Jenny’s first time

Jenny and I had been friend since the first day we’d met at the start of high school. Maybe it was that we both came from far away and knew nobody there, or maybe it had been pure luck that had put us in first period together. Whatever the reason, we had immediately clicked. She was funny, a little nerdy at times, and she put up with my awkward sense of humour. Although we grew close as can be, the idea of dating had never even crossed our minds. In fact, the thought had always seemed preposterous. She was more like a sister to me, and you wouldn’t date your sister —no matter was a certain subgenre of naughty films would have you believe.

We had gotten through high school together and, as luck would have it, found ourselves going for the same college a few towns over. Naturally, we moved-in together. After a few months of this new life, Jenny found herself a boyfriend, and in the following weeks she was around less and less. We were still friends, mind, and we had fun talking, playing videogames, and cooking together whenever she was home, but it was not really the same. Nevertheless, I was happy for her. Life goes on.

One night, I heard the door quite late in the evening, and somebody trying to muffle sobs. I popped my head out of my door only to find Jenny sat on the floor in the hallway, her hand on her forehead, crying heavy tears. I sat beside her wordlessly and held her. She turned around and buried her head in my chest to cry some more. After a while, her sobs quieted down, and I felt I needed to ask, “What’s going on, Jen?”

“It’s Lucas,” she said.

“What about him?” I asked. Lucas was her boyfriend, of course. Not a bad dude at all, in fact. We’d spent a few evenings together with no issue, and I’d heard plenty about him from Jenny, but never anything bad.

“He left me!” Her voice cracked and she started sobbing again.

“Well, he’s an idiot then… What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“No…” she said, quietly.

“What happened, Jen?”

“I…”

“You’re worrying me now…”

“No, no, nothing bad happened, I promise” she said, shaking her head and sniffling.

“Okay…”

“It’s… kind of the problem…”

I was even more confused than before.

“What do you—” she interrupted me before I could finish the first of many questions that were tumbling in my head.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to just listen, okay? Say nothing, just listen. All right?”

“I mean, uh…”

“Promise me?”

“Fine, no problem, I’ll just listen.”

“Okay so… Lucas and I were… You’ll let me finish, okay?”

I just nodded.

“So, Lucas…” she continued, “We were, like, talking and… We got to talking about our fetishes and stuff…” She blushed visibly. “And it turns out he’s… Pretty vanilla, you know?”

“Okay?” I said, hesitantly.

“No talking!” she said, gently slapping my forearm. I passed two fingers across my lips, zipping it shut.

She carried on, “So I told him what I’m into and… Well, he didn’t take it well at all.” Tears were welling up in her eyes again.

“He called me a deviant and… and a freak and… he said he didn’t want anything to do with me if… if I was that kind of s-s-slut” Tears were freely running down her cheeks again.

“What an asshole,” I muttered beneath my breath.

For a few minutes, we were both quiet as she calmed herself down again.

“So…” I started… “Is your fetish, like, that bad?” I blushed.

“Seems so…”

“I always knew you were into midget granny scat porn, you know?”

She let out a little laugh and punched my arm.

“Shut up, everyone isn’t like you…”

“Nah, I’m one of a kind…”

“Yeah…”

She fell silent again. I was out of awkward jokes, so I asked the obvious question.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“You’ll think I’m a freak as well…”

“I’m not about to kink-shame you, Jen… Whatever you fantasise about in that weird head of yours is your business. It’s just… I don’t know, maybe I can make you feel better about it?”

She stayed quiet for a minute. Then she murmured, “I like spankings.”

“Hmm?”

“Spanking. I’m, like, into that,” she said, audibly this time.

“Okay and?”

“What do you mean and?”

“Well pretty much everybody is into a little bit of rough play, aren’t they? What’s the other thing?”

“No, no, that’s it…”

“What, really?”

“Yeah…”

“What a fucking idiot.”

“See, I knew you were going to hate me as well…” her voice broke again.

“No not you! Not you! That big fat idiot Lucas! What is wrong with that guy?”

“Oh!” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“I was expecting something, like, extreme…” I said

She shrugged. “That was too extreme for him apparently.”

“He really left you over that?”

“Yup.”

“You didn’t fart in front of him? Clog his toilet?”

“Nope.”

“Did he… give it a go?”

“What?”

“Well, spanking?”

“Did it sound like he was willing to give it a go?”

“Hum… I suppose not.”

