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  1. I am a naughty mid-twenties boy with a fair amount of experience as a bottom and less experience topping. Here is a spanking story I wrote about what I seek as a bottom: Samantha had picked up an agitated, restless Kevin after work, and had to tell him twice to buckle his seat belt. Gliding swiftly in their small, black Mercedes to the meeting they were both nervous about, Kevin would be silent for several minutes, then burst into a torrent of speech, asking questions, making small talk, and basically driving her to distraction, before clamming up again. She loved her husband, no qualifiers, nothing held back, but sometimes the tall, lanky boyish-looking man of forty just needed more attention and discipline than her patience could withstand. She could not have loved him more, but then . . . that was the whole point of this afternoon’s outing. He was brilliant and animated and successful, but privately, his needs were for nurturing and a certain sense of limits and structure. She could, and did, provide all that. But lately, he seemed inattentive and unable to keep to the rules she imposed lovingly, though strictly, and which gave them both a kind of freedom to let go of all the outside pressures of two busy, demanding careers and equally demanding families and social obligations. Moreover, his lovemaking of late had been uncharacteristically less than sensitive and relaxed, and he had developed a real problem with premature ejaculation. Though Kevin was well endowed and had always been a satisfying and unhurried lover, the changes over the last several months had finally become too consistently frustrating to ignore; so they were headed to someone that could help them to put things right . . . Angela Bellin, counselor and therapist, with a reputation for extraordinarily successful, if unorthodox, techniques for making relationships work. The car glided into a wide, paved circular drive in front of a glorious three-story Victorian. As they stepped out of the car, both took in the beautiful bougainvillea climbing over a wood fence 20 yards distant, the burst of yellow roses and the wisteria gracefully reposed over a rock wall in the other direction. The house was classic and lovely, with all the gingerbread and blueberry shutters you could ask for; even an old-fashioned porch swing rocked gently in the breeze as they ascended the wide, inviting steps to a polished mahogany front door. Kevin had become quiet again, and as they waited for someone to answer the melodic tone of the bell, Samantha grasped his hand and smiled. He smiled back, taking a deep breath of the sweet scented air, and the rustic quiet was reassuring to them both. The great door swung open, and they were standing face to face with the woman they came to see. She was tall and elegantly dressed in an amber silk dress, dark shining hair swept up and back in a kind of Gibson Girl fullness that set off her prominent cheek bones and large dark eyes. Her smile was broad and genuine; her voice, gentle and clear as she spoke. “Hello Samantha, Kevin. You’re very prompt, I’m so glad. Please come in.” She ushered them into a wide foyer, and down a long hall, off of which they glimpsed a number of rooms lushly decorated in a traditional period style. The house smelled of cedar and lilac, though it was nearly mid-June, and past the season for lilacs. They walked over thick carpets of burgundy and russet and teal. The brushing of their steps was all there was to disturb the deep quiet of the big house, except for an imposing standing clock with a chaos of black iron works sounding a steady, baritone tick-tock of a heavy pendulum under a filigreed glass body. At the end of the hall, she brought them into a parlor room, clearly built as a conservatory, opening on a startlingly immaculate garden extending perhaps two hundred yards behind the house. There was a view of the valley below, and the late afternoon sun was positioned just far enough to the west to provide a glowing golden cast to the room, without glare or heat. Paneled walls climbed to high domed ceiling; huge, lead glass windowed doors opened on a slate covered lanai. The couple was immediately subdued by the grandeur of the place, contrasting with Dr. Bellin’s easy, unmannered air. “Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable. I’m just going to close these doors so we have complete privacy.” She was certainly a graceful woman, her ample hips swaying sea-like under the rustling silk of her skirts, ending just below the knee. In comparison, Samantha’s rather tailored skirt and blazer seemed out of place in this expansive, plush atmosphere that, with the exception of a few discretely integrated electronics, might have looked very much the same at the turn of the century. Kevin went directly to the over-stuffed maroon sofa, while Samantha chose one of the matching chairs across from it. When the lady of the house turned back, he was just about to sit down. “No Kevin.” He was already bent, but stopped in mid-motion, both of them turning towards her. The light did wonderful things to her silhouette, showing off in relief the body of a very well kept woman of a certain age; maybe late forties, Samantha guessed. Her breasts were quite full, her waist neatly nipped, her broad hips supported above two long, shapely legs. Kevin glanced around, still not sure of what had elicited the admonishment. “Please take the seat next to your wife. I will be sitting on the couch, and I want to be able to see you both.” The doctor finished closing the doors and returned to the place where she would indeed have a full view of the couple. Kevin had sheepishly murmured his apology and moved to the farther chair, now slightly ill at ease for having committed this small faux pas. Dr. Bellin settled on the wide couch with the brush of silk against velvet, smiling. But the smile faded back to a tolerant, if somewhat disapproving, look. “Kevin, I would prefer you to be closer. Could you possibly move here?” She was pointing at a sturdy looking hassock just left of Samantha. Once again he assented abashedly, but raised an eyebrow at being directed to the low taboret, which left his head considerably lower than the two women, and his knees jutting up in front of him. Once he had settled on to it, however, the warm smile again returned to the doctor’s face. “Now then, Samantha, would you care for some tea?” There was a full tea service of bone china and silver laid out on the table at the far end of the ensemble, the smell of steeping orange and cinnamon just beginning to permeate the room. “No, thank you. Not right now.” Samantha reached out and laid a hand on her husband’s head, as if to say ‘it’s all right’, and he pushed back toward her, resting his back against her leg. “Very well. I think I’ll take a spot.” Never so much as glancing at Kevin, she rose once more and poured herself a cup of rich, brown liquid, which puttered into the dainty floral demitasse. “I know you have spent an inordinate amount of time on the forms I had you complete, and I have made a thorough examination of all of your responses, but I have found it’s so much better to begin by verbalizing your concerns to me directly.” She returned and spread her large frame languorously over the soft fabric, as