh of relief

He stalks me, walking slowly toward the bed, looking into my face – a fact I know only because I can see that his face is aimed toward me. I stare back, seeing his features emerge from the darkness, his eyes lit on mine, his solemn expression much as I expect.

    Panic further recedes, replaced by a warm and lusty heat that begins at my crotch and radiates outward. To fingers. To toes. To very top of my head I am turned on.

    But now the silence he brings with him causes a different kind of panic.
    No cheery greeting
    No twinkling eyes
    No kind grin
    Just the man in his primal state
remote, sexy and dark as this black snowy night.

I shudder fiercely as I await his first move – chilled to the bone.

    He comes softly to my bedside, standing above me with the same shadowy, sinister promise I gleaned from him in that first moment of recognition.

    Makes me wonder if this is really him, or just a phantom born my imagination.

    Ah! But now I can clearly make out his eyes as he stares down at me through the midnight gloom. I can see he’s real. And the tingle of lust that pervades by body doubles, triples, quadruples in size, as his presence magnifies – something to do, perhaps, with the silvery aura that surrounds him? It’s just that bright hallway light, but I’d swear he appears like some ghostly apparition.
   
 Slowly he strips off his clothes.
    Shoes first – he kicks them off.
    Then the sweater
    the blue jeans
    the socks
    the underwear
    til he stands naked next to me.

My heart skips beats. My pussy clenches orgasmic at the thought of all that nakedness lying with me.

Touch me. Come to me. Hold me tight my delirium calls him to me.

    He leans forward, grabs the covers and opens them wide. The cold air dashes in and goosebumps break out on my flesh, while I swear the rest of me is sweaty and hot. Hot because of those startling eyes, that enigmatic look as he appraises me, because of that naked body, and all those sexy body parts – hands, lips, thighs, cock, because of the promise of sex lingering between us in one, long painful moment of anticipation.
    Touch me. Tease me. Make me cum I call to him again
    Orgasmic spasm No. 1
   
He slides in bed on top of me. Here I am naked, as if I knew all along he’d be here with me. Naked to naked. Skin to skin. Cool flesh against my warmth. He wouldn’t miss our date, not this ONE night. I have reason to smile. I feel his cock, flaccid just a moment ago, already thickening as it presses against my inner thigh.
    Orgasmic spasm No. 2

I grind myself against his smooth skin and the muscled chest, my lips waiting hungrily for that first hot kiss. But it’s “hands above your head,” he says as he pries my clawing fingers from his body.
    “Please,” I plead. I don’t want to let go.
    “Hush, slut, and do as I say,” he speaks again, with a degree of firmness. I react to his mild reproof.
    Orgasmic spasm No. 3

“My god I want you in me!” I exclaim as my arms are stretched out overhead, and he’s clamping my hands in his fist, firmly applying greater force than I’ve felt in days, maybe weeks. To think, I’ve recently considered asking him to heat up this Master/slave game of ours…and he’s right on point, without my having said a word, within these first three minutes of another erotic rendezvous.
    Orgasmic spasm No. 4

I roll my hips against him, feeling his cock further harden, the stiff muscle throbbing hotly against my pussy.
    
He kisses me now, fervently, forcefully, fiercely; we’ll be fucking soon, I’m sure, though kissing is all he wants from me for now, and there’s no complaint from me. I’m into his kisses, his soft pliant but ever-so demanding lips. His tongue pushing into my mouth, colliding with my own tongue, which means that down below between my legs I feel the electric shock of our lust hit hard. I groan like a lusty whore.
    Orgasmic spasms Nos. 5, 6, 7
   
I’m like rolling thunder now with hips grinding deeply into his hips, my hungry, empty snatch grasping, clenching, wanting what is only his to give. “Yes, yes, yes,” I hiss between kisses, when we come up for air. Even in this darkened room I can see the glint in his eye as he sees the glint in mine. I know where he’s leading and will happily follow. Except that he makes me wait. He knows I’m ready but he forces me to teeter on the sharp edge of pleasure and pain. Until when? I wonder. 

Oh, you miserable bastard! I offer up a silent protest, but he still holds back.

    I want to touch him, grab him, bring his body deeper into me. I part my thighs further, bend my knees, make it clearly apparent that I want him inside me, inside me, riding me to hard paradise and back again.
    Orgasmic spasms Nos. 8, 9 10…

    Suddenly his cock is in my cunt, hard, firm and determined. There’s no counting spasms anymore – like I would even want to try once he’s slipped that ravenous cock of his inside my slick, wide open hole, and he’s banging me like a man possessed. I become one wet, hot cumming cunt, squeezing down with my inner muscles, grasping, thirsting, wanting him hard, deeper, meaner than he’s ever been before.

    This is the orgasm to write home about
    the best yet
    the better than ever brand of climax that won’t quit. I’m riding on that high plateau, the spasms stronger, gaining amplitude, subspace stretching far beyond me, my body wracked with orgasm while bound by his hammering body, his steely fist and lips that won’t stop kissing mine…
    …until just before I think he’s going to cum

    He stops
    hard
    brusque
    without explanation
    and sits on top of me, turning sadist in a blink of an eye
    He slaps my face first – and my body swoons again, cunt pressing up into him, begging…
    Then my tits, back and forth
    the blows repeat until the skin burns hot, and, aching violently,
    lusts for another stinging strike and then another…

    Oh! What sweet pain this is!

No longer are my hands captured in his fist, though they remain above my head as if he’s glued them to the headboard. I wouldn’t dare to move them until he gives the command.

    “You like your tits smacked, slut?”

    “Yes, Master.”

    “You want more, slut?”

    “Yes, Master.”

    “Then ask for it proper, slave.” He emphasizes the word slave so I’m sure to remember who I am…

    And proper. What does he mean by proper?

    “Please, my generous master,” I begin, “I would really, greatly, desperately love for you to slap my tits again.”

    “You are such a slutty little wench!” There’s a sly smirk on that handsome face.

    I feel that smirk deep between my legs, where he owns me, where his throbbing cock is planted; where I can feel that hot throbbing make my cumming cunt more ecstatic than it already is. And so I grind myself against him once again, raising my aching pussy into his groin.

    “You want it bad?”

    “Don’t you, too?”

    “As a matter of fact…”

    He drops down against my chest and my thighs open wider than they’ve been before. He plunges deeper than I can remember, tunneling with that throbbing organ, in me, all over me, owning me, using me, taking me back to subspace
    with every,
        single
             thrust of that steely ramrod

    And then he cums

    And I cum, too – for the umpteenth time

    And I think Yes, this is it. What it means to love this man. I’m happy, ecstatic, deliriously myself once again, in his arms, in his control, in love with his lust for me.

    His every pleasure-filled groan makes me smile and it seems for a long while we bask in the beautiful aftermath.

    “Arms tired?” he asks at last.

    “They are, Sir.”

    “Then take them down and love up the rest of me,” he says.

    I can see through the window that the snow still falls silently, steadily outside the cabin. And with a smile on my lips, I snuggle into him, my hands pouring over his flesh as if I’ve never touched him this way before, and will never again, never quite like this.

    “I thought you wouldn’t be home tonight,” I murmur from my sweet nirvana, still astounded that he’s even here and this is not a dream.

    “Well, then, you underestimate me, slave. I said I’d be here and I am. Merry Christmas.”

    “Merry Christmas, Master.”