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.
(****, M/F, Intense, cons paddling)
A man paddles a soccer star. (Approximately 4,736 words. Originally published 2010-10.)
Though I'm an executive for a brewing company, I've never been that much of a sports fan. Oh, I keep abreast of things -- a lot of our marketing is sports-oriented -- and guys at work who are into all the sports talk about them, but it's not like I have a lot of spare time to watch TV. Since my wife passed a few years ago, I've got all I can do raising two girls and working.
But then two things happened: we got bought by a European concern, requiring me to make periodic trips to Brussels and Paris, and my oldest, Chelsea, started playing soccer. In Europe, soccer is pretty much the only sport, and I had to learn about it as it is key to our marketing there. I even got to meet some famous players, which didn't mean much to me, but telling Chelsea when I got home that I'd had lunch with a legend like "Zizou" made me shine in her eyes, so naturally I started paying more attention.
Then in 2009 we got our own women's professional soccer team, the Athletica, and of course Chelsea insisted we get season tickets. Ironically, my involvement with the club had nothing to do with work -- it was strictly personal -- but of course once the powers that be found out who I was, I was granted some access I probably wouldn't have gotten. That's how I first met Miss Solo.
I'd seen her play several matches at that point and knew her story, and Chelsea had somehow gotten an autograph of hers at a signing after a game, but I'd never met her personally. But after a meeting with the Athletica ownership group, Hope happened to be in the area and we were introduced.
Hope is a wonderful young woman, gorgeous and kind and generous, and I must confess I enjoyed chatting with her. I told her my daughter was a huge fan and she volunteered to send me a couple signed posters.
"That's great," I said. "Her birthday's in a couple weeks and that would make a great present. I'd love for you to meet her. She just adores you."
"I'd love to met her, too. You should come see me after a game sometime."
"Sure," I said, though I wasn't sure at all. Post-matches are hectic, with everyone trying to escape the parking lot at the same time, exhausted players just wanting to shower and get home, fans pestering them for autographs and photos, the media hounding athletes and coaches for quotes, and the mood of everyone soured or jubilant depending on the way the game went.
Without thinking I added, "What would be really nice is if you'd come to her party and meet her teammates, too. They're all fans and it'd make Chelsea's whole year."
Right after I said it I was kicking myself: how arrogant and stupid was I? Inviting some superstar world-famous athlete to my daughter's birthday party like she was a show pony?
But Hope grinned. "That's a great idea. Maybe I could do a little soccer clinic? Show a few tricks and tips?"
"Wow, are you serious? I just threw that out there without even thinking. I mean, yeah, if you could do it, it'd be awesome, but seriously, I know you're fabulously busy and you don't have to feel obligated in any way."
"No, it sounds like fun. I know what it's like to be Chelsea's age. I was a huge Mia Hamm fan growing up. When is the party?"
"Well, we haven't set anything in stone yet. If you're serious, we could set it up around your schedule. I guess a weeknight would be better than a weekend."
"Yeah, I'm usually out of town on weekends, if it's an away match."
Hope pulled out her iPhone right as I brought out mine and we both burst out laughing at the timing and our common choice in technology. We compared schedules and set a date. We easily exchanged contact info -- phone, email, address -- and everything was set.
"You'll have to tell me what you charge for an appearance like this," I told her.
"Oh, I wouldn't think of charging you."
"But you must!"
"Consider it a gift for Chelsea's birthday."
I argued, but she wasn't budging. Finally I said, "I'll tell you what. How about I take you out to dinner while the girls party? They'll want to have pizza and other junk food. I try to stay away from that stuff. It's bad enough I work for a beer manufacturer. Let me take you out for some decent food."
"What about the girls? Don't you need to be there?"
"No, my mom and my sister will be there. I was planning on leaving anyway. You think they want an old man around? Believe me, they'll be glad to get rid of me. You come at six, do your clinic, then I'll take you out and the girls can watch their movies and pig out."
"Cool. Sounds good."
I don't think either of us thought of it as a date. After all, I was almost twice Hope's age, and I found out later that Hope had a boyfriend. Instead it was just two friends escaping tween madness for a nice meal. But after the party -- which was fantastic, by the way -- Hope and I really connected. She was darling, funny, and incredibly bright. I suppose to her I was charming, well-off, and fatherly. It still wasn't exactly a romantic connection, but we enjoyed being together so much, and Hope seemed to like Chelsea and Jodie, that we agreed to meet again.