if settling in for a good story, smiling all the time at Samantha. “Uh . . . would you mind if I had a cup of tea? It smells delicious.” Kevin spoke up more in an effort to be included than in any special need for refreshment. When she met his eyes, though she never dropped the smile, he wished he hadn’t. “I never serve liquids to the subject before treatment, Kevin. It might lead to accidents, and we wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” Without waiting for a response, she returned her attention to Samantha. “Now Samantha, please tell me what led you to call me.” Kevin turned and threw a quizzical look at his wife, who was engaged by the therapist’s question, and happy not to have to explain to her confused partner why this woman he had never met was treating him this way. Had he known before, he would never have come. Angela Bellin had been recommended by Samantha’s closest and dearest friend, Karen. Karen was also a therapist, in Chicago, and knew all the intimate secrets of Samantha’s life since junior high school. Sam’s marital relations were no exception. No one knew Samantha better than Karen, and Karen had urged her friend strenuously and relentlessly to pay the exorbitant fee her colleague would charge for a session . . . “She’s way off the center, as far as the profession is concerned, but her results are remarkable. I know personally of more than half a dozen couples who tell me they owe their marriages to her. Some of them traveled across the entire country to get to her. Two others I know of were rejected . . . her schedule is full, and she’s very selective about who she sees. I know I can help you get an appointment, and you’re half an hour away. If you’re unhappy, Samantha, it’s worth the money . . . she believes in the same things we do. She’ll help you get Kevin back to a space where you can go on, and build the life you want together.” After long consideration and debate, Samantha agreed to the $1700 initial session fee and the copious forms that accompanied the request for an appointment. She wanted to call the doctor, discuss the situation and the treatment procedure before the meeting, but it was not allowed. The doctor did confer with her briefly by e-mail, but mostly to ask her for more detailed information on certain questions from the form, and to reassure her that she would do everything in her power to help Samantha find the solution she was looking for. If it had not been for Karen’s prodding, she might never have gone through with it. But they had come this far, and she could only trust and go forward. “Well . . .” Samantha began tenuously, patting Kevin’s shoulder in an effort to bolster his confidence in a more and more uncomfortable situation. “Kevin turn around please. Your wife is trying to concentrate and speak to me.” Dr. Bellin’s tone was now distinctly maternal and disapproving, and Kevin did turn, about to reply less than agreeably. But Samantha’s quick squeeze on his shoulder told him to remain silent, and with some difficulty, he retreated to a sulky silence. “Dr. Bellin, I love my husband very much . . . “ “Of course you do, my dear. He’s attractive and apparently quite intelligent. From your responses, I’d say he’s quite a catch. But I need to hear from you about your problems. I can assure you now that the premature ejaculation is only a symptom of other, more pressing and deeply rooted imbalances. That’s where we need to work, though I think by the end of today’s session you will be able to control Kevin’s sexual dysfunction, even if he can’t.” Kevin’s eyes popped open along with the drop of his jaw, and his body tensed. Again he prepared to speak, to demand to know what this was all about, how this woman could know about his most private affairs, but he was, again, stopped before he could make himself heard. “Now wait a minute here . . .” “Kevin you will not interrupt again.” Dr. Bellin’s voice was sterner than ever. “Little men who interrupt when people are trying to have a serious conversation get what’s coming to them in a very painful and immediate way. Samantha isn’t the only one who can attend to your bottom, as you will find out. Now hush and be good, or I’ll see that you do.” Kevin was nonplused. He was a Harvard graduate. He was a Mendelsohn Award winner. He was a fully functioning adult with money in the bank. But suddenly, adding to the extremely short list of people who could talk to him this way, . . . his wife and his mother . . . he found this formidable figure in buttery silk had relieved him of his dignity and brought on an involuntary inner trembling that always accompanied the threat of a spanking from a woman who could back it up. His mother had instilled that response from earliest childhood, and it crippled him now, leaving him unable to muster the retort he had had on the tip of his tongue. As the doctor skewered him with a look, she went on, “Please continue, Samantha. Our little Kevin will not interject again. When was the last time you gave him a really good spanking, bare bottomed over your knee?” Samantha, too, was a bit taken back, but she had the advantage of knowing just how the doctor got her information. “About four months ago. He’s been over my knee a number of times since, of course, but . . . it was in February when he got his last serious punishment.” “I see,” the doctor leaned back in the pliant padding now, seeing Kevin redden and drop his eyes to the floor. “Well, I’d very much like to hear about it. No details too small.” “We were at a dinner for a colleague of mine. I was giving a speech. Kevin didn’t really know anybody there very well, and he gravitated to a woman who . . . well, she was brought by one of the junior partners and she was not really an appropriate guest for an event of this kind. I mean she was dressed badly . . . very . . . revealingly, and she was drinking too much. Anyway, I found Kevin hanging on her every word, and staring at her . . . breasts . . .” Samantha began to betray a tone which told the therapist that she had begun to react emotionally to the memory. Everything was going fine now. “ . . . And when I checked him, he had an erection.” “Where did you take him to check him?” The doctor was watching a simmering Kevin and a mildly angry Samantha interact almost unconsciously, communicating through the touch of Kevin’s back to her knee, through their more rapid breath, through a transparent wall of silence. “I pulled him away from her and took him upstairs to a restroom.” “A ladies room?” “Yes. It was away from the crowd downstairs, and empty. I took him into a stall and made him pull down his pants. He had a raging hard on, and still tried to defend himself. He maintained adamantly that he wasn’t embarrassing himself with that tramp.” “He claimed he was not in control of the erection.” Dr. Bellin stated this as fact, and when Kevin glanced up, she was giving him an accusatory look. “Did you spank him right there in the little girl’s room?” “No . . . well, I started to, but I laid it on pretty heavy, and his squalling attracted some unwanted attention. So we left, and I put him across my lap when we got home and paddled his fanny till he couldn’t sit down, literally. He called in sick and we nursed his bottom all the next day.” “Can you describe to me exactly how you administered the