How I Became A Spanko

Friday night, and I am waiting for my husband to arrive home from work. He is late again tonight, as he has been every night this week, some big new project at the office.

This week-end we plan to spend every minute together, and we have a lot of catching up to do. It has been four long days and four even longer nights since we have given in to our carnal desires, and five long days and nights since my last spanking.

I am sitting, comfortably for a change, on the couch with our paddle in my lap, anticipating the moment he will order me over his knee, raise my skirt over my hips and lower my panties to my knees, and spank my pale white backside to the sexy shade of fire engine red I so crave!

Being spanked is one of my favorite things, and also one of my biggest sexual turn-ons, a close second to performing fellatio on my husband and swallowing huge loads of semen as he pats and strokes my head.

I reach my hand inside of the waist-band of my panties and begin fingering my moist vagina as I imagine the week-end my husband and I will share, and my libidinous daydream takes me back to my first year in college, before we met, when I submitted to my first adult spanking as part of the initiation ritual for the sorority I joined.

I was one of only six girls remaining from the dozen or so that had pledged this particularly elusive sorority. Although quite sheepish at the time, I thought being accepted into this sorority would give me the confidence I lacked.

The previous seven days, pledge-week, had been difficult enough to endure, even at an all-female college. First, we were ordered to shave off all of our pubic hair, and submit to random inspections by any member of the sorority at any time during regular classroom hours. We were also forbidden from wearing panties, slips, or any other article of clothing under our uniform skirts. This made the inspections simple enough: raise your skirt to show your compliance. Failure resulted in a five-point penalty. I shaved myself slick every day and lifted my skirt whenever I saw a member of the sorority, even without being asked. This may not have earned me any extra points, but it did garner some interesting looks from faculty members and fellow students alike!

Then there were daily competitions. My favorite was the fellatio challenge, using a life-like dildo. Because of my expertise in this activity, I easily won the contest, for which ten points were awarded. I earned another ten points for consuming the most "semen-shots," which, by the way, tasted nothing like any real semen I have ever swallowed, and I have swallowed a lot of semen!

At the end of pledge-week, the six finalists for acceptance into the sorority were announced and invited to the sorority house for our final test.

After a brief explanation of our challenge, we were ordered to take off our clothes and form a line in the hallway outside of the sorority president's bedroom, facing the naked backside of the girl ahead. Then the master-at-arms, who served as the moderator of the event, cuffed our wrists with those novelty furry handcuffs one can buy at sex shops or on-line.

The irony was not lost on me when the master-at-arms shouted, "Silence!" loudly enough to be heard outside of the sorority house. But I guess she had to display her authority.

Already self-conscious about my lean, gymnast body, I felt totally humiliated standing in the hallway of the sorority house, completely naked except for the fuzzy handcuffs binding my wrists in front of me, among the other pledges in line whose breasts were larger and bodies more voluptuous than my own scrawny frame. With my pubic hair shorn, I looked like a child among women, and of this I was reminded often by the sorority members-at-large. If their intention was to hurt my feelings or make me feel inadequate, they succeeded. I tried to pretend it did not bother me, or compensate with smart-aleck remarks and wise-cracks, but that strategy only goes so far.

For as long as I could remember, and despite blossoming into womanhood at a slower pace, I always received more male-attention than any of the other girls my age. Presumably this was because I sucked and swallowed on the first and every subsequent date, in fact, fellatio had been my favorite activity ever since junior-high when I first discovered what mouth-watering delights the boys had in their pants. But in an all-female college, with hardly an opportunity to demonstrate my fellatio prowess, I felt like an ugly duckling. Getting into this sorority was very important to my eighteen-year-old self-esteem, and I was willing to submit to all manner of humiliation and torture to achieve that status.

An impromptu curtain hung from the doorframe of the president's bedroom, blocking our view of what was to be the final step of acceptance into the sorority, but we could hear everything clearly.

The six of us were given two choices for our final test: we could either bury our face between the legs of the sorority president and nuzzle her for thirty-seconds, while the rest of the girls in the sorority watched, made cat-calls and other lewd remarks, and used their cell-phones to record videos of the debauchery, or bend over her knee for thirty spanks with what appeared to be a ping-pong paddle, with the same enthusiastic audience.