A week or so after the party Hope stopped by one evening to say hi and hang out with the girls for a few minutes, bringing them a couple of jerseys and some cool insight into the weekend's away match. It was a sweet visit, harmless and fun, though I thought I noticed a tiny flash or two of sadness on Hope's face a couple of times.
When it was time for the girls to go bed I had to be a bit stern with them as they didn't want to go, but a hint of a sound spanking had both girls running for their rooms. Hope laughed, saying I reminded her of her own father, who could be quite strict.
"Is it my imagination or are you a little sad? Is something wrong?"
She sighed. "I was trying to hide it, but it's actually been a trying week. I think my boyfriend and I are splitting up."
"Oh no, really? What happened?"
She seemed to want to talk, so I fixed us drinks and let her tell me about it. She was vague on the details, just saying confusing things like "He doesn't love me enough" and "He loves me too much." Apparently the guy was a great guy, but something wasn't quite working out between them. Hope didn't explain and I didn't want to pry.
A couple days later I sent her an email wishing her good luck with weekend's game and telling her if she ever needed a sympathetic ear, mine was available. She wrote back with thanks and warned I might regret my offer.
Late Sunday night I got a call. It was Hope. She was emotional and had obviously been crying. The game had been a disaster, the team falling apart and giving up a late goal to lose, and Hope was feeling like she was to blame. Worse, she'd just broken up with Rick, her boyfriend.
"It's over. It's really over."
"I'm so sorry. Would you like to meet? Where are you? Shall I come meet you?"
"Actually, I'm parked outside your house. I was driving around, not sure where I wanted to go, and I thought maybe... I didn't want to bother you."
"It's no bother. The girls are asleep. Come on in. Don't ring the bell, just enter."
Minutes later we were sitting in the living room and Hope was blushing with embarrassment, apologizing for her intrusion and emotion.
"I'm just really frustrated. The team's struggling, Rick and I are struggling, I guess I should say, 'were' struggling, and everything's just crap right now."
"Hey, it's okay, just let it out. You can't keep all that emotion inside you. It's unhealthy. Cry if you want. It's okay. You've nothing to be embarrassed about. You're going through a lot: moving to a new city, a new team in a new league, a relationship going bad. It's too much for anyone to handle."
"Thanks. You always make me feel better." She grinned at me through her teary eyes. "You speak with such authority. I feel like I have to obey."
I laughed. "I suppose it's an attitude I've copped from work. I'm a boss so I tend to come across like that at times. I actually try hard to be 'one of the guys' but I suppose it doesn't always work."
"I like it. It's comforting. It reminds me of my dad. Like when I was little and I thought he could do no wrong."
I knew a little about the story of her fractured relationship with her father -- him leaving home and them reconciling years later only for him to die unexpectedly -- and I whispered a quiet "I'm sorry" and gave her a hug. It helped for she began to weep and then sigh, and I sensed she was healing.
"Yes, thank you. Thank you so much."
She looked like she wanted to say more, perhaps a lot more, but she bit her lip and was silent. I didn't want to pry, but sometimes people need a little push.
"Is there something you want to say? Need to say? I'm a good listener. Whatever you say will just be between us, you know that."
Hope nodded. "I can trust you. I know that. But... it's hard." There was a long pause. "Rick... he and I shared something deeply personal. It's not something I've told anyone. But I can trust you."
She turned her head in the direction of the girls' rooms. "The other night, you joked about spanking the girls when they wouldn't go to bed."
I wasn't sure where she was going with this switch in direction, but I gently corrected her. "I wasn't joking."
"You weren't? You really would spank them? At their age?"
"Yes. I know it's not fashionable, but I'm an old-fashioned guy. I still believe in God and country and traditional values. I was raised with corporal punishment and I've brought up my daughters the same way. They know if they misbehave, they'll end up with a hot bottom to pay for it. Nothing too extreme, certainly not abusive, just temporary but memorable pain."
Hope was nodding, her beautiful eyes shining. "I thought as much." There was a pause of a few heartbeats. Then she blurted, "That's what I need: a good hard spanking!"
I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. Was she joking? If so, it was a strange type of humor I didn't get. If she was serious, what did it mean? Was she asking me to spank her? Why? And why me? Was it something sexual? Had I misread some signals?