punishment, starting from the time you pulled into the driveway . . . I assume you drove?” “Yes, and I made Kevin pull his pants down in the car, once we had pulled away, so that we could both see his erection and so that it would remind him why he was about to be spanked.” “Very good, Samantha. Go on.” Kevin was squirming on the hassock now, uncomfortable in every way possible. A deep shade of pink from the hairline down, he could no longer meet the doctor’s eyes, though he felt the heat of her gaze on him. “I pulled him out of the car, and he walked, pants down, from the garage all the way upstairs Or maybe I should say he trotted . . . I was warming his behind all the way up, and he couldn’t very well run with his underwear at half-mast. I had pretty well warmed him by the time he got to the bedroom, and I left him to take off his tux while I changed into something I could move freely in. He stood by the bed in his tee shirt with his underwear down waiting for me till came back in. He was lectured and spanked for half an hour and stood in the corner.” “And the erection?” “Gone when I came back from the bathroom.” “I see. And when he was allowed out of the corner?” Samantha stopped and thought. Quizzically, Samantha replied, “It was back. He tried to hide it, but when I went to cool his bottom with lotion, it was back. Not as firm, but it was definitely there.” “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. And the spanking . . . did you use anything besides your hand?” The doctor’s tone was imperceptibly softening, coaxing just under the professional demeanor. “As I said in the forms, I usually spank by hand, unless he needs an especially hard lesson. Kevin has grown to respect my hand, but he just hates the paddle . . . “ “That would be the leather implement you refer to as “Black Mariah”, yes?” The doctor was studying Kevin very closely now, though he was absorbed in the carpet and growing redder in the face every moment. “That’s right. He’s . . . rather tender . . . behind, you know. And Black Mariah takes no prisoners. He had refused to admit that he’d been terribly naughty, continued to defend his juvenile behavior, right up to the time I told him to go and get her . . .” “She’s kept where?” Kevin let out a long audible sigh, wincing at this question as if he were going to be forced to get the hated paddle any moment. Angela smiled at this, and looked up brightly at Samantha, who was now looking down at Kevin archly. The tone in Samantha’s voice had taken on a scolding quality, and the counselor felt that the she was seeing first hand what went on between them behind tightly closed doors. “She stays in the bottom drawer of the dresser unless Kevin is promised an extra sound, naughty boy spanking. Then she is placed on the table beside the bed, where he can see her, until spanking time comes.” “And so you told him to get Black Mariah . . . “ “Yes, he had to go to the dresser and bring her back to me. I had warmed him enough to start right in with quite hard smacks from the start. I had his fanny red as a rose in ten minutes. Then I alternated between Mariah and my hand till Kevin saw his mistake clearly. He . . .” Samantha paused, a little regretful, remembering the condition of her husband’s severely punished posterior, “. . . he was crying like a baby, and his bottom was blue when I finished with him. He doesn’t normally need that much . . . correction. I guess I was pretty angry and he was being so stubborn, and I didn’t want a repeat of an incident like that. So Kevin got his bottom spanked harder than maybe it should have been that night. As a rule, I would have just extended his punishment over a week or two. I never wanted to cause real damage . . . I love him so much. I know he needs what I give him, but I . . .” Samantha paused, looking very much as though she might shed a tear, her summer-meadow blond hair falling around her face, and her prominent breasts rising and falling noticeably, in a quick succession of shallow breaths. “Yet he was aroused when you took him from the corner.” The doctor had the information she needed, and began to lead her emotionally charged clients to their ultimate destination. Again, Samantha seemed perplexed. “Yes . . . yes, he was. I guess I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Kevin is often . . . aroused, after he’s spanked. He was in some serious pain, but . . . I guess I was more concerned about the condition I’d put his fanny in than . . . what was going on in front that night.” “Then you didn’t make love.” “Oh, no. He could barely walk, and slept on his tummy with no blanket for two nights.” “When did you make love again, do you remember?” Kevin’s brow was knit, half pouting and half embarrassingly curious about where all this was headed. Samantha thought hard about the question this commanding presence had posed to her, feeling herself being led to some already-determined conclusion, though she didn’t yet know what it was. “I . . . suppose it was several days later. It must have been. The dinner was on a Thursday night. Kevin was home with his sore bottom on Friday. We both went to work on Monday . . . could have been Tuesday or Wednesday.” “It was Friday.” Kevin said it quietly, but certainly, not looking up at either of the women who were so absorbed in recounting the mortifyingly vivid details of his well remembered blistering. He squirmed on the hassock, shifting his long legs awkwardly, like a sullen child, jumping on the opportunity to enlighten the grown-ups who thought they knew so much. Angela slipped into a wide smile now, turning her whole attention to the boy-man who was clearly longing to be given his due. She could proceed with him now . . . it was time to work her magic. “That was a long time, wasn’t it, Kevin?” She might have been speaking to a six-year-old. “Yes.” “And Samantha tells me you like to make love frequently. Was your bottom too sore for a whole week?” “No.” “Then why didn’t you make love before that Friday?” “She wouldn’t let me.” Samantha began to protest. “He was purple as a plum for days . . .” The doctor stopped her, waving her silently off as Kevin stared down at the carpet in a full-on pout. “And that was like more punishment, wasn’t it, Kevin?” “Yes.” “And you had to hold on a long time, didn’t you?” Now Kevin was bursting to tell his side of the story. Shooting his eyes up to the handsome older woman’s serene face, poised in real anticipation of his response, he broke into one of his torrents, words spilling out childishly. