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
(***, M/F, Severe, Semi-n/c, sex)
The same story as Fantasy 020, but from the man's perspective. (Approximately 1,161 words. Originally published 1998-08.)
I told Denise that her punishment would commence on Friday night. Her eyes show me how nervous that makes her. "What will you do?" she asks, but I don't answer. I can tell she knows it's going to be a serious session.
All week long she tries to get me to tell her what will happen on Friday. She flirts with me, and drops little hints. I tell her nothing, enjoying her discomfort.
"Isn't Friday poker night?" she asks.
"You aren't going?"
"I'm the host this week." That confuses her. She falls silent, watching me. She looks so pretty, delicate and concerned. She has no idea what is to come.
Friday evening she is as frantic as a cat in heat. She keeps looking at the clock, knowing it is close to poker time. She doesn't know I've arranged the for guys to come early.
At about seven o'clock I order her to strip and kneel before me. She obeys in that tentative manner of a nevous child about to be punished. Kneeling naked before, she is so beautiful and frightened. I want to kiss her, but instead I read a list of her crimes. Her face goes darker and darker the longer I read. Guilt covers her features. She knows she's been a naughty girl. She knows what naughty girls get.
"Fetch the punishment easel," I order, and she rushes to obey, glancing at the clock as she passes. She places it in the center of the living room. "Fetch the instruments," I say, and she hurries to bring in all the devices of punishment: the hairbrush, the leather paddle, the razor strop, and the frat paddle.
I hand her a paring knife. "Go outside and cut yourself a willow switch. And make sure it's a good one!"
"But I'm naked!" she argues.
I quickly turn her over my knee and spank her bare buttocks several times on each cheek with my hand. She quivers and moans, but the second I let go she bows and whispers, "I'm sorry, sir," and runs outside.
I watch her through the kitchen window. She sneaks along near the bushes, eyes out for peeping neighbors. She nervously approaches the willow tree and cuts off a long limb. She looks delightful, her skin so pale and flawless as she run back toward the house.
I pronounce the switch adequate, which relieves her a bit. I take her to the easel and fasten her in place, her legs wide with her ass thrusting out obscenely. I rub her a bit. She's already excited. Taking a black handkerchief, I wrap it around her head and over her eyes. She moans in despair, but does not complain.
The doorbell rings. I can see Denise tense visibly at the sound. Her head moves from side to side in terror. Ignoring her, I go to the door and let in Ted. We chat about sports and life as though my wife isn't there. Ted's grinning at me and eying Denise. I can tell from his expression he can't believe I'm doing this.
Scott and Michael arrive next, and a few minutes later, Anthony. The game can begin! We head for the kitchen table and settle down for a great game of poker. There's plenty of beer and snacks and everyone's ready to enjoy himself.
Michael wins the first hand, and we all troop into the living room where I explain to Denise that the winner of each hand will be allowed to spank her five times. She quavers but doesn't say anything.
"We'll roll a die to determine what implement you get," I say. Michael rolls a die and it stops on five. Everyone falls silent as we realize that's the big frat paddle. Michael picks it up and hefts it.
"What is it?" asks Denise.
"Quiet! No talking or you'll get extra!"
I nod at Michael and he begins. The big paddle completely covers Denise's rounded haunches and each stroke shakes the easel and turns her ass a darker shade of pink. She cries out in pain and wiggles, but there's no escape the punishment she has earned.
The first spanking finished, we return to the poker table for the next round. Each of us has started with a $20 stake and a maximum $1 bet, so the game won't last too long. The winner of each hand get to spank my wife. I love watching her lying there, bound and helpless, waiting for her next spanking, not knowing what the implement will be or who's punishing her. It must be driving her crazy!
One by one the guys peter out, and finally only Scott's left. He wins everything. Winking at him, we head into the living room.
"Denise, honey," I say, "we have a grand winner. That person's not only earned the privilege of spanking you five times with each implement, but he's also going to fuck you up the ass!"
Denise shudders and moans and shakes her head, but there's nothing she can do about it. Winking at the guys, I step forward and slap my wife's ass five times as hard as I can. She yelps out at the first two, then falls silent. The hairbrush causes her to emit deep groans, almost like growls. It's the leather paddle next, which makes her "ooh" and "ahh" a great deal. The razor strop brings forth tears, and the frat paddle has her howling for mercy. I finish up with the willow switch, by far the most painful of the instruments available, but Denise is strangely quiet, only shuddering and moaning through her constant sobbing.
I am hard and ready. It is a bit strange doing this with an audience, but I love the fact that Denise doesn't know who I am. I take out my cock and press it between her legs. Her body tenses and she struggles vainly. I push ahead, finding her entrance and forcing my way inside. She howls in pain but I can feel the excitement quivering through her body and I can smell her arousal. Slowly I move in and out of her, reaming her expertly. I can tell she appreciates it, though I know it's got to be uncomfortable.
Finally I burst inside her. Slowly I pull myself out. She is panting and moaning, her voice low and rough. She cannot stop weeping. I give her blistered bottom a pat and zip myself back up. The guys are all around me, astonished grins on their faces. I lead them to door quietly, and soon I'm alone with Denise.
She's still sobbing, though gently now, a forlorn, lost sound. Gently I kiss her face and she eagerly kisses me back.
"Strap me, you bastard," she hisses. "Strap me and then fuck me black and blue!"
My cock surges to life at those words. I know she wants it-- she needs it. I can oblige.