Hope saw my confusion and smiled shyly, her face pink. "Rick used to spank me. For him it was a sexual thing. He got off on it. I didn't really mind. It was mild and didn't really hurt, just a warm tingling of my butt, you know? Kinda hot and naughty, turned me on, too."
"Look Hope, I think you're adorable, but I'm like twice your age--"
Her blush deepened. "No, no, Dale, it's not like that. I'm not interested in you in that, uh... in a romantic way."
Though I didn't want romantic complications, I couldn't help but feel slightly rejected. I put on a brave face. "Okay, then, what are you talking about?"
"Well, Rick liked to spank me for himself. It didn't really have anything to do with me. I'd never been into that. My memories of spanking were vague nightmarish things from childhood. I don't remember getting an actual spanking, but I remember threats and _fearing_ a spanking, and that fear seemed to come from a negative experience, so I must have been spanked at some point.
"The first time Rick spanked me I thought he was crazy. The whole idea sounded bizarrely kinky and not in a good way. But it turned out it was wonderful. Like I said, it didn't really hurt. It was just warm and cozy, comforting really. I enjoyed it.
"Of course that was a loving spanking, a prelude to sex, and it was meant to be enjoyable. Later I learned that there was something called a punishment spanking that was meant to hurt and not fun at all. But you know what? I enjoyed that also. It was a different kind of enjoyment, more like it fulfilled a need inside that I didn't even know I had. I actually wanted Rick to spank me harder than he did."
For a moment Hope was lost in memories. "Punishment spankings work best when there's really something to be punished for. Rick used to spank me for being late, for not keeping to my budget, for eating badly, for not training enough, and so on. I found it was actually helpful in my life. I started having him spank me harder and for more things. I got him to use a big pine paddle. That thing really hurt, but it was good: it was memorable.
"One day I came up with the idea for him to punish me for goalkeeping mistakes. He'd give me a swat for each goal I gave up, that kind of thing. I used that to help motivate me in practice, and in games, if we're down a goal or two and I know I've got punishment coming, it fires me up to make sure I don't make any further mistakes."
"Sounds like it was helpful," I said, trying to sound neutral and benign.
"It was. It is. But that's where Rick and I fell apart. He won't spank me hard enough."
My eyebrows went up. "Excuse me? You want him to spank you _harder_ and he won't?"
"Yes. Like I said, for him the spanking's about sex. But a hard punishment spanking's not very sexy. It hurts too much for me and it's hard work for him. So he didn't want to spank me very hard. He preferred to play and tease. But I need the hard spankings. It helps me in my career. You remember that game the other day were we tied Washington three-three?"
"Well, the team had been struggling and I was really determined that we get our first win of the season. Before the game I made Rick promise me that he would give me five really brutal swats for each goal I gave up. I was hoping for a shutout, of course, but that didn't happen. It was a frustrating day. But worse was when Rick didn't want to give me the fifteen swats I was due."
"He felt that was too much of a penalty?"
Hope nodded. "He agreed under duress, he said. He didn't really want to do it but I insisted, and when it was fifteen swats, he said that was too much. He wanted to just give me six. I told him we'd agreed to five per goal and it had to be fifteen, but he refused. He said he didn't want my ass all blistered and bruised. That's when I knew... we couldn't be together any more. Like I said, he either loves me too much or not enough."
Now her comment made sense to me. I nodded. "Basically you need a real spanking and he just wants a play spanking."
"Exactly. He claims it's out of love for me, but I'm not so sure. I mean, if he really loved me, wouldn't he give me what I need?"
"I doubt it's that simple -- he probably has some deeper issues he's not revealing -- but you're right in principal. It sounds like you had good reason to break up."
Hope sighed. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier. And now I don't have anyone to punish me when I need it."
The lights were clicking on. I sat up straighter in my chair. "Are you saying..." I stopped, unable to complete the thought.
"Well, you were nice and stern with Chelsea and Jodie the other night." She grinned. "But no... I couldn't ask that of you."
I thought about it for a while. Hope saw me thinking and didn't interrupt.
"Hope, this isn't sexual for you, right?"
"God no. Punishment spankings hurt like hell. I get no pleasure at all from it. It's not even something I want, really. It's more like something I need. I need consequences to motivate me."
"If I was willing, would you be comfortable with it?"