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong at that party, and that girl was feeling so out of place, and embarrassed, I just wanted to try to make her feel a little better. It wasn’t my fault she was pouring out of her dress! I was just talking to her, and I didn’t know anybody else to talk to, and she wasn’t all that bad. She wasn’t brilliant, but she was nice. And Sammie just hauled me off and made me go into the stall in the ladies room . . . if she didn’t want to be embarrassed, why did she have to take me into the ladies room? And she jerked my pants down and spanked me when I couldn’t help what my peter was doing. I yelled because she was spanking me so hard I couldn’t help it. And then I got spanked because I yelled. And I got spanked and scolded because somebody heard me. Was that my fault? And then she wouldn’t listen to a thing I had to say, and made me get Black Mariah and I hate that thing, and she knows it, but she didn’t care, she just whaled on my bare bottom until I had to cry and say I was sorry and then she paddled me some more, until I thought I was never going to be able to stand up, let alone sit down.. And then I had to stand in the corner when my bottom felt like it was about to burst, it was so hot and so stingy . . .” Kevin was close to tears and they all knew it. The doctor spoke as soothingly as a mother to a baby. “Your Sammie spanked you much too hard for all the things you just couldn’t help doing, didn’t she, sweetie?” Kevin hung his head, trying to regain some control. “I suppose so.” “Just like you can’t help spurting your peter before Sammie is ready when you make love now?” Samantha and Kevin looked up at the same time at the finely wrought face of the counselor, now smiling gently from her eyes at both of them. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. “Come over here Kevin.” Kevin rose slowly and tentatively, his legs a little shaky from being folded up for so long. He crossed to her apprehensively, not sure what was to come next. When he came close enough for her to touch, Angela reached out and took his hand, gently pulling him down to sit on the couch beside her. She put her arm around his broad shoulders, which rounded to accommodate her comforting gesture, while Samantha watched intently from the chair. She guided his head to lay on her shoulder, and he made no attempt to protest. Resting her cheek against his soft, boyishly full hair, she held him close, and his cheek pushed into the ivory pillow of her breast, his eyes closing sleepily, and his nostrils flaring to inhale the scent of lilacs that clung to the butterscotch silk and satiny skin. They were the picture of mother-son closeness, and Samantha felt a twinge of jealousy, wanting at that moment more than anything to be the one who held her little boy-man to her. But she didn’t move, waiting to see where the famously eccentric Dr. Bellin would lead them. “Sometimes little boys just can’t help the things their peters do, can they, Kevin?” “No . . .” came the response, in a soft tenor voice. “But sometimes, little boys need to be helped to keep their darling peters from getting them into bad, bad trouble. Sammie just wanted to keep her little boy from getting himself all caught up in a situation he couldn’t even see was dangerous. Because naughty young girls who wear dresses that show everything they’ve got may seem nice, but they’re not really nice. They know that well-meaning boys like our Kevin will feel sorry for them and try to help them, but they really just want to do bad things to our little boy. So sometimes it seems as though Sammie is being mean, but she loves her little man so very much … she only spanks your bare bottom because she wants to keep you safe and sound and show you when you’ve done wrong. And we have to take special care of willies that don’t behave, even when little boys try hard to keep them from doing what they know they shouldn’t. Black Mariah lives in the big bottom drawer to help Sammie paddle the very last bit of naughtiness from Kevin’s sweet fanny so that he can be the best little boy in the world, and behave himself and make his Sammie very proud of him.” “I hate that Black Mariah.” Kevin was six years old again, and the ever-so-slight whine in his voice betrayed a softness that even made Samantha’s territorial imperative recede, acquiescing to the surrogate nurturing of the beautiful Dr. Bellin. “I know. Black Mariah makes your bottom sting like fire, doesn’t she?” “Yes she does!” Kevin retorted, sulkily. “But little boy bottoms just have to be paddled when they insist on being stubborn and sassy. And so little boys find other ways to make their Sammie sorry, like letting their little fuddlepumpers go squirt when they ought to wait, don’t they, darling?” Kevin thought long and hard before he spoke up. He knew he would be admitting to being a bad boy, but he also knew this mommy-like protector was soft and loving and wonderful when he was being cooperative and telling the truth. “Sometimes. But sometimes I just can’t help it.” Angela’s hand, that had been stroking his cheek and rubbing his arm, now slid without warning to an undeniable bulge nestled in the crotch of Kevin’s straw-colored trousers. He started slightly, as if being caught in a naughty secret, but the expert fingers of the counselor quickly kneaded the chubby bump to a warm surrender. Kevin pushed up slightly toward her curved fingers, as Samantha watched uneasily from a few feet away. “Aunt Angela is going to help to Kevin break that very bad habit, and be Sammie’s best little boy in the world again. We’re all going to work very hard and help this willie behave itself so Kevin doesn’t have to be spanked with Black Mariah anymore. Would you like that, Kevie?” Kevin knew instinctively he was likely to be sorry a good while before he was happy about what was to take place, but he forced himself to nod bravely, his cheek rubbing against the fleshy breast and caressing sheath of silk around it. “Good boy. Now we’re going to have to take those trousers down in order to get to the bottom of things here. So I want you to stand up and put your arms out nice and wide so Auntie Angela can get you ready for your first lesson. Can you do that for me, Kevie?” Kevin reluctantly sat up, looking into the eyes of the woman who had beguiled him into this six-year-old passivity. But before he stood, he looked across to Samantha, who was fixed on the scene playing out in front of her. She forced the barest hint of a smile and nodded to him. He stood and pivoted to place himself within Angela’s reach, raising his arms in the posture of a child to be undressed. The doctor wasted no time in making her examination . . . she had his belt unbuckled and his fly down in seconds, and worked the pants down over his round boyish bottom to his knees. Smiling up at him, every inch the proud mama, she reached around and cupped his cheeks momentarily before insinuating her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and easing them down around the jutting fanny and taut erection. Her face was only inches from a very long, steel hard penis that twitched and bobbed from the exposure. His face suddenly contorted and went red, his eyes closing, and his hands made a grab for his excited member. “Oh, oh . . . I think I’m going to have an accident right now!” he whined, trying to cover the opening on the tip like a tot holding back his water. Like lightening, the doctor’s hands shot up and spanked his hands away, lightly slapping the tender corona with the tips of her fingers, as well. Surprised and shocked, Kevin’s hands flew away, and before he could move, Angela braced against his stomach with one hand, landing half a dozen rapid, crisp smacks to his unprotected bottom. Kevin’s hands immediately flew to the burning cheeks. “Oww, oww, oww, owww,” he responded, half in astonished pain, half in angry resentment at the surprise attack to his vulnerable bottom. “No accidents today, young man,” the doctor warned, looking up at his contorted features. “And no hands where they don’t belong. Little boys who can’t keep their