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Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

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short story

Election Day

spankingtheatre:

I always vote.

When duty calls, I never decline.

But how naughty it felt to cross the threshold of the polling station, smuggling such a sordid item into this most sacred space. This church hall. This temporary temple of democracy.

And then to stand in the short queue I as waited to confirm my name. The clerk said it out loud, as if he knew exactly who I was. Even though he couldn’t have known what I was hiding, he made me feel notorious.

I flirtatiously fiddle with the hem of my skirt, and coyly accept the ballot paper he hands to me. I let it flap in my hand like a suitor’s handkerchief.

He points towards the row of booths against the wall, their cheap curtains limp like an ersatz peep show. I saunter towards them, sashaying conspicuously, a walking blasphemy along the line of pews.

I choose the empty booth in the corner, and pull the curtain fully closed behind me. Just me and my sacred ballot, hidden from any eyes that might pry.

The booth has a little low table to write on, conveniently about waist height, I set my phone down, aiming its camera towards me, and press its screen to start recording. There had been a sign on the wall as I entered: No Photography. But what goes on in the sanctity of the voting booth is none of their business. And I don’t keep secrets from Sir.

I lift my skirt.

Oh Sir. I’m so sorry.

In my haste to do my democratic duty, I must have completely forgotten to put on any underwear…

I spin around and lift my skirt again.

Spreading my legs so there can be no doubt.

In this dim alcove I wonder if there’s enough light to allow it to sparkle.

Oh Sir. How naughty of me! 

To go out to vote wearing my princess plug…

Keep reading

British readers, use your vote!

Voting Tory is very naughty! So I hope you’ll all be good and vote to stop Boris and save the country from the catastrophe of Brexit on Thursday!

Scene on a Train

A reader asks:

“Would you mind posting this scene on the train as an extract on it’s
own? Its a lovely scene but gets a bit lost in the rest of the chapter.”

It is a great scene, so as a special treat, here it is in isolation. If others want to read the full story that leads up to it, they can find it in Coming of Age part 3.


… we felt like partners in
crime, on the run, scurrying deeper into the backroads of Europe.

Do you remember all the naughty things we got up to? I know excited you get, thinking back
to all the naughty things we’ve done.

How you loved to tease me. I recall your favourite tactic was trying to get me hard in
situations where I could nothing about it. You’d flash your panties, perhaps whispering into
my ear how wet you were, or even leave me naughty notes to discover in my backpack.
You’ll recall how I retaliated, by promising to put you over my knee when we were next
alone. I began to keep a tally, minor teases like sticking your tongue out would earn one
spank, whilst major teases like going to the loo, fingering yourself and rubbing your pussy
juices across my lips on your return would earn five. Yet my ingenious scheme only seemed
to encourage your misbehaviour, alas.

Trains proved a regular venue for mischief, which was fitting, given how we met. I’m sure
you remember one escapade in particular.

It started innocently enough, as so many erotic adventures do. My hand resting on your
thigh, as I idly looked out the window at the passing yellow blur of vast fields of sunflowers.
I rubbed your leg in slow circles, as you laid back in your seat and sighed. Soon, you whispered into my ear: “Higher”

My hand complied, and a pattern developed: I’d rub, you’d whisper in my ear, and my hand
would stray a bit further underneath your dress. Soon, I’d reached the top of your leg, stroking
along the crease of your thigh, feeling the fabric of your panties against my fingertips.

“Higher…” you pleaded.

Our carriage was almost empty, a
virtue of our limited budget, the cheapest tickets were never on busy
trains. I looked around casually, there was no one in the seats nearby
to see us. So I let a
fingertip stray into your underwear, gently combing the fine hair on
your mound.

“Lower… please…” you whispered.

My finger drifted downwards, like a drop of water being channelled by a furrow, until I
reached the velvety soft bump of your little hood. I stroked you there, and you writhed
silently in your seat. Soon your slit was soaking wet.

“Stand up” I told you a few minutes later.

You rose, your excitement and the motion of the train making your legs wobbly. The seat in
front of you was slightly higher than your waist, helpfully shielding you from any prying eyes. I
reached under your dress with both my hands, hooking my fingers into the elastic of your
panties, pulling them right down in one swift movement.

