"I met her after school..."
(m/f cons hard, voy)


"It's right there," I said.

We walked along the road, getting closer with every step. We reached a corner, but I didn't peek around as I had done the previous day, and the day before that. I knew she was there. I turned around the corner, Kenny and Trish still behind me...

... and I saw her. A pair of tight jeans, a turquoise cut-sleeved shirt; her amber hair and jade eyes, few freckles on her face. She sat on top of the stone wall dominating the street from above; she sat still and tranquil, a book in her hands, her feet dangling over the edge of the wall, waving above the pedestrians' heads. She wore light blue cotton socks, her shoes placed neatly on the wall.

I stopped beneath her, and so did Kenny and Trish. I stood there for a while, watching her. She had not noticed me. Yet. But I knew she would...

"Call her," said Kenny.


"What's her name again?" Trish asked.

"I don't know."

I felt my friends exchanging looks behind my back. And still I waited, one minute, then another. I shut them up waving my hand, and still we kept waiting. One more minute, one more.

Then, finally, she raised her eyes from the book and glanced at me. Not a smile or a wave or anything. There was no need for that. I knew she knew I was there all the time. She was waiting for me, I was sure. Like all the other times.

In a flash she slammed the book shut, put it in a small bag, grabbed the bag and the shoes and descended the other side of the wall. There had to be a ladder or something, I didn't know and I didn't care, and I did not want to know. To me, she was just the girl on top of the wall with her feet hanging over the street. I didn't want to know how she got there or got down, nor who she was. Her interests, her favourite music, her favourite team, her school, her friends... it was not relevant. Futile.

Kenny and Trish flanked me on both sides. "Why she was shoeless?" Kenny asked.

"She likes it that way. And so do I."

Trish shrugged, but Kenny murmured something like 'cool'.

After a few seconds she was aside us. I felt happy and smiled to her, and she smiled back faintly, but I could tell my friends were surprised, if not shocked. I too had been dumbstruck the first time.

She wasn't taller than a metre and a half, still a child in size despite her age, but you couldn't tell so from her face outline.

"Hi," I said.

Again she smiled back, still without a word. Her smile was captivating. Radiant, like her.

We walked towards my home, which was a couple of blocks away. With a few calculations I would eventually find out that the wall was exactly halfway from my home and my school.

I kept her close as we walked, my hand holding her arm firmly but gently. Sometimes I just loved to hold her hand, others a wrist or an elbow, or my arm circling her shoulders. But delicately holding her arm between elbow and shoulder was my favourite. I think she liked it best also.

We got home after a few minutes' walk. Streets echoed with noises, but I could hear her breath getting heavier, just like mine. The four of us stepped in from the front door, with Kenny and Trish whispering something to each other behind my back. I think they were trying to figure out whether it was all a fraud or not, if I would really do it or not. They were bound to find out very soon.

My home was small back then, small but very well kept. Mum made it a point to keep it clean, and wanted me to do the same. At first I thought of entering from the rear door to avoid the kitchen, so I could send her to my room and tell my mother something like: "Trish and Kenny and I will be doing homework," but then I saw that mum's car was not in the yard, and since she wasn't home there was no danger.

Once in, we threw our bags down and took off our coats. It was early spring, and it was still a bit windy, but even being sleeveless her skin was warm to the touch. Kenny helped himself from the fridge and took sodas for us all, but I refused mine and she refused hers with a mild shake of her head. Still holding her arm, I led her to my bedroom. Oh, she knew perfectly well where that was anyway.

In we went. It was tidy, but not that much after all. I closed the door, then sat on the bed and pulled her to me, just like that, without warning. My two friends leaned against the wall opposite me and Kenny said daringly: "Let's see what you can do."

"Yeah, I'm curious..." said Trish, a bit more hesitantly.

I nodded. I looked at her, and she smiled a nervous smile. She was breathing heavy, now I was sure. It was trepidation what she was feeling. Like me. Like she had been waiting that moment for a week – and, in fact, she had. She wanted that, and so did I. I smiled back, and ruffled her hair sympathetically.

I stared into her deep green eyes, then looked at my friends waiting and watching.

Did they really think I wouldn't spank her?

* * *

"Bend over."