So far, the two pledges in front of me had chosen the former. Those of us to follow could hear the slurping sounds as they explored the yawning vagina of their soon-to-be sorority sister with their lips and tongues, amid her exaggerated moans of pleasure, and the shouts of encouragement and insult provided by the girls in the peanut gallery. After passing their "test," each of the girls was released from her handcuffs, handed a robe embroidered with the name of our sorority, and invited to stay and watch the rest of the proceedings, their faces glistening with saliva and vaginal secretions.

"Next pledge," the master-at-arms said when the girl ahead of me had finished slurping her way into the sorority.

I stepped through the curtained-doorway and caught my first glimpse of the final hurdle to acceptance into the sorority. The sorority president was sitting on a towel on a wooden chair, completely naked with her legs spread, nodding her head and fingering herself invitingly as she assessed her next prey. She was surrounded by the rest of her sorority sisters, many of whom already had their cell-phones out and ready to record my performance.

At this point in my life, I had no lesbian aspirations, and, although performing oral sex on members of the opposite gender had been a favorite activity of mine for several years, I could not imagine being that intimate with a member of my own gender, even as part of an initiation. So I was the first to select the latter choice, despite the lack of padding on my backside, or really anywhere on my lean body.

"On your knees or over mine," the president commanded, licking the finger with which she had been preparing her wares for their next oral exploration. She smirked broadly when I announced my choice, then received the paddle from her master-at-arms and motioned for me to bend over her naked lap.

"It looks like a taco," I muttered under my breath to the sorority president, just loud enough to be heard by the girls on the other side of the curtain still waiting their turn, before assuming my position across her naked lap. In retrospect, making a disparaging remark to the person holding the paddle that is about to deliver a severe spanking on the unprotected flesh of one's bare backside might not be an advisable strategy, but I was understandably nervous and could not control my smart mouth. I fully deserved the fury I received from el presidente and her paddle.

There was a momentary hush as she patted my backside gently with her other hand, apparently in search of the perfect place to begin, and then the first loud sting of the paddle opened the floodgates of those in attendance for all manner of chatter and merriment.

"Ow!" I shrieked, as the painful blow sent needles and jolts of electricity into every part of my slim body.

WHACK!

Again I hollered in pain, involuntarily raising my legs and kicking my feet as though swimming.

WHACK! WHACK!

By the fourth spank, I could not hold back my tears, and by the fifth, my crying was loud and out of control.

After about eight or nine assaults on my reddened flesh, the sting of each subsequent spank seemed less severe, even dull, although I was nonetheless wailing emphatically as my future sorority sisters mocked me by imitating my distress. I was crying so profusely, in fact, that a puddle of my tears and the nasty contents of my running nose had taken form on the floor beneath my face and was ever-growing.

Still, the paddling continued: WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! My adversary was unrelenting, despite my childish bellowing and thrashing about, and she delivered each swat with metronomic precision and enough force to leave every centimeter of my tender backside a bright, glowing red for days to follow.

Admittedly, I lost count of the spankings I received, but with each ensuing swat, I began to feel an unexpected mixture of not only pain, but an increasing degree of sexual pleasure. As the relentless paddle warmed my backside, the first sparks of a fire ignited deep within my loins!

The beating, berating, and bawling continued as I endured not only the pain of the onslaught against my tender flesh, but also the humiliation of my future sorority sisters seeing me in such a compromised position, naked and bent over their president's lap, my face and backside the same deep shade of crimson, being paddled like a naughty child, and crying and carrying-on like one as well.

But the temperature inside of my vagina continued to rise!

After what must have been my thirtieth spank, my new sorority sister lifted my limp and shuddering body from her lap, the master-at-arms removed my handcuffs and handed me a robe, and the rest of my sorority sisters whooped, hollered, and applauded, patting me on the shoulders and back in congratulations, but thankfully not any lower.