“Well there you go…”

“I see…” I thought for a moment, then asked, “And so have you ever…”

“What?”

“Like… Done it?”

“You know Lucas was my first boyfriend…”

“Hey, maybe you have guy after guy come here to punish you like a naughty, naughty girl when I’m not around, I don’t know!”

She shook her head in disbelief and pushed me away jokingly. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I make you smile so…”

“That’s true.”

“So… You wanna be like, a dominatrix? Leather and all?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what kind of porn you’re into but no. I… Hum… Would like to be… On the receiving end.”

“I see… So…” I asked again, “never been spanked?”

“Nope.

“Your parents?”

“No.”

“Good, your mum is terrifying enough as it is.”

“Shut up!” She sighed. “You promise it’s not that bad?”

“It’s like, kinda normal, I think?” I said, honestly.

“I don’t know”

“Plus you’ve never tried”

“So?”

“So maybe you won’t like it, maybe it’s just a fantasy, really.”

“Maybe…”

“Plus, you’re a wuss so…”

She shrugged. I wasn’t nearly as funny as I thought I was.

“It was a joke,” I said, miserably.

“I…” she started, and blushed crimson. “I’ve done it to myself before, a little.”

“What? Like, spanked yourself?”

“Yeah… To… to see what it’s like”

“Oh…”

“…”

“And?” I asked.

“I don’t know, it wasn’t bad but it’s not the same, like.” She was still blushing, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Well… Thank you,” I said with a smile.

 “What for?” she asked.

“For trusting me with this.”

“He made me feel so bad about it, I… I’m glad you don’t think the same way.”

“He’s an idiot. And he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, like, you’re awesome, anybody would be lucky to have you. He’s just a dumb idiot.”

“Thanks, but that feels a little hollow right now…”

“Plus, I’m sure your butt is great to spank.”

She looked up, shocked.

“What?”

“Your butt. It could definitely do with a spanking. And you left dirty dishes in the sink so…”

She blushed again and buried her face in her hands. “Stop!”

“Well, you never tried it and… I don’t know, maybe it would make you feel better? And those dishes, damn! There’s a type-2 civilisation in there!”

She laughed. “Are you… Are you serious, though? You want to…”

“I can’t promise you I’ll be good at it, but I you wanna try…”

She shot me a weird glance and looked away. She went quiet. A minute went by, then two. It’s then that what I’d just suggested actually dawned on me. I couldn’t believe myself. The words had just come out. Maybe I thought I was being funny again. What an idiot. She was going to hate me. She was going to think I was taking advantage of her. She was going to ask me to leave. She was—

“I’d like you to.” she said

“W-what?” I said, a look of utter surprise on my face.

“If-if you were serious?” she said, hesitantly, looking away.

“Of course! But…”

“…”

“Will you tell me how?”

“Your hand. My butt.” She laughed.

I blushed and nervously laughed in turn. She got up and took my hand, helping me up. Nervous, she led me to the sofa and told me to sit down.

“So,” she said, “we’re going to do it, like, oh-tee-kay”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Over the knees.”

“Oh! Okay, soz, I don’t know the lingo.”

“Pfft, amateur,” she winked. Her mood seemed to have transformed in a flash and she was smiling widely. “I’m going to lie over your lap, okay? And then… Well it’s kinda obvious.”

“Shouldn’t we have, like, a safeword?”

“Aaah! So you know what you’re doing, huh? Such a naughty boy…”

“Hey! You said that wasn’t your thing!”

She laughed, “Cactus!”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Cactus, it’ll be the safeword.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Well…” she said, and undid her jeans without another word. My jaw fell to the floor just as her jeans did. She turned to face me, her hand crossed in front of her panties. “I… I think bare-bottom would be a bit much…” She bit her bottom lip oh-so-sensually. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling very mixed emotions. Not so sisterly after all, it turned out.

She came over and put herself over my knees. She was warm, soft, a little heavier than I would have thought. With her looking away, I finally let myself look at her bottom. I forgot to breathe for a moment. I’d never noticed how shapely, how round her ass was. Two pearly white globes in need of attention. She repositioned herself slightly and her cheeks bounced a little. They were perfect. And, for a time, they were entirely mine.

“Are you done gazing?” she said with a smile, and I died a little inside.

“Just making sure my calibrations are correct, miss.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

“You know, even now that you’re like, tall and sorta good-looking…”

“Sorta?”

“… you’re still a massive dork.”

“A massive dork who’s about to spank your bottom, missy, so pipe down!”