You had to throw your hands over your mouth to stifle your gasp.

I made you step out of your panties, and picked them off the floor. The crotch was dark with
your wetness, sticky to the touch. Then I stood too, so I could whisper into your ear.

“You are a naughty girl. You know what happens to naughty girls.”

I lifted the back hem of your dress, and quietly smacked one of your bare cheeks by way of
illustration.

“Now go to the toilet.” I instructed.

“Take off your dress and your bra, hang them up, and wait facing the corner with your hands
on your head. Keep the door unlocked.”

You looked round at me, your expression one of indignant shock, but I could see that was an
act, and you were struggling to keep the lust from your face. And then you turned and
walked towards the toilet at the end of the carriage, hips sashaying provocatively all the way
down the aisle. When you closed the door of the cubicle, I looked at the light above it to see
if you’d followed my instructions, it did not illuminate.

What was it like, waiting naked in that toilet cubicle? Knowing at any moment the door
would swing open, not knowing who it might be. Not knowing who would see you, standing
with your nose in the corner like a naughty little girl, ready to be spanked.

I let you wait for five minutes, rummaging in my bag but watching
the carriage for any hint
of movement, ready to leap from my seat and get in front of anyone who
came down the aisle with a lavatory visit on their mind. Then I strode
down the aisle and pulled the door
open. You flinched, but didn’t turn around.

I opened the door to an extraordinary and beautiful sight. You stood obediently in the
corner, your hands on your head, your dress and bra hanging up as I’d instructed. I stepped
inside, locking the door behind me.

I saw in the mirror you had your eyes closed. I wonder if you knew it was me – or whether
you were just hoping it was? Did the thought of being discovered naked by a stranger
excite you? I slipped my hand between your thighs, folding my fingers and cupping your
cunt. You were so wet, I’d never seen you so aroused. I left my hand against your slit for you
to slide on, whilst I planted kisses on the nape of your neck.

You got close, didn’t you? Until I withdrew my hand and smacked your arse.

Inside, space was tight, far too cramped for me to sit on the toilet seat and put you over my
knee. So you remained standing in the corner, your head on your hands, resting against the
wall as I spanked your bare bottom pink. I did wonder if the sound of the smacks would be
audible, or masked by the clunking and clattering of the train. Or if someone was now
standing outside, waiting, and bursting for a pee.

After I’d spanked you, I pushed the door ajar slightly, peering outside to see if anyone was
waiting. But the corridor was empty. So I locked the door again, and cupped your buttocks
with my hands, finding each firm globe hot to the touch. I pulled your cheeks apart,
examining the pink wrinkle of your bottom hole, and the dark patch of skin that surrounded
it. Beneath, your lips were swollen and conspicuously wet.

With my palms on your bottom, I kept your cheeks held apart, whilst my thumbs massaged
either side of your slit. You were very excited indeed, I could slide my thumb all the way into
your vagina without resistance.

You weren’t the only one excited, my own erection was now painfully imprisoned in my
trousers. So I undid my jeans and tugged them down, and sat on the toilet seat. You looked
at my cock hungrily. I dipped my fingers into my front pocket and produced the condom I’d
stowed whilst you’d been waiting for me.

“Yes!” you nodded enthusiastically.

I tore open the packet eagerly, rolling the sheath down my shaft without delay. Then you
straddled me, lowering yourself onto my cock until you were fully impaled and sitting on my
lap. I reached around to grasp your bottom, feeling the heat from your spanked cheeks radiating
back into my palms. We rocked in time with the motion of the train, the subtle sway of track
curves providing the most wonderful sensations.

As we fucked, we mischievously agreed that the first one to come would open the door
when we were ready to leave, and so be the first to step out and encounter whoever might
be patiently waiting.

That challenge seemed to motivate you, and you began to grind yourself on top of me with
renewed vigour, trying to make me come. I had the advantage though, able to reach behind
you and tickle your bottom hole, circling it, teasing you by explaining just what I was about
to do. You begged me not to, bucking up and down frantically, clenching my cock with your
tight little cunt. I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer, so I slipped my index finger into
your bottom hole, so hot and smooth and tight. The muscles of your entrance gripped my
finger like a vice, but you couldn’t help but push down deeper on it.

Moments later, we came together, muffling our delight against each other’s shoulders.