And she did, until she was draped over my lap. She shifted and squirmed a little, finding the optimal position, and I let her do it. I felt an intake of breath from Kenny and Trish, now staring transfixed at us. Now she was almost perpendicular to me, maybe a little diagonal across my knees. Her feet and ankles, with those socks every day different, twisted and laid over each other in a nervous dance. Her hands were on the bedspread, and so were her chest and head, one cheek resting on the sheets, her eyes staring at the wall. We weren't used to public, but we had both agreed we would like to try, and now it was too late to back off.

In front of me laid the most beautiful bottom I've ever seen in my life. Every time it produced a shock and a thrill in me. Pert, prominent, round, full, perfectly shaped. Soft. A masterpiece of nature. Never in my life I would see a better one.

I was very keen to start by then, but I waited a few seconds more, enjoying the sweet tension that was building up in the room. I shifted her on my lap, so that my target was placed the way I wanted it. I moved it around a bit, only to end up placing it back where it was – she knew exactly how to position herself.

Then it all began.


There was a loud crack, and an intake of breath from her, as her hands instinctively grabbed the sheets and her head bobbed up in surprise. A small wrinkle appeared on her forehead. My friends jumped up in surprise as well, Kenny raising his eyebrows and Trish bringing a hand to her mouth.

I waited one more second, and then... whack!

Two. I usually did not count, but it was unavoidable at the very start.

I caught my rhythm and stopped counting, just as planned. After that latest stroke her face was distorted in a grimace, but she hadn't yelped or cried out. I knew it was not really hurting – not yet – but there was a definite sting, like an urge to scratch spread all over her buttocks.

I kept it up at a steady pace for one long minute, smacking hearty smacks although not the hardest I could deliver. I did not want to get tired so soon into the spanking, and I didn't want to hurt her more than it was needed. I did put effort in it anyway, and when I stopped for a brief pause I saw she was clenching her fists and her eyes, fighting hard not to cry out.

I looked at Kenny and Trish: he was smiling, she still looked shocked (but the fact she was there and was watching it told me she was not that shocked after all). Then I looked at my charge, and once again our eyes met.

I looked for the consent as I always did, the authorisation to proceed, to keep it up, to continue the game. It always worked like that for us. It was a fair relationship, and it worked by the rules we had silently established.

After a few more seconds – maybe a hesitation on her side, maybe a simple wait – I saw her nodding. She sniffled a bit. Her tears were there, now it was only a matter of time before they came out.

"Get up," I said. She pointed her hands on the sheets and knelt on my right. "No, stand up. All the way."

She did as told and stood up straight on the floor in front of me. She brought a hand back to rub her backside, and I allowed that; sometimes, as a part of the game, I punished her for doing so. Once I had been extra-severe about this, so harsh she still remembers that day... but that is another story.

While she rubbed, I brought my hands to the front of her jeans and started undoing them, causing a little shriek from Trish and something like "wow!" from Kenny. I pulled down the zipper and unfastened the one button. Her shirt fell down to a little below the jeans waistband, and I sneaked my hand beneath it to check if she had a belt. I also asked her, and she shook her head no.

"All the better," I said. She giggled.

Finally I pulled the rough jeans tissue apart on both sides, revealing her underwear. I saw she had worn yet another pair of panties. She changed all her underwear (panties, vest and socks) every time we met, not only out of hygiene but also because she knew I liked variety. I lowered the jeans down to her knees, and noticed how my beholders' look moved to her panty-clad bottom. I deduced there must have been some colour already showing.

She had an admirable taste in dressing. With dark blue jeans, light blue socks and turquoise shirt she had worn white-and-turquoise panties, perfectly pairing with the rest of her clothing. But for the first time the panties were not made of cotton; they probably were on the inner side, but outside they were made of some soft fabric that might have been wool. It was the kind of underwear you could see a toddler wearing, but when worn by her they thrilled me to no end. I ran a finger on their front, oh so briefly, while peeling her jeans down, and I shivered.

Gently but firmly I took hold of her arm once again and bent her over again, this time letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. As she laid upon my knees and thighs her cut-sleeved shirt rose up her back a bit, so to reveal some inches of her tanned, bronzed skin. Her panties also rode up her bottom, enhancing its rotund shape under the thin layer of tissue. I couldn't resist one second longer: I shifted her weight on my left knee and started spanking her again.

Those tears she had came out after the fifth swat or so. I rose my arm as high as my shoulder and I brought it down with strength, making it impact mightily on her aching buttocks. Her tiny, subdued cry eventually reached my attentive ear, and pushed me to spank her harder.