She bit her lip. “Yes, Sir…” she said.

“Finally, a bit of respect!” I said and let my hand fall on her bottom for the first time. A glorious *SLAP* seemed to echo around the room as my hand met her firm flesh, and she let out a little “Oh!” of surprise.

“I’m sorry, was that too hard?”

“No, no, carry on!”

I gave her another one, *SLAP!* The sound was sharp. It was loud, much louder that I had thought it would be. Her bottom was still fresh to the touch. It bounced hypnotically, and before I even realised it, my hand was coming down again, and again, leaving faint red marks were my finger struck.

“Mmmh…” she said quietly.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Can you try… harder?” she said, covering her smile.

“You mean can you try harder Sir?” I said, giving her a harder slap.

“Mmmmh, yes, Sir… Sorry Sir…”

“Like… That?” I tried, putting a little more force into it. Her left cheek was turning pink. I gave her right one another couple slaps for good measure.

“Exactly like that… Sir…” she said, happily.

I carried on, feeling my jeans getting tighter as I peppered her perfect bottom with hard slaps. From white, to pink, to red. She started squirming as spank after hard spanked rained down on her. I could hear her trying to hold her moans. She was failing.

After another dozen hard slaps, I paused and my hand instinctively went to rub her crimson bottom. Slowly, in circles, I soothed her burning pain.

“Mmmh…” she sighed happily, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Yes, I’m sure, but…”

“Yes?”

“If you want, I’ll do it again…”

Exchange student

Johanna finished cleaning the dishes and put them away on the drying rack. She glanced around the kitchen, making sure everything was in order. The twenty-year old exchange student was very grateful to the family that housed her, and she always tried her best to repay their kindness with chores around the house. The French family, the Dumonts, were a little old-fashioned, but that appealed to her desire for rules and neatness. Maybe there was something to the German stereotypes after all.

She undid the apron she was wearing —it had been a present from Madame Dumont— and hung it up behind the kitchen’s door. She liked that kitchen; it was big, bright, and full of delicious food. Madame Dumont was a fine cook, and Johanna loved spending time with her, learning French recipes and showing her some German specialities as well. What could she say, she loved food and she loved cooking it. It was no surprise then that she was quite the plump girl, with ample hips, a round bottom and heavy breasts, but she liked it that way. Humming a popular pop song, she went to the living room.

Madame Dumont came down the stairs at the same time. She was a middle-aged woman, a few years younger than her sterner husband, and wore her years very well. Blond, with shoulder-length hair, she was a petite woman whom Johanna had nearly always seen dressed in tailored suits with jewellery to match. Even when cooking she managed to keep her white shirts immaculate. ‘With your whole arm, side to side!’ she said as she whisked away, not a single drip escaping the bowl. That always made Johanna smile, for some reason.

Today however, Madame Dumont was wearing jeans and a blouse that made her look ten years younger and accentuated her thin waist. Johanna gasped and smiled as she saw her.

“Oh, Madame!” she said, surprised.

“Oui, Johanna?” the woman asked with a warm smile.

“You look…” The young German student hesitated a moment. Sometimes, words still didn’t come that easily to her, even after months of living abroad. “You look really… salopp today!” She smiled broadly for a second, then noticed the look of utter shock on Madame Dumont’s face. Shock turned into anger, and the woman stormed off, muttering angrily in French and slamming the door behind her.

Johanna stood in the middle of the living room, shocked. Had she said something wrong? That jean-and-t-shirt look was pretty casual, wasn’t it? She didn’t think that Madame Dumont would take it so badly… Puzzled, she wondered whether she should go after her to apologise, or at least try to understand why she seemed so angry. She heard a car start, then leave. She shrugged. She would bring it up in the evening; it was just a misunderstanding, she was sure.

A couple hours later, as she sat on the sofa reading a book, she heard a car park in front of the house. She put her book down, expecting Madame back, but it was her husband, Monsieur Dumont, who came through the door, a frown on his face.

‘Johanna!’ he said as soon as he saw her. ‘We need to talk.’

Shocked by the dryness of his tone, she stuttered ‘O-oui, Monsieur? Is there something wrong?’

‘Are you mocking me, mademoiselle?’ he asked, crossing his arms. She was thoroughly confused.

‘N-no? No, Monsieur, I would never…’

‘How dare you, Johanna? How dare you?’ He seemed really angry now. He was an older gentleman, all beard and moustache on a thin, wiry frame. He had a college professor look about him, Johanna had often thought to herself. Nevertheless, he was quite scary when he got angry, as she was discovering.