Using the robe to wipe my eyes, but not putting it on, I made a quick exit from behind the curtain and headed down the hallway to the bathroom, still sobbing and shaking.

As I passed the remaining pledges, some of whom were also crying sympathetic tears just from listening to the punishment taking place behind the curtain, I heard gasps and moans at the sight of my battered crimson backside, despite the master-at-arms' ordered silence.

Once inside of the bathroom, I stood in front of the toilet with no thought of ever being able to sit down again, grabbed a handful of toilet paper, and blew my nose loudly. Then I leaned my shoulders against the wall and began masturbating furiously, releasing one of the most intense orgasms of my entire life! I licked my fingers clean, wondering how much different another woman's vaginal secretions might have tasted, then noticed a bottle of shampoo with a rounded cap in the shower stall, spread my legs, and shoved the bottle into my dripping vagina as far as it would go. I was so aroused by the humiliation and spanking I had endured, in front of an avid audience no less, my vagina was on fire! I slid the shampoo bottle in and out until another explosive orgasm turned my legs to rubber and I collapsed forward onto the toilet seat, moaning in ecstasy.

A couple of my new sorority sisters had followed me to the bathroom to make sure everything was copacetic, and were standing outside of the door when they heard me moan and collapse onto the toilet seat. Naturally, they rushed in to see if I had passed out or needed any help. They were greeted by the sight of my naked, crimson-red backside, slumped over the toilet seat, with a shampoo bottle protruding from my quivering vagina.

"Do you need any..." one of the girls began as they hurriedly entered the bathroom, then stopped mid-sentence and exclaimed, "Oh, MY!!"

Not a word was spoken by any of us after that.

They helped me to my feet, and I removed the shampoo bottle from my vagina, held it in front of my face and gazed at it lovingly for the pleasure it had provided, then demonstrated my already legendary fellatio skills by licking and sucking my female nectar from it before returning it to the shelf in the shower stall. Unashamed by my own lewdness in front of my new sorority sisters, I stepped into my new robe and followed them back to the president's bedroom.

The pledges who were after me for their final step in the initiation all chose the first option, thirty seconds of cunnilingus on the sorority president, and stood in their new robes with beaming smiles on their glistening faces.

After we passed around a bottle to celebrate the end of pledge-week and our acceptance into the sorority, we agreed to continue our joviality at a nearby all-ages club and try to get lucky with some of the guys from the all-male school across town who, we were told, often congregate there on week-ends hoping to find the same kind of activity.

Having pleasured myself with two incredible orgasms in the sorority house bathroom and two more in my dorm room, I felt an insatiable craving for throbbing male flesh in my mouth, filling my belly with hot, thick, yummy semen, and made up my mind to seduce, suck, and swallow the first man at the club who spoke to me.

And I did!

I was dressed casually in my new sorority T-shirt and a pleated cotton skirt. My backside was too sore to even consider wearing panties, and the cool night-time air titillating my naked backside and bald pubic region furthered my resolve to seek that which I craved.

Mr. Right for the night, or at least fifteen minutes, was the valet parking attendant who stepped in front of us girls and held the door as we entered the club. When he noticed our T-shirts, he smiled and asked if it was difficult getting accepted into such a prestigious sorority. That was all I needed to hear.

When I told him what I had in mind, he said he would be relieved in a few minutes, and I smiled, knowing the relief we would both experience as his hot load slithered down my lecherous throat.

He snuck a set of keys from the valet board for a full-size van he had recently parked, and, as soon as we got inside of the van, I devoured him as though I had not tasted male flesh or semen in two weeks, which was, in fact, true. He was delicious!

"Can I buy you a drink or dinner or something?" he asked breathlessly after ejaculating a huge load of yummy semen into my hungry mouth.

"You already gave me everything I needed," I said, catching a thin stream of semen with one finger as it dripped down my chin and then sucking my finger clean.

"Can I see you again?" he asked.

"Oh, I have a feeling you and I will be seeing a lot of each other!" I replied, licking my lips seductively. And we did hook up several more times in the following weeks and use various vans, cars, and pick-up trucks for our clandestine purposes. We had a good, semi-regular thing going until he got mad when he realized he was not my only source of fresh semen. Why do boys have to be so stupid?

