Little Leather Paddle

Copyright ©2013-2015 James Harrison
All rights reserved.
Published with permission of the author.
Image credit: alexandrenunes

Given how I felt earlier in the evening, I would not have bet that the night would have gone so well. I’d been in a strange mood. Not angry, depressed, or bored but there was definitely something strange going on in my head, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. If I had to find a word for it, I’d go with “restless.” Not surprisingly, I decided not to spend the night sitting at home, so I got dressed to go out dancing, which I always find good for distraction.

As I got dressed in my usual “man-in-black” outfit, and was putting my watch on, I caught sight of my newest little trinket, given to me on my last birthday by a lady friend of mine–a little hand-crafted and tooled leather paddle, only about three inches long, strung onto a leather neck cord. It was a gift to commemorate the many times I’d spanked her bottom, something she craved during sex. Don’t ask me why, but I had the urge to wear it, so I put it on, slipping the paddle inside of my shirt, so that only the handle was visible.

Pulling on my black cowboy boots, I hit the road, heading to a dance club up on Melrose, figuring that even if nothing else happened, the eye-candy would be fantastic, and I relaxed for a bit checking out the crowd. I had my iPhone along, which is one of the great inventions for single guys–you can sit at a club by yourself and conspicuously demonstrate your deep social life by texting friends and laughing at their witty responses. Or, you can just pretend to be doing that, and read an e-book until you see a woman you think is worth approaching. You can also use your phone as an opener, asking a woman for her opinion of a picture you took of some local monument, or whatever. Anyway, my phone and I made a good team, and I spent an hour or so alternating between texting and dancing, though nothing “special” was happening. The girls were pretty, but I didn’t feel any chemistry developing.

I was about ready to head for another club, when I saw a woman I had somehow overlooked before. She looked uncomfortable, as if she felt that she didn’t really belong in the club, though she was certainly dressed for the place in a leather mini-skirt, a bare-midriff top showing off her navel piercing, and a half-length leather jacket. Ringlets of jet black hair poured over her shoulders, and her lips were carefully painted a rich matte red. She was petite, coming only up to about 5’6” in 3-inch heeled boots.

“This one,” I figured, “will probably shoot me down, but what the hell.” I went over to ask her to dance. I leaned over to ask her, and at first, saw only disinterest in her eyes, so I awaited the declination of my offer. But then, a sudden flash of interest, even curiosity washed over her features. Her tongue poked out and licked her lips suggestively, before she bit at her lower lip gently. I mentally followed the path of her eyes wondering what caught her attention, and I realized it was the little paddle, which had slipped out of my shirt to hang about a foot in front of her eyes.

“Why are you wearing that?”

“Ah,” I said. “Therein lies a tale. Come dance with me, and I’ll tell you about it. But first, tell me your name; I’m Jim.

“I’m Rayna,” she replied, as I rose and moved to the dance floor, completely confident she would follow. She did.

We moved to the first song, a reasonably quick one, and I found Rayna to be a sensual dancer to watch. She, of course, kept looking at the mini-paddle, which I had not put away. I knew my karma was good when they started a slow tune, and I took her in my arms. She couldn’t resist asking, “Well, will you tell me now, why you have a little leather paddle around your neck? And can I touch it?”

I released one of her hands, and let her caress the tooled leather, while I made her promise to finish the dance, no matter what I told her. She agreed, and I proceeded to explain that I was given the paddle by a lady friend, to symbolize her gratitude to me for the numerous spankings I had given her. I felt Rayna’s breathe catch, and she started to pull back, but I reminded her of her promise, and we kept dancing. She met my eyes, and asked if I was telling her the truth, or feeding her a line.

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, my dear,” I replied, and I was pleased to notice that Rayna had kept hold of the paddle, and had moved closer to me…in fact, was leaning very close to me now.

She whispered up into my ear, almost too quietly for me to hear, “Were those spankings bare handed, or with a real paddle?”

I whispered back just as quietly, “Bare hands, paddles, belts, wooden hairbrushes, quirts, riding crops, and all on the bare bottom.”

Rayna shuddered a bit, and uttered the Magic Words: “Gosh,” she said charmingly, “I haven’t been spanked in so very long.”

I smiled at her and said, “You must be a very good girl then, not to be spanked.”

She blushed. “No, I’m not a very good girl at all. In fact, I’m a very bad girl sometimes.”

My reply was perhaps trite, but there are rituals to uphold in such matters. “Well then, perhaps you should be punished.”

A whispered, “Yes, perhaps I should,” was all I needed to hear, and I led her by the hand out of the club and to my car. Before she got in the car I had her text her friend with my contact information, and set up a call-by time so she would feel safe. I did the same with one of my friends, and had Rayna text him as well, to acknowledge having a safe-word that would stop all sexual or other activity. You can’t be too careful these days.

I then drove her to my apartment, handed her some wine, set a fire in the fireplace, and we settled in to chat a bit.