When did eventually emerge, dressed, cleansed and smiling, we stepped out hand in hand.
What the world thought of us, we no longer cared…

Kitchen Table

A story

“And… WHAT… are those?”

“Ankle cuffs”, I answered nonchalantly.

“And what are they doing on the legs on the kitchen table?” you asked incredulously.

“Isn’t it obvious? To keep your legs apart when I put you over it. And fuck you.”

Your mouth opened to protest. I could sense your indignance, and it pleased me that you seemed to struggle to find words to express it.

So naturally, I teased you. Restating my intentions with a meticulousness that mocked your own flustered reaction.

“I’m going to undress you.”

“Then I’m going to bend you over the kitchen table.”

“Then I’m going to spank your bare little bottom until you’re all hot and pink.”

“And then I’m going to fuck you.”

Each successive sentence made your cheeks flush deeper. I knew beneath your bosom your heart would be thumping. Some ancient limbic reaction deep within your primitive mind preparing for flight or fight. Whilst the higher echelons of your intelligence rendered my words into your imagination, making your pussy tingle.

Three ancient competing urges. To run. Or resist. Or submit entirely. I can almost sense the possibilities cascading through your mind’s biochemical soup.

Is that fear you’re feeling? The trepidation of being captured? Made helpless?

Or are you going to resist and struggle? Do you want me to overpower you? To push you down upon the table, and pull your ankles apart until they’re cuffed?

Or maybe the strongest emotion you feel is lust? Somehow, the air molecules my voice sent lapping against your eardrums unleashing an avalanche, one that’s now thrumming through your nerves and flooding your veins. Stiffening your nipples and making your skin tingle.

Yet a lurker looking in from our garden would know nothing of this, merely seeing a perfect picture of domestic contentment. Just the two of us, sitting quietly around the kitchen table, bathed the warm spring sunshine streaming through the open patio doors. I sipping my tea, you scooping up small spoonfuls of muesli.

But if they waited, they’d notice your spoon drop. And then your jaw hanging open. Gaping. Surprised. Almost bewildered.

And if they lurk for just a little while longer, they’ll see me putting you over this very table. Kneeling down to fix the cuffs to your ankles. Then tugging open your buttocks with both hands to see how excited you’ve become.

“When?” you said at last.

It was obvious you’d spent the intervening silence imagining it.

“When I say so”, I answered firmly.

Was that look lust, or bratty indignance? No matter. I treat both the same way.

I could tell you to stand up right now. To undress before me. I could even tell you to stand before the table, reach down, and close the cuffs around your ankles. Would you like that? Following my instructions. Being obedient?

Or maybe I’ll send my instruction out of the blue, when you’re least expecting it. Perhaps one evening when I’m travelling home from the office. What a delight it would be to arrive in the kitchen, to find you lying over the tabletop, perfectly presented, and aching to be seen to.

Or would you find it more exciting if I took control? Suddenly grasping your wrist, leading you towards the kitchen. I could undress you myself. A stern expression silencing any dissent as you’re stripped naked in front of the garden windows. I don’t think the neighbours can see in. Though if I opened the patio doors, they might just be able to hear you.

I wonder, shall I cuff your wrists too? Or have you keep your hands on your head as I deal with you? Or maybe I’ll just pin them to the small of your back with my free hand when the time comes to smack your bottom.

I glance up from what I’m reading, and see you’re already squirming in your seat. Have you already made a mess in your panties?

Be assured, my inspection, when it comes, will be very thorough indeed. Not because your intimate little world is unfamiliar. Quite the contrary, I’m going to enjoy returning to some favourite places. My roaming fingers skimming over every tender fold and furrow. Every contour of your curves.

I shall kneel between your thighs and advance, until my nose nestles between your tender slit. So I can inhale deeply, and smell your moist florid scent. When I retreat, I will tug you open to explore your crevice of glistening vivid pink. I know I’ll find you leaking, almost aching to be filled. So I’ll remind you sternly, that you’re going to have to wait.

Because first I’m going to spank your bottom.

I’ll leave you squirming, frustratedly pulling at your bonds, when I go off to fetch the paddle, and a few other little treats. On my return, I make you wait some more, standing behind you to admire the view. Whispering. I wonder how wet I could you make you in this position, with just my voice alone. And my warm breath on the back on your neck.

