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A London derrière July 18, 2010

Posted by Leah in Buggery, Craigslust, D/s, Fucking, Spanking.
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For our date, he asked me to wear a skirt that could be brought up over my ass easily. He wanted to spank me barehand over the knee, you see.

He is a lecturer — roughly, an assistant professor, but tenured — at a university in London. In our e-mail conversation before meeting, I asked him whether his students had ever turned him on, whether he had ever acted on his attraction, whether a girl had ever sucked him off in his office for a better grade. He told me that in his discipline, there are more women than men, at least among the students. He explained that when he was at the front of the lecture theater facing a room full of undergraduates on the rare warm weather day, he would confront a sea of legs under the long rows of desks. Crossed legs, bare and gleaming in the light, were a distraction to his thoughts, and carelessly uncrossed legs so much more so. No one else could see the color of the girl’s underwear but him. In most cases, he believed he wasn’t being flashed intentionally. He has geeky good looks and flustered easily, stumbling over his words when the conversation turned to sex. I don’t expect what he said is entirely true. I have flashed a few profs in class in my time, mostly for the amusement of the game and the private satisfaction of a successful tease. Occasionally, I have done it commando.

The lecturer told me that of course he fantasized about fucking some of the girls in his classes, his advisees, even a graduate student or two. He was attracted to my ad in part because of my age, the dozen years he has on me, that I am a student, a proxy for the ones he can’t touch, or won’t. He claimed that he would never act on his impulses because it was unethical and possibly even a firing offense. At the universities I have been, it happens, not frequently, but enough that there are rumors and hearsay. Most girls I know have had crushes on a teacher or two. Some are desperate for a grade and will pay any price and bear any burden. Not all professors have scruples.

I wore a loose fitting summery skirt with a tank top and made it a point to keep my legs uncrossed and open. The tops of my thighs showed, but I didn’t flash him. Over drinks in the mid-afternoon, he related his latest conquest in Madrid. He had managed to take a señorita back to his hotel room after Spain’s victory in the semifinals of the World Cup. His voice was higher pitched than usual, faster, and he spoke in a whisper as he recounted the tale. I almost expected him to blush. In my turn, I told him about the outcome of my various ads, the older men that I have been fucking in London. I explained that I was a bad girl who deserved a spanking. We got along.

In his apartment, he opened a bottle of wine for us, pulled up some tangos on iTunes, closed the curtains, and dimmed the lights. I pressed my body against his on the sofa. We made out. The kisses were fierce and sloppy, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for in enthusiasm and hair pulling. I stroked the erection in his shorts while he squeezed my tits through the top.

Bringing me over his lap, he flipped my skirt above the waist and yanked my turquoise underwear down to my knees. Having squeezed skin lotion onto my ass, his hands smoothed over the backs of my thighs and my buttocks. He worked the muscles with his strong fingers, giving them a deep massage. His touch was generous and forceful and pleasurable. It caused my skin to feel warm and tingly.

Clap!

His hand made a loud sound that echoed through the room over the mood music. This unexpected beginning startled me and made me jump in his lap. I touched my hands to the floor and closed my eyes and took a deep breath that I exhaled very slowly. I focused on the sensation in my ass, how the charge rippled through the skin. The friction and the heat of the hands in movement over my skin delighted me. The nerve endings were suddenly alive. Sighing contentment, I kissed the side of his leg above the knee. My weight pressed against his thighs as I settled myself for the spanking he would deliver.

It proceeded slowly. Several times a minute, he brought his right hand down over me. In between, his fingers and his palm rubbed over the curves of the buttocks and thighs. He started the spanking at the fleshy part in the middle of each cheek and alternated between them. Gradually, he worked around to include the downslope of the rump, and the sides, where the ass merges with the hip and the top of the leg, and continued on down to include the back faces of the thighs below. My right side, which was positioned away from his body, received more attention than my left. After the first blow, the subsequent ones did not arrive unforeseen. When the circling motion of the hand was suspended, there was a fractional pause, and I knew that a spank would land in the next instant. I didn’t know exactly where he would strike, but I tilted my ass up in anticipation. I felt goosebumps everywhere as I waited.

This dance continued for the space of several songs. I knew my skin was reddening, but the blows themselves felt like light swats. They stung, rather than hurt. He was pulling his punches.

I needed the spanking to hurt. I wanted to feel it later, deep in my musculature. I was chasing the pleasure that derives from pain. I asked — no, I begged — him to spank me harder.

He obliged.

I closed my eyes and grunted at the blows he delivered. I clenched my teeth and clutched my fist around the leg of his shorts. His hard-on poked against my hip. He stopped when I began to sob, but I told him it was ok, that I was fine, and he kept going. On and on it went.

At one point, I brought my head up and glanced over my shoulder to see how he worked me over. The movement began in his shoulder. His biceps were deceptively powerful, with lines etched in relief. The hand had collapsed into a fist at the top and opened as his arm descended. It reminded me of a pitcher’s windup. He kept throwing his strikes all over the plate. With no obvious pattern to predict, each hit was a surprise. The impact of the hand flat on my buttocks jolted over my skin. It made the flesh shake. The pain was sharp and piercing at the instant of collision, then, as the slap reverberated, it became a diffuse ache that spread through the muscles and nerves. By then the next blow had arrived, and the process repeated. He met my eyes with a feral smile.

I can’t say how long he spanked me. My body shuddered at the punishment he inflicted. By the time he finished, I was lost in an endorphin, adrenalin haze. He held me while I rested on the floor afterwards, leaning back against the sofa, one hand clutched tightly around each of his calves. Except for pinpricks of throbbing, the ass on which I sat was numb. He stroked my hair and made me giggle as he brought the glass of wine to my lips to sip. I stroked my pussy lips and discovered just how sopping wet I was. Turning my head, I noticed the front of his shorts were stained dark, either with my juices, or his own ejaculate. Though I hadn’t realized that I had creamed like that, the former was my suspicion.

We shed our clothes. I wobbled on forearms and knees as he took me from behind. His hands clutched my breasts, and he used them to impale my body onto his prick, which had a substantial girth.

I reveled in the pleasure and encouraged his fantasies along.

“Did you see my panties the other day during lecture? I wore them especially for you. Do you like what was inside them? I like having you inside me.”

“Fuck me, Dr. Williams. Fuck my tight little cunt. I will trade you — my exam grade for your orgasm. What do you say? Isn’t that fair? Isn’t this pussy first class?”

“Spank me while you fuck me. I want you to.”

Before long, my words were incoherent, drowned out by keening. He came moments after I did. After we recovered, he fucked me a second time, again doggy fashion. This time, with lots of lubrication, his cock went into my much abused ass. His fingers played my pussy lips and clit while he thrust inside me, pounding the length in and out of my bowels. Strangely, this fuck was briefer than the first. When he came, he pulled the condom off and shot his whiteness over my buttocks. His hands rubbed the semen into my skin.

I am writing this before bed. I have been home six hours. My ass is red and tender. When I inspected myself in the mirror an hour ago, I noticed a bruise forming on the right cheek. It is about the size of a large coin. I am wearing a pair of light running shorts with nothing underneath and sitting on a package of frozen peas. I squirm in my chair, but there is a broad grin on my face.

Comments»

1. Michael - June 27, 2011

What a fun memory to have!


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