We sat next to each other on the sofa, sipping the wine, and I had her tell me about herself. Rayna was very careful to tell me all about how “bad” she was, failing to keep her apartment tidy, arriving late to work or skipping out early, failing to call friends back when they leave her voicemail, being rude to her mother, and so on. I actually had the feeling that Rayna wasn’t just playing things up, she felt some genuine guilt about her behavior, and she was looking for more than a play spanking. That was fine with me, as I get a strange satisfaction out of giving “absolution” spankings. Rayna’s eyes repeatedly settled on the paddle around my neck, not only indicating her fascination, but also creating a very submissive, lowered gaze that I found intensely sexy.

After a while, I felt that Rayna’s recitation of her sins had put her in the proper frame of mind, so I had her reach down for the leather bag alongside the sofa, and open it in her lap. She gasped at the assortment of paddles, short whips, and riding crops which were inside the bag, and her eyes went wide at seeing the full nine inch leather paddle that the miniature had been modeled on. She drew it from the bag, and stroked the leather, smelling it, letting it slap onto her hand, and when I held my hand out, she demurely put it there, her eyes downcast. I had her put the bag back down on the coffee table, set the paddle down next to me, and in a stern voice, told her to stand, and pull her skirt over her hips. She blushed, but complied. I then told her to drop her panties, but to leave them around her ankles, and I had her lay across my lap on the sofa. This time she blushed furiously, but complied nonetheless. I gently stroked the smooth white cheeks of her bottom, and she sighed. I told her that for each of her offenses, of which I counted four, she’d get a warm up with my hand, and then a minimum of ten cracks of the paddle, but the spanking would continue as long as I felt it appropriate, and would end only when she was truly repentant, probably crying her eyes out.

I began to apply my hand to her tender bottom, watching a pink glow spread across her round little cheeks. I wasn’t laying on the power, wanting to assess her potential before getting to the main attraction. My cock swelled underneath her as she writhed gently, giving out little squeaks and squeals as the swats got harder. I reminded her of her safe-word then, and emphasized that if she used it short of truly unendurable pain, she’d be dumped off my lap, and would have to leave immediately.

By the twentieth warm up swat I was laying on the power, and the crack of my hand echoed around the room. The last three spanks had drawn genuine yelps of pain from her lips, and I judged her ready for the paddle. I lifted the paddle then, and just rested it against her bottom–her now very warm bottom–and rubbed it around in small circles. With my free hand, I gathered her arms at the small of her back, and extracting my left leg, I threw it over the back of her calves, pinning her neatly into place. When the paddle lifted away, I felt Rayna hold her breath, and when the paddle came down with a forceful snap, I knew that, this time, Rayna had really felt it. She squealed loudly, and her body stiffened a bit on my lap before relaxing back down. I waited a moment, but no safe-word was given so I continued. I began to alternate, left cheek to right cheek, but with enough randomness to keep her guessing, periodically bringing the paddle across both cheeks, or down onto the junction of her thighs and bottom. Her bottom had reddened well, and was a uniform, rich, blazing hot red. After a while, I heard the first sobs of her tears, which escalated to heavy sobbing, and a steadily muttered stream of apologies. As I felt she was approaching her limits, I recited her sins, and made her apologize for each of them, and administered a few final, very hard swats with the paddle.

I let her sob across my lap for a few moments, whispering the words of her absolution that submissive girls live for. Her punishment was over, I told her, and she was a good, and brave girl for taking it. After a while, I curled her into my lap, letting her sniffle into my shoulder while my left hand began to explore her body. I slowly trailed my forefinger down her body, circling her nipples, and drifting down to the little landing-strip of hair she’d left above her pussy. “Let’s see how your spanking affected you, I said, sliding a finger between her wet, very wet, labia. Rayna groaned as my finger penetrated her, and began to slowly finger her, grinding her flaming behind into the harsh denim of my jeans. I splayed Rayna face-up across my lap, and spread her legs wide apart as I touched her. Meanwhile, I could just reach into the toy bag on the coffee-table for a smaller paddle, just wide enough to spank a girl’s pussy. I started alternating my fingering her with moderate slaps across her swelling vulva, and I counted down from ten, instructing her to take her release at the end of the countdown. For the last strokes, I felt her body counting down as well, and, making the final stroke a bit harder than the others, set off the massive orgasm which had built up so beautifully. Rayna writhed and bucked across my lap, the spasms wracking her body with pleasure, and once they subsided, she curled into me, and cried softly, thanking me for giving her what she needed so badly, and asking permission to give me pleasure in return. I led her to my bedroom, having her carry the toy-bag along behind me.

I drove Rayna back to her car in the morning, after a long night of sex, spanking, and submission. We exchanged phone numbers, but I was sad to drop her off. However, I knew that I’d see Rayna again soon–I’d seen her slip my little leather paddle into her bag when she thought I wouldn’t notice. I wasn’t surprised, though; she’d told me she was a very bad girl sometimes.

The End

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