She squirmed on the sofa. "I can't say it wouldn't be embarrassing, and it might change our relationship, but I think I already think of you in that role anyway, so yeah, if you were willing, I would be fine with it. But I don't want you to agree if you feel like you're forced. I'm not trying to force this on you at all. I just thought you deserved an explanation about Rick and I... and you're good to talk with."
"I don't feel forced. If I choose to do this, it would be as your guide and mentor."
"That would be perfect." She hesitated. "Can you be ruthless?"
"I'm afraid so."
Hope gave a tiny shiver. "That's what I need."
I stood up. "Is now a good time?"
Those beautiful almond eyes shot wide open. "Now?" she whispered weakly. Her head glanced up toward the girls' rooms.
"We'll go downstairs, to the basement. It's a game room, so I had it soundproofed. The girls won't hear anything."
She look relieved, but suddenly nervous. I put on a stern expression. "You gave up a goal, right? So that's five swats?"
"So let's go downstairs."
She didn't argue, but obediently went. I pointed the way and followed her. In the kitchen, I took the wooden paddle from above the fridge. It wasn't exactly hidden there, and the girls certainly knew its location, but it was too subtle for average guests to notice. Hope gulped and nodded in approval at the board.
"Pine?" she asked.
"A half inch of sturdy maple. Eighteen by five, polished and varnished to perfection. See how the edges are rounded? And these two slits, they cut down on wind resistance, so the board really flies."
I opened the door to the basement and waved her forward. I followed, enjoying the sight of her body. She was wearing casual slacks that only hinted at her shape, but she was a sturdily built woman and I could feel my heartbeat increase. I closed the door behind me and locked it so we wouldn't be disturbed. I don't know if Hope noticed that, as it might have been alarming.
My basement's spacious with a few sofas in front of a flat-panel TV, and a number of table games: ping pong, air hockey, and foosball. One area is set aside for billiards. There's an uncarpeted open area for kids to run around, with a Nerf basketball setup, and a dart board at the far end. Basically it's the kind of place I'd always wanted as a kid, and now that I could afford it, I'd had it built.
"Nice," Hope said. She looked really nervous, though she was feigning calm.
"Soundproof," I said. "But just in case." I hit a button on a wall panel and intense rock music started to play. I frowned and changed the playlist, finding some mellow jazz.
"Music to paddle by," mumbled Hope ruefully, and we both laughed.
After a moment I said encouragingly, "It's just five this time. But don't worry: I will make them count."
She nodded, biting her lower lip. "How... how do you want to do this?"
I pointed to the low coffee table. "You could lean over and put your hands there."
"That could work." She moved and got into position tentatively, as though trying it out. She put her feet shoulder-width apart and with her hands flat on the low table, her head was slightly lower than her waist. That thrust her butt out nicely. "Yes, that's good."
She stood back up, breathing deeply. She looked at me and flushed pink. She hesitated then added, "Do I, uh... take 'em down?"
"What did you do with Rick?"
Her blush deepened to crimson. "Rick always insisted a spanking had to be on bare skin. But remember, it was a sex thing for him."
"It's not for me," I lied, for the idea of Hope baring her butt for paddling was surprisingly appealing. "But I agree with him. It's not a punishment if you're protected."
"Up to you. I don't want to force anything upon you."
"But with your daughters...?"
She nodded. Then with a deep breath, the slacks suddenly descended. She stood in surprisingly skimpy black panties. They rode up quite a bit behind, wedged in the crack between her two full cheeks. The cheeks were nearly bare, with plenty of rich flesh on view. I could hardly wait to paddle those buns.
"Those panties don't cover much," I said magnanimously. "You can keep them on this time, if it will make things easier."
"I don't want easier," she said through gritted teeth, and with a yank, the underwear joined her pants.
The buttocks were prominent, thick round slabs of meat, high and firm. The divide between the two halves was deep and distinct, widening to a shadowy diamond at the base where the rounded cheeks curved away. It was a broad butt, the sturdiest I'd ever seen, and I had no worries about it handling the punishment. I resolved to punish hard.
Hope leaned forward to coffee table, resuming her earlier position. With her ass bare, the position was far more explicit, the rump thrusting outward in an aggressive sexual expression. I stepped behind her, lining up the board with the big butt. Without waiting for approval, I brought the paddle up to my shoulder and then forward with a smooth, graceful swing. I struck solidly, not trying too hard. There was a loud bang as wood smacked flesh and Hope gave a muted grunt. Across the honey-colored flesh there blossomed a rectangular bar of pink.
