An Unusual Interview

I was interviewing Georgia over lunch. I'd been writing articles about women making their way in traditionally male-dominated fields, and she was a rising star in geoengineering. Her work was politically sensitive, as intervening to control the environment was controversial on both left and right. Though just barely in her 30s, Georgia was accustomed to presenting her views in front of all sorts of audiences, sometimes hostile ones.

And she was insistent on being quoted accurately, as she'd had some negative experiences with journalists in the past. "And what'll I do if you misquote me?" she said, giving me a pointed stare over her wine glass.

"You'll spank me," I answered. I hadn't meant to say that. It just came out, an eruption of a fantasy I'd tried to repress. My words hung in the air. As soon as I'd said them, I realized I couldn't take them back, and that my relations with her had changed dramatically in an instant.

I could feel my face flush red. I looked down at my plate, then stole a glance at her. She had a bemused smile on her lips. She stared at me for a long moment. I squirmed in my chair.

"That is a deal," Georgia said crisply. "And I'm going to take it as something that may need to be done in other circumstances as well."

I nodded, still blushing and mostly looking down at my plate. I was glad that the table was concealing just how excited this turn in the conversation had made me. Finally, I met her eyes for a moment, and in a small voice I said, "Yes, ma'am. Understood."

"Good," she said. "We can continue this interview at my apartment."

A cab ride later, we were in her 20^th-floor one-bedroom, which had a sweeping view of the East River. Being an expert in an increasingly important engineering field paid well. Being a beautiful woman who could keep a crowd mesmerized surely didn't hurt her career prospects either. But the most important thing, she emphasized to me, was that she knew what she was talking about. That's what made her an authority figure, she explained.

She sat on her sofa, her legs crossed. She was wearing a pinstriped suit with an above-the-knee skirt that now rose to mid-thigh. I was sitting in an armchair, trying not to be too obvious about the bulge in my pants. She gave me a knowing smile. "You don't seem to be entirely paying attention, Ned," she said. "Are you distracted by something?"

"No, I'm listening," I mumbled, looking down at my pad and trying to take notes.

"I don't think you are," she replied. "I think you're mostly looking at my legs. And if someone asked you to recap anything I've said about geoengineering, I doubt you'd get it right. Shall I quiz you?"

I shook my head, and tried to move into another question.

"No, I don't think so," she interrupted me. "I think we need to look at where your head is at first." She smiled as she said the word "head," glancing at my crotch.

I sat quietly, not knowing what to say. She stared into my eyes, then patted the sofa next to her. "Sit over here, Ned," she said. "We'll make sure you're properly focused."

I got up, a little awkwardly given my bulging pants, and sat next to her.

"You know what has to happen now," she said, patting one of her gorgeous thighs with one hand as she put her hand on my arm with the other. With a little tig from her, I began climbing across her lap. Once I was in position, she gave me a smack on the butt, and then said, "Lift up." I lifted my hips so she could undo my pants, which she then slid down to my knees. "We'll keep your underwear for now," she said.

I put my wrists behind the small of my back, thinking she might want to hold them in place. To my surprise, she tied something around them. It was a man's tie, which she must've grabbed at some point as we'd entered her apartment. "That's my boyfriend's tie," she said. "Make sure you don't mess it up trying to resist."

"Boyfriend?" I said, surprised.

"Yes. Tom doesn't live here, but he stays over a few times a week. In fact, he'll be here soon."

With that, she began smacking my butt, first with her hand, then with a hairbrush that she pulled out of her purse. I squirmed under the smacks. The sting in my butt was mild, but my embarrassment was intense, especially as I now realized that another man might soon be watching this scene.

I heard the door opening. I guess Tom had his own key. "Oh come on in," called Georgia. "Tom, this is Ned, the journalist I texted you about."

Tom laughed at the sight of me lying across his girlfriend's lap. He looked amused but not surprised. Had Georgia texted him that this would happen? She had sent some note during the cab ride, but I'd been too horny to pay any attention. "Nice to meet you, Ned," Tom said with a smirk. "By this way, this is Sheila."

I looked over, a sense of panic rising, and saw that a woman had followed him into the apartment. Tom was a good-looking guy, probably mid-30s. Sheila was younger, maybe late 20s. "Hi," she said, with a smile and a wave. "Sheila's my sister," Tom added. "Hi," I said weakly, my face surely turning a deeper shade of red.

Georgia brought the hairbrush down a few more times on my upturned butt, while the two of them watched. At first they were standing, but then Tom sat in the armchair with a drink, and motioned Sheila to sit on the sofa, not far from my head. She began running her fingers through my hair, even as Georgia continued the spanking. Sheila was wearing a skirt that was shorter than Georgia's, and her bare thigh wasn't far from my head.

"Well, I'm glad you two are getting along," Georgia murmured before landing another smack on my underwear.

"Sheila's single, Ned," Tom noted cheerfully. I saw Sheila give what at first seemed like a reproachful look to her brother, but then I noticed that she was smiling. Sheila looked down at me, my face pressed against the sofa. "Hard to find a good, well-behaved guy," she said, giving my hair a little pull.

"Well, we're working on Ned here," Georgia replied, giving another smack. "But I'm not sure he's fully gotten the message." She tapped my butt lightly with the hairbrush. "Lift up," Georgia said. "Underwear's coming down."

I complied, and to my surprise Sheila leaned over and yanked my briefs down. "Time for some audience participation," Tom chuckled.

"First, let's deal with this," Sheila said, grabbing my cock and putting it between Georgia's thighs. Then Georgia handed her the hairbrush, and Sheila began doing most of the spanking, though Georgia would still do a hand spank now and then. The sting in my butt was growing, but it competed for my attention with the pleasing friction of my cock between Georgia's thighs. And all of it was heightened by the mortification of being in this absurd, helpless position.

After a while, Sheila said, "That'll do." It seemed that she was in charge now. "He'll need to do some corner time," Sheila said to Georgia. Georgia released my wrists and loosened her thighs. I stood up awkwardly, as my hands were still tied, and my underwear was around my knees; my pants now fell to my ankles. Tom laughed and pointed me toward a corner by the kitchen counter. I stayed there for probably 15 minutes, before I was allowed to come over and have a drink, with my hands now free and my underwear up, but with my pants still down.

Well, it was an embarrassing start to my relationship with Sheila, but we've been dating for four months and are getting along well. Of course, my spending some time over her lap has helped keep things on an even keel. I haven't been back over Georgia's knees since that first time. But I'm pretty sure that too could happen one of these days. In fact, I was tempted to get a quote slightly wrong in my article, just to ensure such a reaction, but I refrained, since journalistic integrity matters to me.

In any case, a couple of my sessions over Sheila's lap have occurred during double dates, with Georgia and Tom watching. Their bemusement at my predicament makes it all the more exciting. I owe them a lot for readily perceiving what I need and setting me up with a woman who can provide it.