I smacked her upturned rear end again and again, making every smack a bit harder than the previous. When I stopped for the second time, after having delivered thirty swats or so, she was crying freely, although not frantically. I paused for a few seconds, just the time I needed to insert my fingers in the waistband of her panties and pull them down to her knees. But as I did so I saw her jeans had descended to her ankles, and so I brought the panties there as well, grabbed the jeans as well and pulled them all right off, leaving her socked feet free to kick as much as she liked.

As for me, I would remain in awe of that beautiful sight for hours, but it was time to accomplish the ultimate task.

Trish was staring wide-eyed, not making a move, but I could tell Kenny, though amazed, was starting to enjoy the show a little. I met his eyes and I pointed at my desk behind him, and he turned round.

"Give that to me," I ordered.

And he too was wide-eyed when he passed me the big, oval shaped, red maple hairbrush that was laying on the table. She'd understood my intentions as well, and was now burying her face in the sheets and weeping a bit harder.

"I'm sorry," I told her, "but today you're in for it big time."


And I spanked the first hearty smack down on her buttocks, which were both almost covered by the big hairbrush. I got a screech and a long wail in response, and again she bobbed up her head in pain and surprise. On her bottom I saw an oval shape left by the hairbrush, whitish at first, then back to a deeper shade of pink than the rest of the flesh.

I whacked again across both cheeks, but lower, getting similar responses from my charge. She managed to stay in position somehow, and clutched the bed sheets with both hands, crying into them as small sobs shook her shoulders.

I kept it up, soon finding my pace of about one spank every two seconds. I swatted down on her bottom mercilessly, and she squirmed and wiggled so much I had a bit of trouble keeping her in place. I told her twice to stay still, but she didn't comply, and I announced the following ten were for her disobedience. She did stand still after that, making me wonder whether she wasn't fishing for it after all. I made her really feel those anyway, impacting her lower bum, right there where thighs start, the infamous and well-known 'sit-spot', where it hurts the most afterwards.

After those she did try and take her punishment with more composure, although she still squirmed a bit, but I allowed that given the circumstances. And also because I liked it.

Twenty more smacks later the spanking was about to end, though she had no way to know that and just kept up crying with all her might, coughing and gasping now and then, breathing hard. She laid limp now, she just laid there and took it, and when I saw this exhausted, finally submissive behaviour, I quit.

SPANK!! CRACK!! Two more hard swats, one per cheek, ended her spanking.

I stood her up, and she immediately brought her hands back to massage her fiery red, slightly bruised bum cheeks, and I allowed that. She was now totally careless of whatever modesty she had left, and as she danced around, hopping up and down like the cutest bunny, she showed me, Kenny and Trish her inflamed behind as well as her nakedness. I allowed her some more seconds to recover, then I led her to the nearest corner, where I delicately pushed her against the wall.

"Fifteen minutes. Do not move and do not rub now, sweetie," I added. "You know better. Okay?"

She nodded. I loved her. I knew I loved her, and I kissed her hair, perfumed with fruit-flavoured shampoo.

"Sunny," I then whispered into her ear. Somehow she smiled through her many tears, and I smiled back before leaving.

* * *

"Who's that? Where'd you find her? What's her name? Why? How long...?"

Trish and Kenny bombarded me with questions as we headed to the living room to have a drink. I surely needed one. She surely needed one, and I would buy her that and more as we would go to the nearest cafeteria later in the afternoon, where she would eat and drink standing up, of course.

I didn't answer any of my friends' questions though, but then Kenny asked me one that I could actually reply to: "What's that you told her in the end? Bunny?"

"Sunny," I corrected. "It's like a password. For her safety. If she says that during the spanking it means she wants to quit the game, and I must stop right away."

Kenny and Trish looked at each other and then at me with funny look of utter bewilderment. I never found out if it was the word 'game' or the word 'quit' to have caused most of that reaction, but probably a mixture of the two.

"You mean," said Trish, "that she could stop you whenever she wanted to?"

I nodded. "Yes, she could."

"And she did not?" Kenny asked.

I shook my head. I shrugged. I smiled. "No, she did not."




The author is completely against the practice of non-consensual spanking applied to children and teenagers as a form of discipline: it is dangerous, violating and potentially abusive. All my stories are archived at http://www.geocities.com/haleys_stories/