“W-wie bitte? Pardon?”

“Have we not taken good care of you? Have we not made you welcome in our home?”

“J-ja, oui, of course!” she was stammering and going from one language to the other without thinking, so troubled was she.

“And you think that the way to repay that is to call my wife a slut?”

She blanked. What was he talking about?

“But Monsieur, I never…”

“Are you calling her a liar?” he roared. She shook her head, eyes wide open. She dared not say another word. He continued, “Well that will not do, Johanna. I won’t have my wife disrespected in my own house.”

He pointed at her. “Don’t move,” he said.

He went upstairs and she stood there, trying to process what had just happened. She didn’t even think about disobeying the stern Frenchman. A minute later, he came back downstairs, holding a ping-pong paddle. This was getting more confusing by the minute.

“I won’t tolerate that kind of language in my house, mademoiselle. I think you need some good old-fashioned discipline. And Hélène will be expecting an apology.”

“Di-discipline, Monsieur?” she asked, eyeing the paddle uncomfortably.

“It’s been a while since the children have left the house, but I think I still know how to give a proper spanking, Fräulein.”

“But… but…”

“Unless you’d rather go back to Germany on the first flight tomorrow?”

“W-wa? Nein! No, no, I like it here!”

He sat on a chair he’d pulled away from the table.

“Then over my knees, mademoiselle. Tout de suite !”

Stunned, she obeyed without even thinking about it. She walked to him, blushing, eyes watering. She bent over and he put her down in position, her round, plump bottom up, offered to his punishment. The skirt that she was wearing didn’t cover much, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t stay on for long. Just as the thought crossed her mind, the first slap came down over it. Just a hand-slap, it hurt as much as it surprised her, and she let out a little cry. The hand fell again, making her round bottom bounce. Slaps came and came again, quickly settling into a rhythm, left-right, left-right. She was squirming, biting her lip not to cry. He paused only to readjust her over his lap. With each slap, her large breasts bounced against his thigh. In spite of herself, she felt a warm sensation spreading through her belly, and lower.

When he grabbed her skirt, she tried to stop him, darting her hand to protect her dignity and sore cheeks.

“Nein! Bitte!”

He ignored her and folded the skirt up on her back. The next slap was sharper than ever, and she cried out, her hand reaching back to put the skirt down again. He immediately took it back up and rewarded her with a series of ten slaps in close succession, harder and harder. She howled in pain.

“Very well, off it goes, then!” he said, sternly. He got her up. There was no arguing with the glare he offered her. She undid her belt and the skirt hit the floor. She was left in her skimpy panties. Tears down her face, still unsure of what she’d done wrong.

“But monsieur…” she tried, “What have I—” before she could finish, he caught her wrist and forced her back down over his knees. After a few more dozen slaps, he pulled her panties down to her thighs. She didn’t even think about protesting that time. She had never felt so exposed, so humiliated. He grabbed the paddle from the table and didn’t waste a second in putting it to good use. The sting was immediate, and she cried out once more. He scolded her again, punctuating each word with a hard slap of the paddle.

“You *SMACK* called *SMACK* my *SMACK* wife *SMACK* a *SMACK* slut!” *SMACK* *SMACK* *SMACK*

“Nein! Nein! I didn’t!”

“Salope! *SMACK*  That’s what you said!” *SMACK* *SMACK* *SMACK*

“But that’s not… Owww! Bitte! Nein! That’s not what it means! Owww! Owww!

“You think you know French better than we do?” *SMACK* *SMACK* *SMACK*

“Nein! Nein! Owww! Casual! That’s what it means! Owww! Salopp means casual in German! I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

Finally, her ordeal stopped. Her bottom was on fire, her blushing crimson cheeks were covered in tears and she couldn’t look Monsieur Dumont in the face. For his part, having finally understood what had happened, he seemed just as embarrassed.

Sniffling, Johanna pulled her panties back up, apologising. Monsieur Dumont called his wife, and once they were all together— and Johanna wearing her skirt again— they had a long conversation about words, false friends and misunderstandings. All apologised profusely. Johanna stood up the whole time.

