Fantasy020: Denise

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

About the Fantasy Series

"What is your deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy?" Those words bring a chill to anyone. To reveal something so private, so personal, is difficult. Yet that's exactly what we have here. In each story, a narrator reveals his or her most private sexual fantasy. In the grand tradition of such things, it is a *fantasy* -- it may not be realistic or even physically possible. It's not necessarily something he/she would want to experience in real life, but the illusion can be appealing. But no matter how bizarre or incomprehensible, fantasies reveal something intimate about ourselves. So . . . learn and enjoy. And send me your fantasies! The Flogmaster

Fantasy019: Denise

(****, M/F, Severe, Semi-n/c, sex)

A woman doesn't know if the spanker and lover is her husband or not. (Approximately 1,416 words. Originally published 1998-08.)

I have been a bad girl lately. My husband has volunteered to teach me a sound lesson. I've suffered his lessons before and am nervous, wondering if it will be with the hairbrush this time, or perhaps the leather paddle. He seems genuinely angry, so it might even be the razor strop.

He is making me wait for my punishment until Friday night. That is a surprise, because he plays poker Friday nights. I ask him if he's going to skip the poker game, but he reminds me it's his turn to host. His smile gives me a strange feeling in my belly. He's up to something, and I have an entire week to wonder.

The week drags on endlessly. When I am naughty my husband only has to look at me sternly, or whisper "Friday" to freeze me cold. I try to laugh and tease him; I even flirt with him, but he gives me no clue.

Finally it is Friday night and the poker players will be arriving in less than an hour. My husband sits on the couch and orders me to strip naked and kneel before him. I obey, trembling with excitement. What is going to happen? I am certain I no longer want to know!

Naked, I am soundly scolded and my long list of crimes expounded. I hang my head in shame. Could I really have been so naughty since my last spanking just two weeks ago?

Finally I am ordered to fetch my punishment easel and place it in the center of the room. Then my husband has me bring me all our punishment implements and spread them out on the coffee table. Seeing them all together I am filled with fear and trembling. There's the big wooden hairbrush which leaves my buttocks throbbing and aching for hours. The leather paddle stings like a hornet's nest. The razor strop I can never forget: it leaves weals that last for days. The big frat paddle is known as the "butt breaker" for good reason. I wonder which instrument will play a tune on my ass tonight.

Then my husband hands me a paring knife and tells me to run outside and cut of a long switch from our willow tree. "But I'm naked!" I protest, and that earns me three hard slaps on each cheek from his heavy palm. I scurry to obey, my cheeks burning lightly.

It is still light out, only early evening, and I dread the thought of one of our neighbors noticing me. I find a sturdy willow branch and cut it quickly, hurrying back to the house before I am caught.

My husband is pleased with my effort. It's a good switch. Thank God for small favors.

Next he bends me across the punishment easel and fastens me in place with velcro straps around my wrists and ankles. This is a position I abhor, but I pray he'll hurry up with the spanking. It is growing close to 7:30 and I am worried because guests will be arriving shortly.

Then he pulls out a black handerchief and blindfolds me. Now I am naked, blind, and helpless. Thrills scurry up and down my spine. My sex is moist and hungry. I ache for the pain to begin.

Then there's a sound that freezes my blood: the doorbell. My husband's poker buddies are arriving early! I moan for my husband to quickly untie me, lest someone see through the front window, but instead I hear the front door open and my husband greeting his best friend, Ted.

Horror and shame flood my face. I am thankful I cannot see for I could not bear to look into Ted's eyes right now. What must he think of me? Surely he has seen me. Does he admire my body? Do I excite him? What will my husband tell him?

Ted does not speak to me, but talks calmly with my husband as though I am not there. Soon the bell rings again and it is Michael and Scott. Everyone greets another. No one comments on my presence. I wonder if I should shout and protest so that everyone can just admit they see me, bare-assed naked and tied across a wooden sawhorse device, a slew of painful punishment devices on the low-lying table behind me. I want to scream, to make them see, but there's a part of me that still hopes that via some miracle, they have not seen me.

Finally, Anthony arrives and the poker game can begin. I can hear them arguing and shouting at the kitchen table. I have been abandoned, scarcely worthy of even a comment. I am uncomfortable and miserable, and I think bad thoughts of my husband. What kind of monster is he, to do this to his lovely, intelligent, supportive wife?

With a shout the game breaks up and I hear the men coming into the living room. My husband quickly explains that the winner of the hand has received the right to spank me five times. To choose his implement, he will roll a die. I hear it clank on the table and stop. There's a sudden hush.

"What is it?" I moan.

"Quiet!" snaps my husband. "No talking or you'll get extra!"

I am not told the roll. But when my ass explodes with pain I realize luck dealt me the huge frat paddle. The paddler doesn't hold back but blisters my ass good with five monstrous swats that have me yelping for mercy.

Afterward, the gang returns to their game. Every few minutes they are back, announcing the winner of the latest hand, and I suffer the indignity of more punishment. Sometimes it's five slaps of the hand. Sometimes it's five with the whippy switch. I never know until it strikes me and my buttocks are flooded with pain. My cries are ignored, however, and the game goes on.

The men play a modest $20 stake with a maximum $1 bet during the second round, so the poker match doesn't last more than a couple hours. One by one players drop out, until only two are left. I am not told who they are. I think my husband is still in the game, but I cannot tell.

Finally it is over. Someone has won everything. It is a somber husband that informs me of my fate: the grand winner will not only get to spank me five times with each implement, but will then be allowed to fuck me up the ass!

I cannot believe this is happening! Surely this is a nightmare and I will wake up any second. But five hard slaps assure me that is not the case. The hairbrush thuds down five times to confirm that. Five loud whacks with the leather paddle follow. I am breathing heavily, dreading what is to come. The razor strop merely makes me scream, and the willow switch? I have no tears or energy left.

But the ass-fucking wakes me up. Recharged, I buck and moan when I hear a zipper being undone. Whoever it is won't even drop his pants! A hard/soft thing touches the back on my thigh. I shudder and convulse. It slips between my legs, thick and heavy. It rubs against my sex and despite everything, I crave it. I struggle against my bonds but I am helpless. I begin to weep as it presses against my anus, thrusting, testing, probing. Then it plunges in. The pain is hideous. The assault terrifying. I am humiliated, being butt-fucked by an unknown man.

Worse, the fucking's a good one. The man's cock is hard and strong, and he reams me well. My ass tingles as his hands grab my hips for support. My body shakes as he explodes inside me. Slowly, with a deep grunt, he pulls out. I am shaking and sobbing. I cannot believe my husband, my dear, sweet husband, would do this to me.

Vaguely I am aware of the men being escorted to the door and away. I am alone, naked, sore, and violated. Yet I am still excited, still craving more. I want to hate my husband, but a part of me admires him for his creativity and depravity. I surely would never have thought of something this disgusting. Just thinking that excites me more. I wish my husband would return and thrash me with the strop before taking me. I desperately need to come!

The End

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