I wonder if our neighbours can see us, and whether they’d be shocked or as aroused as you are.

I pull a wet wipe from its tube, and with both hands, tug your buttocks open, placing the cool damp tissue against within the crevice. I feel your struggle with humiliation as I wipe your bottom clean.

I’ve brought another little treat, your beautiful glass buttplug, it seems to shimmer in the sunbeams like a giant frozen raindrop. I open your mouth, and slip it between your pouting lips.

I grasp the paddle purposefully, rubbing the soft velvety side up and down your thighs, then back and forth across your bottom. Then between your open legs, smearing your excitement across the stiff leather blade.

Is this this what you want, my dear?

Your answer is obvious and assumed.

The spanks start.

Slow. Forceful. Smacks.

Cute pink puddles form on your pert pale cheeks.

Your yelps and moans are stifled by the obstruction filling your mouth.

I kneel behind you again, splaying your cheeks open with both hands, now feeling even warmer to the touch. I run my tongue between your globes, delicately tracing your crevice, circling the dimple of your bottom hole. I hear your muffled moans escalate as I lick you.

It makes me hard to think only I know this secret side of you. The high-flyer who gets her bare bottom smacked. Who comes home from work complaining of arselicking office politics,  powerless to prevent her lover’s tongue from exploring her bum over the kitchen table.

A sore, stinging bottom, with my firm tongue probing deeply in between. I can smell just how excited that makes you.

You taste so good my dear. You taste earthy, like a kind of primal lust.

I rise from my knees and pick up the paddle again. I can hear your little mew of disappointment. My left hand gathers your wrists against the small of your back. I feel your muscles flexing, trying to free yourself, but my grip is unbreakable.

I resume spanking. Slow, hard whacks, that make you moan and yelp.

I fetch the plug from your mouth, now glistening with your excited drool. You whimper as I place it against your bottom hole, then push it gently until it slowly slips inside.

I kneel behind you once more, splaying your spanked cheeks open once more, running my tongue between them. When I encounter the base of the plug, I grip it between my lips pushing it deeper then sucking it backwards.

The way you buck and struggle against your cuffs just makes me even harder.

I contemplate pulling your plug out completely, and filling the empty hole with my eager cock.

Or maybe I’ll just leave the plug in place, and slide myself into your hungry cunt.

I enter, so easily.

And I fuck you forcefully across the kitchen table. Quick, deep thrusts. Sometimes breaking the rhythm by halting inside, stopping just long enough to feel you gently clench around my cock.

When you look over your shoulder, your eyes sparkling and glaring, our glances seem to collide in a lusty conflagration.

We fuck until we both come across the kitchen table. Until we both sprawled and exhausted.

You see us naked, as we are.

A perfect picture of domestic contentment.

.

.

.


@spankingtheatre 2018

Dialogue #2: The Discovery

Back by popular demand! This is my half of a brand new interactive discipline story, written from a single character’s point of view. The idea being that you can copy this text into a new post, write your half of the story, and publish your own spanking story. Full instructions are here, and examples of what readers have created from the previous prompt are here.

Notes: I’ve deliberately left the gender of the two characters undefined, so readers can choose what combination works best for themselves. The gender of the disciplinarian is also left ambiguous so you can choose your own antagonist – a Mummy or Daddy, a governess, a strict uncle, a nun, a headmaster or headmistress – or whoever else features in your fantasies…




The Discovery

“This is very naughty of us! Just lying here on my bed, in nothing but our underwear.”

“You do know what would happen if we were caught, don’t you?”

“We would be spanked for sure! On our bare bottoms!”

“Does that thought appal or arouse you?”

“I have to confess, the thought of being caught and spanked really turns me on.”

“You’re curious too, aren’t you?”

“Do you want me to show you what happens?”

“Sit down on the edge of the bed then.”

“Now beckon me towards your lap and scold me, tell me how very naughty I’ve been.”

“Ooo yes, so stern and strict! I do like that.”

“Now, pull down my panties.”

“Eeek! Now I’m completely bare and exposed. Tell me off for covering myself, tell me to move my hands away.”

“The embarrassment! Now you can see how excited I am!”