"Count them," I commanded.
"And thank me."
"One sir. Thank you, sir."
"Good. Keep that up, or the swat won't count."
"Yes sir-- Ahh!"
I'd interrupted her response with a harsh crack of the board, catching her unprepared, and she writhed prettily, wiggling her ass all over the place. The red bar darkened now to a deep blush.
"Ah, two sir. Thank you, sir."
I hefted the board for another blow, enjoying the feel of the heavy wood and the solid chunk of meat it was colliding with. For the third, I put some extra muscle into it. I caught her low, at the base, and lifted her to tiptoes. She gasped, then moaned.
"Whew! That really burns." She threw her hips a bit, attractively, and then muttered, "Thank you. That was three sir."
I let her wait for the fourth. I watched her butt and when it started to twitch impatiently, I struck. It was another low blow, coming slightly upward, catching the tender underbum. She hissed, panted out the count and thanked me, and stood there breathing heavily.
The final swat had to be the worst of all, and we both knew it, so I made her wait for it. "Are you feeling the burn?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir."
"Learning your lesson?"
"Are you going to come back for more?"
"I'll do my best, sir."
I didn't know if she meant she'd do her best to come back or to behave so she wouldn't, but it hardly mattered. We both knew that she'd be back. I slammed the heavy plank across the peak of those pert cheeks and Hope yelped in dismay. I'd really put mustard in that one, and it stung like a jellyfish. She stood up and clutched her ass and rubbed furiously.
I watched her for a full minute, then growled, "I did not give you permission to stand."
"Oh! Sorry, sir." She let go of her butt and put her hands back on the table.
"You also didn't count, so that swat will be repeated. Plus I'm adding two additional for rubbing."
She winced and gulped, but didn't object, so I proceeded to give her three quick pops in a row. I told her she didn't have to count these extras, and I gave them quickly, which increases the heat tremendously. The sting is magnified by each subsequent smack and by the third one, Hope was hissing angrily and giving a vague cry of protest as the echo of the final swat was dying. She was up on her tiptoes, her ass wavering, but she obediently kept her hands on the table and didn't reach back.
"Oh God," she moaned when I told her she could get up. "That was _intense_."
"Ruthless enough for you?"
"Can... can I rub now?"
"Absolutely not. You need to feel that burn. In fact, put your hands on your head and face that wall for ten minutes. Think about why your ass is on fire."
Ruefully, her face stunned and somber at my strictness, she shuffled to the wall, her ankles tethered by her underwear and slacks. She stood with her hands on her head, elbows triangling out on each side. She looked gorgeous, a big strong half-naked girl with vividly crimson buttocks. She was nearly as tall as me yet the spanking had subdued her, made her seem smaller. She was submissive and quiet as she waited patiently for me to set her free. I watched her quiver and shift her weight occasionally, as the coloring across her buttocks darkened to a muddy maroon. The dual slits in the board had left thin lines across the cheeks, almost like weals from a cane, except these were narrower and actually the opposite of a welt. It made me think of something.
"Have you ever had the cane?"
She glanced back at me, her face pale. "No sir."
"The paddle is excellent punishment, but it can be overwhelming. It does too much bruising to be used extensively. The cane, on the other hand, hurts intensely but leaves little damage. Twenty with the paddle is probably about the maximum that it can be used, but a girl of your girth could take several dozen of the cane, if required."
"Are you suggesting--"
"Yes. We can still employ the paddle. It's good for warming up. But I worry that the paddle is too severe for regular use, and dangerous if you had a really bad game. What if the team had a terrible day and you gave up five goals?"
"I've worried about that myself."
"For the future, how about three to five with the paddle to start, followed by four strokes with the cane for each goal you give up."
She nodded slowly. "Is that... enough?"
"It's good for a start. If needed, we can always increase the dose."
"Okay." Her voice was soft and accepting. It made me feel warm inside. Impulsively, I moved forward and embraced Hope from behind, putting my arms around her shoulders. She hugged me back, then sobbed against my chest for a few seconds before she composed herself.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much. This was just what I needed."
I didn't say anything and just gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead.
That was the beginning. If you go back and check the records, you'll see what a difference our sessions made in Hope's first season in professional women's soccer. The Athletica made it all the way to the semi-final, before bowing out to Sky Blue FC. She even won Goalkeeper of the Year!