peters from gushing are not allowed to touch unless they have permission. You have two seconds to take yours hands off that bottom or Auntie Angela will get her own Black Mariah out and you’ll be riding home on your tummy in the back seat.” Kevin didn’t hesitate to raise his arms once again, but he glowered down at her, betrayed by the woman who had made him trust her utterly only moments before. Once he complied, Angela reached around once more and rubbed the stinging fanny gently, her face softening. “That’s better. We’re going to be just fine, when you learn to be a good boy and do as you’re told. Now Auntie Angela is going to give you your first lesson in self-control, little man. It’s going to sting this saucy bottom, but it’s also going to feel very, very nice when we’re finished. And little boys who do well at their lesson will be rewarded with lots and lots of practice. Little boys who squirm and fret will get extra lessons in what bottoms were made for. Do we understand each other?” Kevin knew, pants tangled around his legs and vulnerable parts in easy reach, he was in no position to argue the point. “Yes.” “Yes, Auntie Angela,” she corrected. “Yes . . . Auntie Angela.” “Very good, Kevin. Now let’s get you over my knee where we can begin our lesson.” With this, she gingerly slid the sheeny silk up to the very top of her full thighs, exposing milky white skin and long black garters. She forcibly pulled him over, careful to arrange his still bone-hard member between the pliant flesh of her thighs, and raise his round fanny to a plump peak over lap. It was only then that she turned her attention to Samantha, who had looked on with a crazy quilt of emotional responses at the events that had just taken place. “Now Samantha, I should point out several things before we go on. First of all, Kevin’s problem with control, whether you know it or not, is a kind of unconscious denial and defiance of your authority. He is testing you, seeming to be at a loss to stop his body from responding. Yet, at his age, it takes a certain amount of concentration to achieve what appears to be a natural, hapless reaction. As you just witnessed, it is a simple matter to adjust his concentration by swatting his bottom, or occasionally a sharp tap to the tender bits of his mechanism, until he minds. I daresay, if you learn the signs, you will be in complete control of his ejaculations, and will be able to keep him erect for virtually any length of time, if you follow my instructions.” Without warning, the counselor’s hand gave the upturned bottom another four open-handed smacks, two on each quivering cheek, eliciting a pain-laden howl from the helpless Kevin. “Don’t you think I can feel those little urgings between my thighs, young man? You don’t fool me for a second. One more stunt like that, and I’ll personally spank this bottom like it’s never been spanked in your life, and you’ll still take your lesson today, if means you don’t wear pants for a week.” Angela returned her attention to Samantha, calm and clinical, as before. “Now, first you must see to it that he does not touch himself, ever, unless he is in your presence and has your permission. You must bath him daily to keep him from masturbating in the shower, as little boys are wont to do . . .” With this, her avenging hand cracked the bottom in front of her soundly, twice, and Kevin groaned with a childish wiggle. “And it will be necessary to diaper him every morning before work, and for any period during which you cannot supervise his potty habits. I have a powder to put on him that will show any evidence of touching or rubbing, even after he wets. This will be a big adjustment for both of you, but if consistently maintained, you will be able to train him in time to go potty by himself without your overseeing him. And I have quite a list of special punishments for little boys who play naughty games with their tinklers.” The capable Dr. Bellin directed the next comment to her trembling captive. “Punishments that start with little ginger surprises in a naughty boy’s bottom, and go all the way to spankings that will make Black Mariah look like a limp noodle.” Another torrent of smacks, unmerciful in their ferocity, brought Kevin to his first tears, as much from the frustration of his powerlessness as the wasp-stinging licks on his now-pink and prickly heinie. “Kevin will come, so to speak, to equate orgasm with you and only you, and you must be firm and judicious in the beginning about how many are allowed, until he has settled into a comfortable routine. Variations are of course possible, but in the beginning, you might want to limit his release to each three of your own. Or to certain nights, but only if he has performed satisfactorily on nights when he is not allowed to climax. Please be assured that this is in no way cruel. By limiting his orgasms, he will experience a tremendous increase in the power and sensation of the orgasms he is allowed to have as a reward for obedience and observance of your rules. “Spankings will need to be immediate and unmitigated for any misbehavior, even small infractions of the rules. I also recommend a good deal of cuddling and petting and praise for mastering himself and being the good boy we all want him to be.” Angela’s hand now stroked the boyish backside, patting gently and sending a tremor of pleasure through Kevin’s prostrate form. “He is, after all, a sensitive boy, who needs a great deal of attention and love. It will be this kind of attention that will ultimately turn him around; certainly no less than the bottom-scorchings that he will need for some time to come. Now let’s see what we can accomplish here today. Will you come here and sit beside me, Samantha?” Sam had been as mesmerized by the good doctor’s voice and commanding presence as much as Kevin had been, and moving toward her was like a waking dream. But Samantha soon found herself sitting by the imposing figure that clasped a pink-bottomed Kevin over her lush lap. “Now today, we will work on concentration and attention. Kevin is still quite erect between my thighs, but not so much as he had been. I can control this aspect to a fine point by the way I fondle, stroke and spank, of course, but you must always be aware of movement or manipulation on his part. Any attempt by him to take control, even to the smallest extent, and the spanking must tell him, without question, that you can take his erection away in less than thirty seconds. I will show you where and how to spank these cute little cheeks to get the maximum and swiftest response possible. And with any show of deliberate defiance, and you must use Black Mariah immediately. I would take her out and leave her out, available for any spanking at any time, until Kevin is ready to accept what he must do to please you both.” Kevin seemed be growing restless, his head having hung down at the level of their ankles for some time. Angela landed the occasional unexpected spank to keep him attentive, but it was time to move to the central point of this very unusual lesson. “Samantha, would you mind removing your panties now? We should be getting on it.” “Remove my . . . ?” “Yes, dear, it’s necessary for you to remove your panties now so that Kevin can practice his concentration exercise with his tongue on your lovely clitoris. Please don’t