Russian Resolution Ch. 04

"Dasha, if you wanted to--"

"No," she laughed softly, tender as her touch. "No, Dean, I want to spank you."

"Then spank me," I said. "Please. I was naughty to look up your skirt, and in the bathroom, before I -- took your underwear, I -- couldn't stop myself. God, the scent. I couldn't help myself."

"Come here then," she said, sitting up forward on the chair, squaring her thighs to hold me, patting them again with her long-fingered hands, her strong arms.

I didn't wait. I lay across her, my hips right there, my stiff cock against her legs. I ha never been spanked, not as a boy, not as punishment. The closest I could remember was once in high school, I'd been looking too close at a girl, a senior when I was a sophomore, and too, a freckled redhead hippie girl. She had knelt down, tying her sneaker, and I could see right down her muslin peasant blouse to her small, pink nippled breasts. Of course I couldn't look away and she had caught me. She didn't say anything, but later, in the narrow hallway in the music rooms where they kept the instruments and where the practice rooms were, she came up behind me and smacked me on the bottom three times. My cock had jumped to life, and I blushed more red than her hair. I was just a gawky kid then, tall and skinny and not sure at all I would ever fit in, and it was the first time any girl had touched me in anything like a sexual way. It happened so fast, but I can still feel it, like it happened in slow motion. And the look on her face. I fell in love right then, mooned around after her those final weeks of school, the summer before she was off to college. Wrote the first poems I ever thought might be worth a damn to her. She let me give them to her, let me think they meant something to her. And I still, anytime I want, can stop and feel again those three quick unexpected whacks on my butt. Now I was ready for more.

She let me lie there a moment, and I felt her fingers lightly dancing over the skin of my up-pointing butt. Felt her sigh, and then she said, her voice only just more than a whisper, "You're so eager, Dean. So ready and sweet. It makes me almost not want to spank you after all. You are, after all, a good boy at heart, but--"

And then there was a quick, sharp whack to my butt.

"This bottom, this bottom just begs for it," she purred.

The spanking came, slow, measured, each whack quick, almost light, stinging just the surface of my bottom, tingling my skin, but not pounding into me. She was strong, strong enough to be delicate, controlled, and I moaned and twitched and rocked with the excitement, each quick whap pushing me slightly against her thighs, my cock rubbing, still hard, harder even, I thought. It stung, but god I moaned for it, I held her by the ankle, I called her name, and I thought if it went on another moment, thought with each new slap I would gush cum all over her. But she held off between each one, letting me calm, then taking me by surprise, catching my breath, all the while whispering, "You like it? You like this? You want more? Isn't your poor bottom too sore? Another one? Another?" I felt it then, my cock getting harder, aching, and my balls starting to throb, ready, and her name kept coming on my lips, but just then she stopped. There was a moment when it was as though I were hanging in midair, the cartoon coyote, just before he falls, but I didn't. Her fingers again just barely touched my burning skin, and she said, "So hot, so red, your poor bottom."

She kind of shimmied her thighs back and forth just a touch and said, "And so excited still. Such a fine boy, and you just want to submit?"

She was quiet a moment, her hand moving over me, sometimes her whole palm and fingers on my spank-tender ass. When she spoke, her voice was very soft. "I had almost forgotten how sweet it is to gently spank someone you -- someone--"

Then moved a bit suddenly, said, "You should get up. You should go. It's -- it's late. It's late now."

I felt confused, my head all afog. I climbed up, found my feet like I had been all day on a boat in a storm, everything moving.

"Go get your clothes. Get dressed."

I had no choice again. I went naked to the kitchen, gathered my shirt and pants and then saw Irina in the other doorway, watching me, smirking, and without saying a word she turned and disappeared. When I went out to the other room, dressed, Dasha was at the open balcony. She came back to me, took me down the cluttered dark hall to the door, where I found my sandals, put them on. It was all still a dream. My ass stung and my cock was so ready to cum I thought every rub against my pants would set it off, but it didn't.

"You're a sweet boy," she said to me in the doorway, not yet letting me leave, her hand on my cheek. "Or is it just what I want, just a dream? Go. Go home, and we'll see."

"Dasha," I said, but she shook her head. And that was it, I was on the landing, her door closed, the dim yellowish light came on there, flickered, then went out, and I had to make my way in the dark down the steps so old the stone of each was worn as though a stream had flowed down them for centuries. I had no idea where I was, but I was ecstatic.