“Tell me I deserve a good hard spanking on my bare bottom.”

“Tell me to bend over.”

“Do you like having my poor little bottom at your mercy?”

“Now raise your palm high, and smack my naughty bum.”

“Oh my goodness! And again.”

“You’re so strict! Have you given many spankings?”

“Ooo, yes. I’ve been so very naughty.”

“Oh my…”

“My poor little bottom must be so hot and pink!”

“Thank you for disciplining me.”

“That was amazing, you’re a wonderful spanker!”

“Now, I’ve got a special treat for you too!”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to undress you too?”

“There we go, both completely naked now. Looks like you found smacking my bottom quite exciting too.”

“Lie back on the bed, please.”

“I want to tie you up. That OK?”

“Hands above your head on the bedframe, please. Put your wrists together so I can bind them.”

“Now legs wide apart. Feet to the corners of the bed. I’ve a couple of scarves here to tie your ankles.”

“My goodness. What a beautiful view. All spread open and at my mercy.”

“Now, let me join you.”

“The 69 position is the perfect way to say thank you for a spanking. You get to see what you’ve done to my poor bottom up close, and kiss it all better.”

“And I get to say thank you between your legs.”

“Oh yes, just there…”

“Mmmm. So good…”

“But I do have a confession to make…”

“But first, I’m just going to get up, and unlock our door.”

“What if we’re discovered? Well, funny you should say that. I suppose you’d better climax quietly.”

“There back in position, do keep licking as I explain.”

“I’m afraid I’ve done something very, very naughty…”

“Before we started playing, I asked for a visit to my room. The time I gave is fast approaching, so I expect we’ll be caught with our tongues between each other’s legs some time in the next 10 minutes.”

“No point in struggling, I’ve tied you up perfectly tight.”

“We will of course, have to be severely dealt with.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were immediately bent over the bottom of the bed!”

“How do you think we’ll be spanked?”

“Slippered? Strapped? Whacked with the cane?”

“No, I can’t let you go now, have you any idea how long I’ve been planning this?”

“Do you think we’ll be spanked together, or will have to take turns? One of us bending over the bottom of the bed, staring between the other’s legs as they’re punished? Or maybe you’ll be lying on your back like you are now, hands still tied to the frame, but with me holding your legs up.”

“Maybe you’ll get extra when they see you’ve already spanked my poor little bottom!”

“Perhaps we’ll even be made to spank each other! Just imagine that!”

“I’d have to spank you very hard, of course. And I expect you’d do just the same to me, since I’ve gotten you into so much trouble!”

“Shall I keep licking? Would you like me to make you come just as the door swings open, just as we’re discovered?”

“Perhaps you’d like to be caught with your own mouth full, with your tongue pushing against my bottom hole?”

“I think I hear footsteps coming…”

“So very, very close…”

“We’re so very, very naughty…”

“Oh my…”


Now, just copy this to a new post, write your half of the story, tag @spankingtheatre and post!

The Lecture

This is my half of an interactive discipline story. I strongly encourage all readers to copy this text into a new post, write your half of the story, and publish. Full instructions are here.


The Lecture

The silence was broken by two weak, hesitant knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

“Ah, all dressed up in your school uniform, like a naughty little girl.”

“Head up, girl. I’m not talking from your feet. Stand up straight.”

“You know how naughty girls are punished in this school?”

“Yes, young lady. And how are they spanked?”

“That’s right, naughty girls have their panties pulled right down, and get a good hard spanking on their bare bottoms.”

“Take off your skirt. Fold it neatly. Place it on the table.”

“Pull down your panties.”

“All the way down. Take them off. Give them to me.”

“What’s this, girl? You’ve made a mess in them! Obviously you find a visit to be disciplined exciting. Dirty little minx.”

“Open wide, girl. There, you can keep your soiled panties in your mouth.”

“Much better. Gagged with your own sticky knickers.”

“Legs apart. You know your bare slit has to be inspected before punishment.”

“Good. Bare and smooth. And very wet.”

“Now go and stand beside the spanking chair.”

“Hands on your head.”

“Not so wilful and cheeky now, are we, young lady?”

“A scolding beside the spanking chair, about to get a good whacking on your bare bottom.”