dawdle . . . time is going, and we have other business to attend to this afternoon.” The two women stared for a moment into each other’s eyes; it was Samantha who blinked. A little hesitatingly, but without further question, Samantha rose and modestly tucked her hands up under her narrow skirt, working the white lace French cut panties down her legs, and with a nod from the doctor, off over feet. She sat down again, easing the dark skirt up as she did. With very little effort, Dr. Bellin adjusted to allow Kevin’s head to rest between his wife’s luscious upper legs, her flesh cupping his face. With that, a forty-minute session ensued; Kevin’s bottom was spanked to a bright, throbbing red while he lapped at the pliant folds exposed to his wiggling tongue. Several times, when his misguided member threatened to explode with creamy delight, he was pulled a few inches back from the fragrant crevice, and spanked quite howlingly by his dubious benefactress. He received a number of flailing finger whips between his hot swollen hillocks when he did not adhere to Samantha’s specific directions for his tongue movement. In this way, Kevin had the daunting task of controlling his errant pleasure, pleasing his wife’s ever-creamier cunny and withstanding the constant, always effective smacks of the intimidating Dr. Bellin, who stopped to caress and praise each time Kevin followed a direction especially well or gave his wife a small, pulsing release. Nonetheless, after nearly three-quarters of an hour, he was an exhausted, extremely well spanked little boy, who was finally allowed to jet into a soft tea towel, coaxed by the smooth cool hand of Samantha. “You won’t get a treat like that every time, young man,” Dr. Bellin warned, as she wiped him with a moist cloth, his arms outspread as he had been taught. “We will have several weeks of endurance training where you will be limited to one gushy in a week’s time. And when you misbehave, you’ll take all your training on your plump bottom.” Kevin was too tremblingly satisfied at that moment to realize just what he was in for, and how his life would be changed ever afterward. He was near to relieved when he was sent to kneel on a soft padded chair on the far side of the room, glowing bottom presented in the most comely, childish fashion. Samantha, rather overwhelmed herself with the strenuous and challenging events of this most unusual afternoon, went to get her bag, pawing through it to find her checkbook and give the doctor her due. While Angela had taken care of Kevin’s ablutions, she had discretely pulled her panties back up under her skirt, and composed herself . . . perhaps it had been her embarrassment at her own exposure that had kept her two orgasms limited to a modest level of pleasurable expression. She was now somewhat restless and feeling off balance, a bit anxious to get Kevin in the car and head home, where she could mull this experience over and attempt to put the ramifications of these prescribed lifestyle changes in perspective. But when Angela saw what Samantha was doing, she moved to her side. “We’re not finished here, Samantha. I want you to sit down for a moment.” Taking her hand, Angela led the younger woman to that inviting maroon couch which had supported so many goings-on over the last two hours. Sitting, Angela did not let Samantha’s hand go, but held it warmly between both of hers. She gazed so intently into Sammie’s face, the yellow-haired woman found herself feeling acutely self-conscious and unable to find words. “It’s been a long afternoon for you, hasn’t it, Samantha?” “Yes, I suppose you could say that.” Angela continued to study Sam’s face, smiling in that comforting, motherly way. “And we’ve spent a very long time concentrating on Kevin and his needs. But I think Samantha has some needs of her own that should be addressed before we end today’s session.” Angela reached forward to lift Samantha’s chin, guiding her necessarily to meet the counselor’s eyes. “Oh I’m alright. Just a little . . . tired. But Kevin took care of me nicely, and I’m ready to go home and get a good night’s sleep.” “Those aren’t the needs to which I was referring . . . “The doctor stroked the plane of Sam’s lovely face softly. “I think there’s someone else here who could use a little tender loving care over my knee this afternoon.” Samantha’s eyes flew open in an immediate panic. She was incredulous that Dr. Bellin would even suggest such a thing. But before she could respond, Angela placed a long slender finger against the two parted lips opposite her. “Now, now, I know you think of yourself as quite the independent young woman, and you certainly have a way with Kevin. He’s quite a handful in the best of circumstances. But I also know that you have guilts and uncertainties and dilemmas that have become pretty heavy to handle all by yourself. You lost both your parents, didn’t you? Yes, I read that in your file. I think we need to have a special time together in the other room. I won’t spank you in front of Kevin. We’ll do it privately, where you can let go of everything and we can free you for a little while, Sammie, from all the heavy responsibilities of being Kevin’s wife and Kevie’s Sammie and all the things you are to all the people who need you. ” Samantha felt a flush of embarrassment and confusion flood the vessels of her face. She was not prepared to go into this . . . she was far too close to the edge after everything that had happened that day. She began to shake her head, but once again, the counselor cut in. “Oh yes, it’s been a good long time since Sammie had a chance to let go and cry and be forgiven for everything. I can see it in your eyes, little miss. And I’ve been doing this a very long time. Come . . .” Angela stood up, pulling on Samantha’s hand. “No . . . no, I . . . I can’t . . . I mean I just couldn’t . . .” Sammie’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, aware that Kevin was only a few yards away. “Of course you can. I’ll help you. You’ll be there in just a minute. And before you know it, it will be happening, and your mind will clear . . .” Angela was tugging Sammie to her feet. But most surprising, Sammie was rising, pulling away and resisting, but allowing the larger woman to coerce her, physically and emotionally to stand and move toward the door of the room. Every step a struggle, every moment a painful bit closer to something that Samantha had never considered possible . . . not since her mother had last switched her before becoming ill when Sammie was ten. By inches, by memories, Angela moved Sammie out through the door and back down the whisper quiet hall, with Sammie murmuring, “No . . . no . . . please . . . no,” all the way to the unexpected rendezvous. The conversation between the women was aggravatingly inaudible to Kevin, who was aware that something odd was being said, but couldn’t quite make out what Samantha was trying to avoid. It took several minutes after kneeling on the big chair, face still moistened with tears, for him to become aware of anything but the tightly swollen cheeks of his tender backside. But gradually, the soft lilting whine of Samantha’s quiet protest pricked his mischievous ears. When the sound faded, after the women left the room, he slowly . . . very slowly . . . dared to turn. Almost imperceptibly at first, he