After my Mr. Right's break was over, I joined my new sorority sisters inside of the club and stood at the bar, washing down my recent mouthful of semen with a glass of mineral water. It would be days before I could sit without grimacing.

Little did I realize at the time how much that spanking turned me on, or the spanko I would soon become.

Our sorority president and I got together often throughout my first, and her last, year of college to relive my final test, sans the fuzzy handcuffs, and it was common for me to have one or more orgasms, bent across her lap as she warmed and reddened my backside with her trusty paddle. I am pretty sure mine was not the only vaginal nectar dripping down her naked legs on many of those occasions.

On our third or fourth spanking session, she showed me the cell-phone video of my initiation, and it turned me on so much, my vaginal volcano erupted before either of us even had our clothes off!

"I was such a brat that day!" I said after watching the childish way I carried on during my first spanking. "You should have spanked me harder!"

"Oh, you'll get your just deserts!" she said with an assuring nod and a sly wink.

"Promise?" I asked, assuming my position over her naked lap and lifting my backside slightly in anticipation of my just deserts.

She was not exaggerating! By the third spank I was wailing uncontrollably, and she did not stop at thirty! We were both drenched with sweat, tears, and vaginal exudate by the time she set the paddle down, helped me up, and handed me a box of tissue.

After blowing my nose and wiping my eyes, I started giggling, despite the burning pain in my backside, and she asked me what in the world could be so funny.

"I still think it looks like a taco!" I gushed, unable to suppress my giddiness. The cell-phone video had captured my since-forgotten comment.

"You just earned ten more spanks," she said without a trace of humor in her voice.

I started to bend myself over her knee when she stopped me.

"Next time," she said softly, her cool hand feeling incredible and sending a shiver of goose-flesh over my entire body as she touched my battered backside. "You've had enough for one day."

"I'll remind you," I offered, wishing she would keep her soothing hand on my backside.

And from there, our pet names for each other were born: I called her "Taco," and she called me "Ten."

A typical exchange would be as follows:

"How are you today, Taco?"

"Pretty good, Ten, how are you?"

"Same."

You get the idea...

She let me use her shampoo bottle after each spanking, and even gave me the bottle as a gift when it was empty. What a joker!

She enjoyed watching me masturbate and often tended to her own needs while I took care of mine, and I also liked watching her masturbate, especially as she neared the point of no return. Her breathing would become labored, and she would close her eyes and lean her head back, then emit little whimpers, increasing in volume as lift-off became imminent. Finally, her body stiffened, and her whimpering morphed into one long monosyllabic utterance, which she would attempt to stifle by biting the knuckle of her other hand. It turned me on so much, I would reach my own orgasm just watching her! I do not suppose my own masturbatory performance was any less captivating, although there is no video evidence of this, unfortunately.

When we were both finished having our way with ourselves, we would open our eyes and look at each other, smile self-consciously, as though embarrassed, and shake our heads back and forth slowly, like what just happened did not really happen. And we never discussed it afterward. Our sorority sisters would have thought we were lovers for sure, although we never had what one could describe as conventional sex, if there is such a thing between two women. We were just two typical sorority sisters getting naked and having tremendous orgasms together. But if I had to guess, I think our spanking sessions were more pleasurable for her than having her taco eaten.

That was still a couple of years before I met the man who helped me understand my own sexuality. Needless to say, I married him and have been satisfied on all counts ever since!

As I sit on our couch, still waiting for his arrival from another late night at the office, and daydreaming about my sorority initiation and the magnificent awakening of my inner-spanko, I reach down between my legs to touch myself again and realize my panties are saturated with vaginal secretions.

When will that man get home?

It is getting dark outside, and the streetlights are on, so I get up and close the curtains of our big picture window; no free show for our neighbors tonight. I take off my clothes and leave them in a pile on the couch, sniffing my wet panties before placing them on top. Then I set the paddle down next to my clothes, walk into our bedroom, and climb into our bed, naked.