When she finally went back to her room that evening, she winced as she sat down on her bed. Her bottom was still sore and warm. She still couldn’t believe what had happened to her. She felt like she should tell someone. But to whom could she tell such a story? Blushing, she remembered Monsieur Dumont’s hand grabbing her panties and severely pulling them down, exposing her intimacy. She remembered his hand slapping her bottom, lecturing her, holding her down… She shivered in a mixture of embarrassment and delight. She… She wondered if… Maybe if she slacked at uni?… Maybe she would need to be put on the straight and narrow… Or maybe Madame could… Her hand found its way into her panties, and Johanna went to sleep a very sore, but very happy girl that night.

Un plan parfait

(English below)

Fleur le regarde. Il la regarde. Il est fâché. Okay, pas de panique, elle a tout prévu. Elle passe sa main langoureusement dans ses cheveux et se mordille la lèvre. Ça marche à tous les coups. Les hommes, franchement… Ils ne sont pas compliqués. Elle applique le regard amoureux n°3, tant qu’à faire. Un, deux trois, et… Il a toujours l’air fâché. Ah mer…

Il dit quelque chose. Elle n’écoute pas vraiment, elle réfléchit. Elle aime sa voix. Quand il est faché, il peut être vraiment autoritaire. Elle aime ça. Parfois, c’est la grosse voix, parfois, juste le ton glacial ; elle aime le répertoire. Elle commence à bien le connaitre, d’ailleurs.. Vite, vite une idée…

Nouveau plan. Elle allonge lentement ses longues jambes sur le canapé et s’étire. C’est le matin : t-shirt, culotte, rien d’autre ; tactique impeccable. Bonus : dentelle. Bim ! Sauf qu’il a les bras croisés, maintenant. Double mer…

Il faut autre chose. Quelque chose d’irrésistible. Une idée, une idée… Il dit autre chose. C’est surement important. Tiens, c’est ton glacial aujourd’hui. La facture de quoi ? Aucune importance. Diversion, diversion !

Petite moue, air innocent, main délicatement posée le long du cou. Petit soupir. Ah ! Trop facile. Les câlins, et les bisous, ce sera juste la cerise sur le gâteau. Il prend sa main. Elle ferme les yeux et tend ses lèvres. Il embrasse bien, ferme, passionné. Sauf que là, au lieu de l’embrassade pleine d’amour, de passion et de papillons, il la fait se lever, il s’assoit et la rabat sur ses genoux.

T-shirt, culotte, rien d’autre, le regret est instantané. Dentelle ou pas dentelle, les claques tombent, sèches, douloureuses. Elle gémit, elle remue et se tortille. Rien à faire, il continue. Il parle encore. C’est la grosse voix. Ses fesses sont en feu. Ses cuisses sont trempées. Elle s’abandonne, ferme les yeux et pense à ce qu’ils feront quand il sera satisfait de sa punition. Elle plein d’idées, un plan. Il y a des batailles qui valent le coup d’être perdues.

Fleur looks at him. He looks at her. He is mad. Okay, no panic, she’s got a plan. She languidly passes her hand in her hair and bites her lip. It always works. Men, honestly… They’re not that complicated. She puts on her number 3 gaze, while she’s at it. One, two, three and… He still looks upset. Ah sh**…

He says something. She doesn’t really listen; she is thinking. She likes his voice. When he’s mad, he can be really commanding. She likes that. Sometimes, it’s a loud voice, sometimes, just an icy tone; she like variety. She’s starting to know it well… An idea, quickly, quickly…

New plan. She slowly extends her long legs on the sofa and stretches. It’s morning: t-shirt, panties, nothing else; perfect tactic. Bonus: lace. Boom! Except that he has now crossed his arms over his chest. Double sh**…

She needs something else. Something irresistible. Think of something, think of something… He says something else. It’s probably important. Ah, it’s the icy tone today. What unpaid bill? No matter. Diversion, diversion!

Little pout, innocent look, hand delicately placed on her neck. Little sigh, Ah! Too easy. Cuddles and kisses will just be the icing on top. He takes her hand. She closes her eyes and holds out her lips. He kisses well, passionately. Except that, instead of a passionate, loving kiss and fireworks, he makes her get up; he sits down and pushes her over his lap.

T-shirt, panties, nothing else; she regrets it instantly. Lace or no lace, slaps come falling down, dry and painful She moan, wiggles and twists. It does nothing, he carries on. He speaks again; it’s his loud voice now. Her bottom is on fire. Her thighs are wet. She lets herself go, closes her eyes and thinks of what they’ll do when he’s satisfied with her punishment. She has a lot of ideas, a plan. Some battles are worth losing.