shifted his body till he could see that the couch was empty. His first act of defiance was to rub his cherry-cheeked bottom, wiggling it furiously, easing the hot needles that still prickled madly. But he wasted no time, after easing the smarting bubble, scampering to the door and tiptoeing down the hall to a mahogany panel door, where he could detect muffled voices. Quickly dropping to his knees once again, he peered through the rather large keyhole. He could hardly believe what he saw there. It was the most delicate and beautiful pas de deux he could imagine. The tall, stately figure of the counselor, buttery silk flowing over her full shapely body, approaching the smaller, but equally rounded Samantha with the grace and infinite slowness of a tiger, sure of its prey but playing out the artful grace of the capture. He had never seen his wife seem so fragile, so childlike, her wispy golden hair catching the light and illuminating a face that was all big eyes glowing. Samantha’s body was drawn back, shoulders raised and arched, but her feet were steadfast in their places on the berry red carpet. It was as if they were undersea, moving in tandem, the larger figure insinuating herself forward, the smaller easing away, shifting back, turning, but losing ground every moment. Constantly the mellifluous voice of Angela Bellin cooed and coaxed, Circe-like, singing her trembling victim to the inevitable reckoning. “Come now, Samantha . . . you know this is the very best thing for you, don’t you dear? . . . We won’t be a fussy, difficult little girl, will we? . . . No, no . . . it will all be over very soon, if you’ll just take my hand now . . . you’ll feel ever so much better after we take care of you . . . even big, grown-up girls like Samantha need to be reminded how a well-spanked little bottom can ease all the pent-up naughtiness . . . all the guilt over paddling her Kevin too harshly, and all the hard, unladylike pretense of the office will just melt away with every spank . . . it’s been too long since you’ve had this lesson, my little dove . . . your mommy knew how to take care of her saucy little girl . . . let me be your mommy now . . . come on, Sammie . . . my knee is just the place for you to do some very important and necessary learning . . . bottoms like yours need their spankings . . . Mommy will see to everything . . . no more whimpering now . . . you will not leave this room until your sweet fanny is bright red, so you might just as well come to Mommy right now . . . that’s right, lamb . . . come to Mommy . . . “ Kevin watched the dance in rapt fascination, watched them circle, saw his stern teacher seducing the capable woman who had punished him so thoroughly over the years of their marriage into a kind of childish vulnerability, his very own state of grace. Inch by subtle inch, Angela grew closer to Samantha, holding out her hand gracefully, fingers stroking the air as if drawing an invisible cord, pulling Samantha ever nearer. Sammie was teary-eyed now, softly mewing, ‘no . . . no’ over and over again, but never trying to bolt, never once standing up to the woman in righteous indignation. And finally, after an infinitely slow prelude, the main act began. Angela was at last able to extend her long, supple arm, and with a quick thrust, catch Samantha’s wrist, locking her fingers around it like a vice. Only then did the fair mistress pull away in earnest, but it was too late. Dr. Bellin pulled Samantha to her easily, smiling that self-satisfied smile, sure now of what was to come. Samantha looked terrified, her eyes glistening, as she squirmed in the doctor’s firm embrace, whimpering all the time. “That’s my good girl, that’s my angel . . .” Angela was pulling Sammie to the place where she would do the only thing that could be done . . . a richly patterned chaise, trimmed in scrolling polished cherry wood. Though Sammie seemed to be exerting all her strength, in the arms of Dr. Bellin, there would be no escape. It was only a few steps to the plush, languorous lounge, and in a few moments, they sank down together upon it. Sammie was drawn, wriggling across the whispering silk, and Angela wasted no time in arranging her deftly, advancing the skirts up over generous thighs as she did. Samantha’s skirt was another matter. It was fitted snugly and the plump squirming bottom just beneath did not yield easily to the tugging of the fabric up past lacy stocking tops and over white satin panties. With some effort, however, the determined doctor was holding a round, quivering bottom firmly in place over her lap. The panties had ridden up to reveal a jiggling mound of pale flesh, and Kevin, now squeezing a pulsing organ between his legs, saw his wife’s comely assets stroked lovingly by the hand which had so thoroughly tanned his heinie just a little while before. “There now, that’s better.” The voice was all honey, and the counselor’s face serene as she gazed admiringly at the jutting bottom. “We’re going to give this naughty bottom a good deal of attention, my sweet Samantha. It’s been waiting for this moment for a very long time, and I’m going to give it everything it deserves. A fine, round white fanny is the most appealing thing in the world, and you, little girl, have a lovely, spankable bottom. Now don’t fret, angel. This will be hard, but fair. I’ll warm you over panties first, then we’ll get to the real business at hand. I’m going to give you something you’ll remember a long, long time.” And with that, a new dance began, as Angela Bellin commenced a profound transformation that had Sammie squirming in less than two minutes. The cheeks took on a blush, and then bloomed to rosy red, making her satiny bottom look like a lacy valentine, and turned the mature, professional woman into a wiggling girlish imp. Only after some six or seven minutes of gentle scolding and increasingly crisp smacks to the bountiful posterior, did the good doctor slip away the scanty covering, sliding her right leg over the back of Sammie’s knees as she did. With that, a much more vigorous round of spanks began to rain down, until Samantha could not resist her tears another second, and burst full out in sobs. Instead of relenting, Angela’s pummeling hand chastised the upturned bottom with greater fury, never letting up on the scolding and banter, spanking the answers to her questions out of the wailing Sammie. Kevin was keeping time with the resounding spats, until, in a prodigious gush and shuttering cry, he gave up the warm creamy juices of his rock hard sex, losing consciousness of the scene for almost a minute. His attention returned just in time to see the last five, bubble juddering blows to Samantha’s fiery effulgent hind quarters. She wept like a baby now, as Angela’s relentless hand turned to soft, comforting caresses, her voice soothing and babying her now completely submissive charge. Kevin thought sure, however, for just a moment, he saw the doctor look directly at the keyhole, with an imperious scowl, returning immediately to the trembling red flesh before her, and the gradually quieting Sammie, lying docilely over her lap. Tearing himself away, Kevin scurried down the hall as soundlessly as he had come, and found the tea towel, which had wiped away his semen earlier. Rushing back, breathless, he wiped away the dripping remains of