“My goodness, your face has flushed quite pink. Your pretty little bum is going to be a similar shade very soon.”

“You remember my leather spanking slipper. Just the thing for naughty schoolgirls.”

“Bend over my lap, young lady…”

“That’s it, legs spread apart. Hands on the floor.”

“You are a very… very… naughty girl.”

“You deserve a good… long… slippering.”

“I don’t want to see your feet kicking, young lady.”

“How does it feel to be getting spanked like a silly little girl.”

“This naughty bum is turning a lovely shade of pink.”

“Let’s pause for a moment, so I can inspect you.”

“Lie still whilst I spread your bottom cheeks.”

“You do have a warm bum!”

“What a pretty little hole. Do you find this humiliating, young lady, having your bottom examined?”

“And I see your pretty little slit is glistening. Are you enjoying your punishment? You are a naughty girl!”

“Let’s carry on.”

“A good hard whacking is just what you deserve, young lady.”

“You know I have to be very strict.”

“Spanked like a schoolgirl over my knee.”

“A good old-fashioned bottom warming.”

“I
am glad I put those panties in your mouth. Good girls should take their
spankings with decorum, without silly begging and pleading.”

“A dozen more…”

“That’s it, good girl.”

“You may stand up now, but no rubbing…”

“Now go stand with your nose in the corner.”

“Reach behind, and hold your spanked cheeks apart. Wider, please. You know naughty girls expose their bottom holes.”

“I hope that’s not a pout on your face, young lady…”

“How embarrassing that must be, on display, holding your sore pink bottom open.”

“Did you just stomp your foot, young lady?!”

“Clearly you still haven’t learnt your lesson. But I’ve just the cure for petulant little girls.”

“Keep that nose in the corner, and your bottom open. I don’t want to see you turning around.”

“Come here girl!”

“Shoes and socks off.”

“Now, I’ve a nice fresh pair of punishment panties for you. Step into them, and I’ll pull them up, nice and tight.”

“That’s it, nice and tight between your slit.”

“I don’t want to hear any whining, young lady.”

“Did
you notice that hook on the wall? Perhaps I’ll take you over there, and
lift you up, and hang you up by your punishment panties.”

“Such wide eyes. Don’t shake your head at me, young lady. I’m the one in charge.”

“It’s so cute when you think you get to have a choice.”

“Up we get. See how easily I can pick you up.”

“There we go, hooked into the back of your panties.”

“Now I can leave you to dangle by your panties.”

“If you struggle, they’ll only pull tighter!”

“I’m sure you can feel the rubbing fabric hot against your bottom hole now.”

“You’re going to have such a sore pink stripe between your legs when I’ve finished with you, aren’t you?”

“How cute you are, dangling by your panties, whimpering on your panty gag.”

“I’m greatly looking forward to pulling down your punishment panties and inspecting your sore messy slit.”

“You can kick your little legs all you want, young lady, but I’m leaving you to dangle.”

“Perhaps I’ll put this little potty underneath you.”

“Now you can dangle there until you wet yourself.”

“It’s no use, girl, your panties are too tight to permit your fingers any relief.”

“Have you learned your lesson? Are you going to be a good girl?”

“This is what happens to naughty girls in this school.”

“I think I’ll just stand here and watch you kick your little feet as your panties dig deeper.”

“Are you close to wetting yourself?”

“No, young lady, you’ll be staying up there. I’m going to wait here and watch as you wet yourself.”

“I bet you’re feeling the need to pee growing, already so warm and wet between your legs.”

“That’s it girl, you know Sir is in control.”

“Now
feel the warmth spreading through your punishment panties and seeping
down your dangling legs. Can you hear it dripping into the potty?”

“That’s a good girl.”

“What’s it’s like to wet your punishment panties?”

“Quite contrite now, it seems.”

“Now, let’s get you down again. All gathered up in my big strong arms.”

“A big hug for my special little girl.”

“Now, I’m going to pull down your wet panties.”

“Bend over like an obedient little girl whilst I inspect your stripe.”

“Hold your bottom apart.”

“Ah yes, there we are – a lovely pink stripe from clit to bottom hole!”

“Stay in position, and I’ll use this towel to dry you.”

“And oh… what’s this?”

“There seems to be a wetness here… of a completely different kind entirely…”



Now, write your half of the story and tag @spankingtheatre!

