Tess Needs a Spanking
Tess needs a spanking. She really, really needs a spanking. She needs it so bad she keeps wriggling her ass back and forth, asking for it, begging for it. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it; it’s like her ass has a mind of its own, squirming and fidgeting under that tight skirt as she walks past me or bends over within sight of me. She needs it so bad she’s wet under her skirt; her pussy is swollen and tight, aching and hungry to feel the sting on her ass as she shakes back and forth, sobbing and crying. She needs it so bad she keeps messing up, bringing me the wrong file, the wrong document, spilling my coffee, forgetting the cream.
But I don’t need an excuse to spank Tess.
Tess doesn’t even know how bad she needs a spanking. She never does, not until I grab her by the waist and tumble her over my lap; not until I grasp her by the hair and push her face into the crook of my arm and tell her to pull her skirt up over her round cheeks and take down her panties. She never knows how bad she needs a spanking until after I’ve pulled her skirt up myself, found out how wet she is under her tight lace thong, discovered the squeals that come out of her mouth when I rub her wet pussy and slide two fingers inside. She never knows how bad she needs a spanking until after I’ve given her one, open-handed, spanking her ass rhythmically, first one cheek and then the other, right on the sweet spot and occasionally in the middle, right over her pussy. She never knows how bad she needs a spanking until after she’s started to lift her ass in the air, pump it hungrily in long, slow circles, shake back and forth and wet my suit with tears. She never knows how bad she needs a spanking until after she buries her face in my arm, spreads her legs, and grips the legs of the chair tightly to steady herself as I beat her. She never knows until after she’s cried, whimpered, cajoled, tried to bargain, tried to threaten, tried to wriggle her way out of one. She never knows until after she’s started to moan. She never knows until she’s felt it building deep in her cunt, felt the blows driving all the way into her luscious little snatch and punishing her throbbing clitoris. Still, until that very last moment, no matter how many times it happens, she clings to her resistance, adheres to her passionate belief that she’s done nothing wrong, that she doesn’t need a spanking and if she whines and cries and complains , I’ll see the light and just stop. But I don’t, and it’s a good thing for her, because the only time I give her one is when she really, truly, desperately, urgently needs a spanking.
But Tess never knows how bad she needs a spanking until after she’s thrown back her head and pushed her ass high into the air and come, overwhelmed by the profound satisfaction of having her need satisfied, the deep need for what, if she had been allowed to have her way, she never would have gotten.
But luckily, Tess has me to tell her when she does need a spanking. And once she’s had one, she always does exactly what she knows she needs to do.
Which is pull down her panties and put her ass in the air, and await another spanking—this one for saying no.
And afterwards, she takes a moment to fix her hair, put her soaked panties back on, straighten her skirt. Then she returns to her work, and for the rest of the day, she never, ever brings me the wrong file or forgets the cream in my coffee.
Because she’s forgotten, the moment she finished, how badly she needs a spanking.
But she’ll remember. Oh, she’ll remember. And each time she’ll forget most deliciously.