his climax from the door and rug below, unable to stop himself from one more peek through the tiny window. Angela was cradling Sammie in her arms now, throbbing red bottom still exposed and suspended between the counselor’s full white thighs. Sammie had her arms around Angela’s neck, and Kevin thought he heard her murmuring “Mommy . . . oh, Mommy . . .” as the older woman stroked her hair and cambered back, whispering in her ear. Kevin knew he had to take his place on the chair again, sensing that that he might be discovered at any moment. He crept back quietly, still bewildered at a sight he never dreamed he would ever see. In a little while, the rustling amber silk of the Dr. Bellin’s skirts told him he was no longer alone. He tensed briefly, as he could detect her breathing behind him, but waited to hear her speak. Nothing. Suddenly, his bottom cheeks were assaulted ruthlessly by a hand he knew; a dozen very smart, cutting smacks cracked across his fanny and he yowled as newly tender flesh set to burning wildly. Then a moment . . . a long moment of impending silence as the renewed fire penetrated his sensitive flesh. He didn’t dare look, or make a sound, but he knew instinctively that she was not finished. A strong hand pressed his belly into the back of the chair to secure him from avoiding what was to come even a little. Like the whisper of wings, he heard a swish through the air, and in a heartbeat, the full lower rounds of his throbbing buttocks were cut by a continuous line of instantaneous and searing pain. His gasp choked back a cry from his throat, as the pain intensified, melting deep into his quivering nates, like a thin seam of butter crackling as it hits a white hot frying pan. The counselor’s hand commanded his body to remain stationary, as another momentary swish presaged a strike to the furrow between his thighs and the swell of a now tense and trembling bottom. It was worse for the tension, and the prolonged sustain of the tenuous ribbon of pain nearly drove him wild. Now Kevin did cry out, arms akimbo, struggling to remove his vulnerable fanny from the piercing singe of this new punishment. As Kevin flailed, the masterful hand slipped deftly from his back to his wrist, and with one forceful tug, he found himself toppling over the thick, upholstered arm of the chair, barely recovering himself as he went over face-first. “You have been a bad boy, Kevin. Did you think I wouldn’t hear you at the door? I know the sound of a naughty boy who has made himself a sticky mess, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, and touching his peter without permission. Did you imagine I wouldn’t know what that wet towel had soaked up? You’ll be very, very sorry you did that Kevin. “ With her hand now easily steadying the amazed and panicked Kevin, Dr. Bellin proceeded to administer another ten strokes, slowly and evenly, raising a confusion of intersecting crimson ridges, blossoming to a fine white, and a steady flow of tears to his eyes. “Please . . . ouch, oooooeewww . . . no, more please . . .” was all he could get out, when the blazing smacks stopped as suddenly as they had started. “Get dressed and meet me in the study. You know very well where it is.” The brisk rustle faded as he turned, just in time to see the flouncing hem of the doctor’s skirts disappear at the doorway. Quickly he dressed and straightened himself as best he could, with his tender frost-bitten bum pressing its swollen contours excruciatingly against the seat of his trousers. Now that walk down the hall was interminable, his impending doom lurking just the other side of the keyhole. The door was open when he got there, and the doctor was at a small antique writing desk to the side, handing a flushed but composed Samantha, seated in a chair nearby, a small pile of prescription papers. Across the desk was a slender length of bone-colored rawhide, and he knew immediately that this was the instrument of his last and most torturous punishment. His heart sank as he saw the doctor pointedly hand the switch to Samantha. It was clearly coming home with them. He slunk in and stood like a condemned criminal, head hanging, hands clasped behind his back. “Now then, young man, we are both highly displeased at your recalcitrant lack of response to treatment. Apparently we will need to up the dosage. Samantha and I have agreed on a reasonable fee for on-going sessions, which will include one evening a week of your working here with me on a remodeling project in the house. You will be given a booster on your bottom on each of these evenings, in addition to a regular course of treatment at home. And this will not preclude punishment for bad behavior at any time, do you understand?” “Yes, Auntie Angela.” Kevin was staring at his feet. “Look at me when I talk to you, little man.” Kevin met two stern, but beautiful, faces, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would have no recourse. He sighed and shuffled uncomfortably. “I hope you enjoyed your little amusement, because you will not be allowed another release for three weeks under any circumstances, and not then if you misbehave. You will be bathed and supervised in the restroom, and diapered when necessary, until you can be trusted to go to the bathroom alone, without indulging in your naughty games, and we will see to it that infractions are patently evident. You will be bathed and diapered until you can prove you’re a big boy and earn the right to touch your peter without supervision. There will be other most uncomfortable punishments in the meantime, which I will leave to Samantha to administer. You will take your medicine and like it, young man, or you will spend a week with me that I guarantee will adjust your attitude. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Auntie Angela.” He was bewildered once again to see the maternal smile waft across her patrician face. “You can be a very good boy, Kevin, I know you can be. It will take some time, and a good deal of spanking that rebellious fanny of yours, cute as it may be. But when you learn how delightful the rewards for being a good little boy can be, I know you’ll turn around. I’ve never failed a patient yet.” With that, Angela Bellin stood to her full height and shook Sammie’s hand, exchanging last instructions and pleasantries as they strolled to the door. The counselor took a last look at Kevin as he was about to exit, impulsively ruffling his hair, and patting his sore bottom, smiling graciously as he scuttled from under the subtle reminder of what was to come. The great door closed behind them, and Samantha and Kevin walked silently to the car in the last golden sunset light, a breath of scented air playing across two thoughtful faces. They both winced a little as their warm bottoms contacted the leather upholstery of the front seat, and they chuckled quietly in mutual understanding. Samantha turned the key in the ignition, as another car, a red Miata, pulled up behind them in the drive, and two sleek, professional-looking people got out, pausing momentarily to take in the scene, just as they had done a couple of hours before. “Fasten your seat belt, Kevin,” Samantha directed. Kevin obeyed immediately, and they glided over the pavement, turning onto the road back home.
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