Out of the Red - Anna J Skye

Prologue

Prologue

Room 132, he had said. Go past reception and turn right down the corridor. I arrived at the door and took a minute to compose myself before knocking. The door opened and a very tall, well-dressed man in his early sixties stood back, smiling and holding the door open for me. 'I'm hoping it's you,' he said. 'And I'm hoping it's you,' I said, smiling back. I walked into the room, feeling a growing sense of excitement. How hard would the spanking be this time? When would we start? How naked would I be? What position would he put me in? What implements would he use? I sat on the bed, he on the chair opposite me. After some small chit-chat, he suddenly said 'I'm going to spank you now - come here,' and he beckoned to me. 'You were 45 minutes late last time and I never punished you for it. Stand there.' He pointed to the floor just by his left leg. I walked over to him and he pulled me over his knee and started caressing my bottom over my yellow dress. He gave me a few initial firm slaps to warm up my bottom and his hand. Then he pulled up my dress, then my petticoat, and then he started feeling my buttocks over my yellow knickers. He pulled down my knickers to my knees, paused a moment to look at my reddening bottom, as if surveying his handiwork, and started spanking me again, harder this time.

It was an engineered excuse to discipline me; I had been late the previous time. Of course in most social circles an apology would have been accepted. When you’re a spankee, however, it doesn’t quite work like that. After about five minutes' continuous spanking he suddenly stopped. 'Right,’ he said. ‘Shall we go and have a drink, or would you like something to eat?' I found this interaction rather strange, being as yet unaccustomed to the spankee’s life. Some of the spankers would even ask me mid-spanking, 'How are you, by the way?' They would come out of spanker-spankee mode for a few minutes, and then just as suddenly tell me, 'You're a naughty girl, and you deserve a good thrashing,’ and then their 'normal' personality would be gone, to be replaced by the not-so-nice, dominant spanker personality. I didn't expect guys to be nice to me, of course. I assumed they would treat me like a prostitute and look down on me, bully me or patronise me. In fact, apart from one man, the first as it happens, all the 30 or so spankers I've met so far have been friendly, polite and gentlemanly. Quite a few have wanted to date me. I have been totally naked with some, bent over chairs and beds, red bottom raised, my lips on display, but I've had nothing but humour, respect, friendship, and gratitude for having such a nice, spankable bottom. Some have admired me for daring to enter the world of spanking so late; I was 57. We went down into the lounge at Heathrow Airport, where we had arranged to meet as a midway point between our two homes. As I sat down, I could feel, with some satisfaction, that my bottom was smarting slightly. We chatted like old friends about our families, work and our previous spanking experiences.

I looked around the lounge at other customers, wondering if they could tell we were a spankee and her client. I was wearing a knee-length yellow summer dress, under a coat; not a bra and thong with a label saying 'Spank me,’ but I still felt the thrill of slight guilt and deception. After one gin and tonic for myself and a half of lager for him, which I paid for, to his great surprise (he told me most spankees expect their spankers to pay for all expenses), he suggested continuing the session. As soon as we were in the room again, he pushed me over the bed, raised my dress, pulled my knickers down again, and standing beside the bed, spanked me hard for about 10 minutes. Then he sat down on the chair and ordered me to change into my short silk nightie and place myself on all fours on the bed. Then he got up and came round the bed and stood beside me. He caressed me between my legs for a few minutes under the nightie. Then he pulled the nightie up to expose my bottom and asked me if I was OK. 'Sure,’ I answered, waiting expectantly for the oncoming punishment. With that, he took off his belt and proceeded to thrash me about 20 times across my bare buttocks.