Jennifer Spanks Lacy – a fragment

“Your panties.” The command was abrupt. Yet those two words carried the weight of everything that had gone before. Our argument. My tears. By now, I was nearly naked, except for my bra, panties and knee-length stockings. My throat was dry. My hands shook. Bending, I slipped my white cotton panties to my ankles. I kicked them free, as butterflies swarmed my insides.

“I’ve always loved you,” Jennifer whispered. “But sometimes, you try my patience.” I dropped my head and nodded. My bottom lip trembled. I couldn’t meet Jennifer’s eyes.

“All right, Lacy.” She smoothed her skirt and patted her knee. “I want you to lay across my lap.”

I bent to remove my stockings.

“Leave them,” Jennifer said.

Still wearing my bra and stockings somehow made me feel more vulnerable – as if my bottom cheeks were about to be the sole focus of Jennifer’s attention. A bright flush raced through my body. My gaze flickered up to Jennifer’s chin, and I saw the firm set of her lips. I wanted to remove my bra. Take off my stockings. But that quick glance confirmed my fears. I would be spanked while partially dressed. And I found that more humiliating than total nudity.

Yet there was nothing else for me to do but shuffle forward.

Jennifer held out her hand to help me kneel at her feet. I caught her fingers in mine and was momentarily taken by the coolness of her flesh. As I held Jennifer’s hand, I lowered myself to the floor and studied her smooth, strong legs. As I did so, a tear rolled down my cheek and splashed on the toe of her shoe.

“Are you going to lay across my lap, or do you need help?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was a rhetorical question. Jennifer expected me to find my own way. Slowly, I inched forward and then stood to lay across her lap. I held onto the edge of the couch with my left hand. As I settled myself, Jennifer slipped an arm round my waist and pulled me into her so that my pubic bone rested on her right knee. On contact with her knee, I reflexively jerked my ass upward; my hand slipped off the couch and onto the floor. My long hair was a puddle around my head.

I lifted my hand from the hardwood planks and settled into Jennifer’s lap. My bottom was vulnerable, and my tears started afresh.

“Just so you know,” Jennifer said as she patted my upturned bottom, “I don’t enjoy this.” With those words came the first of many bare-handed smacks, hard and full, right on the curve of my bottom cheeks.

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