A short story about what happens in the privacy of the polling booth.

Cast your vote.

Election Day

Three Heartbeats

image

A short story

The painting captivated me from the moment I glimpsed it, like a black hole in the gallery wall, capturing wandering eyes with its irresistible gravitational pull.

It had been mounted in one of the little L-shaped alcoves off the main concourse, a gap easy to overlook as one scurried between the artist’s better known works. Two brass posts and a red velvet rope had blocked the way, but curiosity got the better of me and I mischievously stepped over it, peering around the corner, just to see what lay beyond.

I was rewarded by the sight of this little treat. A golden torso, impressionistically rendered, and behind, a figure in a sheer black mermaid dress, her lines sharper, somehow edgier. A straight line cut through the centre, seemingly a stick of some sort. My imagination stirred. It could easily be a cane. And if it was, the radiant figure was about to be whacked.

I could feel my cock now, stirring and slightly heavier between my legs. Now I was glad of my solitude, of this chance to admire this alluring image alone, the bustle and chat of the invited patrons a reassuringly distant murmur.

I stood staring, trying to unravel its strange meaning. The caption card seemed to offer few hints, merely stating its title, “Three Heartbeats.”

“I do have other paintings here you know.”

I recoiled from my reverie, I hadn’t noticed her approach, but now a stylishly dressed lady was standing beside me. I took me a while to understand her comment, to recognise who she was. She was the exhibitor, the one whose works we’d all come here to admire.

“A captivating work” I admitted. “Inspired by personal experience?”

“Perhaps.” she said coyly.

“Tell me.”

The artist drew closer, reducing her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Her scent was fresh and sweet, like a walk through a midsummer garden after rain.

“I once visited my headmistress’s office, I was going on a field trip, to paint mountains, and I needed her to sign a form. Her secretary smiled slyly as she told me she was busy. She invited me to wait, I took a seat near the door. I could hear her voice, scolding somebody. Then I heard that they were going to be caned. Her secretary was scribbling on a page, but I saw a faint smile on her face. I was seized by curiosity.”

“Then, fate intervened. The secretary’s phone rang, and she was suddenly called away. I was left in the room alone, there was a keyhole in the door, so obviously I couldn’t resist peeping through it.”

“So I knelt, heart thumping, beside the headmistress’s door. Knowing at any moment I might be discovered, and surely be caned myself.”

“That’s when I peered into the room, and saw everything.”

“A tall young lady was standing facing the back of the door, her arms folded across her back. Her naked torso dominated my field of view, I could see her mound was shaved exquisitely bare. Behind her, the headmistress had plucked a cane from the wall. She stood impassively in her tight black dress, looking like she was wrapped in a shard of night.”

“When she summoned the girl to bend over in front of her, I could see she was naked apart from her shoes and socks, her school uniform neatly folded on a nearby chair.”

“Suddenly, I was aware of approaching footsteps. I hurried stood and dashed to my seat, just as the secretary returned to the room. My face burned pink, I could feel my palms slick with sweat.”

“Through the door I heard the first faint swick, and the poor girl moan. Then 9 more whacks.”

“The secretary must have seen the shock on my face. She fixed me with her wide, sparkling eyes, and told me in no uncertain terms: That’s what happens to naughty girls.”

“A few minutes later, the door opened, and a quite contrite looking young lady emerged. I knew her, not well, but she was part of my year. I never discovered why she was punished. And I never mentioned what I’d seen to anyone. Until now.“

I looked back at the figure in the painting, and the delicate cleft below her smooth mound. I found myself scrutinising her body language, was that trepidation I could sense or excitement?

I could see the artist’s anxiety in her quick, urgent brushstrokes. As if she was trying to commit to canvas that fleeting memory before she was discovered. Perhaps the surrounding gray haze represented the stolen glance dissipating from memory, yet the central figures remained vivid.

I found myself wondering who the model was, and whether this was really a self-portrait, that I was looking at the naked form of the woman standing beside me. Whether the painting was really the artist imagining herself about to pay the penalty for her peeking, literally and figuratively undressed, and about to bend over for the headmistress’s cane.

“And what about the title?” I asked.

“A double meaning. One is there are three hearts beating in that picture, the headmistress, the girl about to be caned, and the viewer’s own.”

I nodded. The scene certainly had set my pulse racing. And my cock swelling.

“And the other?”

“It really was only the most fleeting glimpse, it must only have lasted 3 heartbeats. But what I saw has lingered with me a lifetime.”

I looked deeper into her eyes, and began to recognise a kindred spirit.

I handed her my card, telling her I hoped she’d visit my office sometime.

She ran her fingers along mine as she plucked my card from my hand. She read my details salaciously, almost teasingly. My name. My gallery. Then my profession.

“Oh, a Dealer? I’m always happy to meet those who deal with naughty girls…”

Then, before my tongue could untie itself, the enigmatic artist took a step backwards without even bidding me goodbye, and melted back into her appreciative crowd.

.

.

.


@spankingtheatre 2017

About this post – perhaps you’d like to post your own interpretation?

Election Day

spankingtheatre:

I always vote.

When duty calls, I never decline.

But how naughty it felt to cross the threshold of the polling station, smuggling such a sordid item into this most sacred space. This church hall. This temporary temple of democracy.

And then to stand in the short queue I as waited to confirm my name. The clerk said it out loud, as if he knew exactly who I was. Even though he couldn’t have known what I was hiding, he made me feel notorious.

I flirtatiously fiddle with the hem of my skirt, and coyly accept the ballot paper he hands to me. I let it flap in my hand like a suitor’s handkerchief.

He points towards the row of booths against the wall, their cheap curtains limp like an ersatz peep show. I saunter towards them, sashaying conspicuously, a walking blasphemy along the line of pews.

I choose the empty booth in the corner, and pull the curtain fully closed behind me. Just me and my sacred ballot, hidden from any eyes that might pry.

The booth has a little low table to write on, conveniently about waist height, I set my phone down, aiming its camera towards me, and press its screen to start recording. There had been a sign on the wall as I entered: No Photography. But what goes on in the sanctity of the voting booth is none of their business. And I don’t keep secrets from Sir.

I lift my skirt.

Oh Sir. I’m so sorry.

In my haste to do my democratic duty, I must have completely forgotten to put on any underwear…

I spin around and lift my skirt again.

Spreading my legs so there can be no doubt.

In this dim alcove I wonder if there’s enough light to allow it to sparkle.

Oh Sir. How naughty of me! 

To go out to vote wearing my princess plug…

Keep reading

With Britain convulsed by political tremors, an opportune moment to repost this short story methinks. A reminder that sometimes, for some people, the lure of mischief is just too strong…

[Story link]

Election Day

spankingtheatre:

I always vote.

When duty calls, I never decline.

But how naughty it felt to cross the threshold of the polling station, smuggling such a sordid item into this most sacred space. This church hall. This temporary temple of democracy.

And then to stand in the short queue I as waited to confirm my name. The clerk said it out loud, as if he knew exactly who I was. Even though he couldn’t have known what I was hiding, he made me feel notorious.

I flirtatiously fiddle with the hem of my skirt, and coyly accept the ballot paper he hands to me. I let it flap in my hand like a suitor’s handkerchief.

He points towards the row of booths against the wall, their cheap curtains limp like an ersatz peep show. I saunter towards them, sashaying conspicuously, a walking blasphemy along the line of pews.

I choose the empty booth in the corner, and pull the curtain fully closed behind me. Just me and my sacred ballot, hidden from any eyes that might pry.

The booth has a little low table to write on, conveniently about waist height, I set my phone down, aiming its camera towards me, and press its screen to start recording. There had been a sign on the wall as I entered: No Photography. But what goes on in the sanctity of the voting booth is none of their business. And I don’t keep secrets from Sir.

I lift my skirt.

Oh Sir. I’m so sorry.

In my haste to do my democratic duty, I must have completely forgotten to put on any underwear…

I spin around and lift my skirt again.

Spreading my legs so there can be no doubt.

In this dim alcove I wonder if there’s enough light to allow it to sparkle.

Oh Sir. How naughty of me! 

To go out to vote wearing my princess plug…

Keep reading

With Britain convulsed by political tremors, an opportune moment to repost this short story methinks. A reminder that sometimes, for some people, the lure of mischief is just too strong…

[Story link]

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