“Swats”

By Angela Caperton

Copyright 2010

“Hoyt Collins! How dare you spank my little girl!”

Hoyt gave Nola a look that made her face burn with fresh anger. “Tammy ain’t a little girl, Nola. She’s eighteen and she got two warnings about skippin’ class before she got a spanking. That’s the rule.” Hoyt, head coach at Burdock High School, was thirty-six years old and still looked good in a t-shirt.  Most women in town lusted after him, but not Nola. Nola had her fill of men when she kicked Tammy’s daddy out ten years earlier, though that didn’t stop most of the men in Burdock under age eighty from trying to make her. 

Nola put her fists on her hips to keep from swinging at Hoyt’s smug face. Fury blazed in her. “But you’re a man! Rules say it should’ve been Miss Spenser to paddle Tammy.”

“Don’t you go quotin’ rules to me, Nola. Rules say it’s a woman spanks the girls unless there ain’t a woman around. Maggie Spenser is down in Mobile takin’ trainin’.”

The issue of corporal punishment in Burdock got kicked around every four or five years by the school board, but the rod swingers always won out over the child spoilers.

“Tammy came home crying, Hoyt.”

“Maybe she won’t skip classes again.”

“You hurt her.”

“Swats don’t hurt much – except for pride,” Hoyt said with a smirk. “You want me to show you?”

For a moment, Nola’s anger clogged her speech, then she called his bluff. “Okay, you bastard. Show me.”

Hoyt blinked only once, then narrowed his gaze and grinned at her like a bobcat with a claw-pinned rabbit.  “All right.”

From his desk drawer, Hoyt produced a long, narrow piece of wood. Nola saw holes had been drilled in the paddle to improve its swing.  

He screeched a heavy metal chair away from the desk.  Hoyt patted the chair. “I won’t ask you to lift your skirt since I’m not Miss Spenser.  Bend over.” 

Nola obeyed him, squaring her shoulders and bracing.  She rested her hands on the seat of the chair, intensely aware of the vulnerability of her butt.

A moment of shredded silence filled the room.  She stared at her fingers on the chair and heard the whisper of Hoyt’s breath, the high whistle of the drilled wood, then felt a sharp sting on her right ass cheek through the thin shield of her pencil skirt. The crack of wood on flesh blasted her ears.

She gasped. Hoyt was right. It didn’t hurt. Not exactly.  Not immediately.

Warm, like the heat of hands cupped over an eager flame, a slow, mellow burn churned with an edge of pain at its center.  She turned to look at Hoyt just as the second swat connected with her left ass cheek.

Nola jerked, the same slow creeping of sensation, heat then sting, while the pain on her right cheek flared like flame-braised skin.

Between her legs, a church full of candles melted.  She tensed her calves to stop the squirming, and shifted her hips to angle her panties so the cotton-lined crotch could soak up the sudden slickness.

Another swat and Nola released the gasp in her throat, embarrassed at all it revealed, threadbare and desperate. Pain erupted on her sensitized flesh, coiled around her spine, and arrowed into her senses, nothing unbearable, neither vicious nor disingenuous, but real.  The nettle edges coursed through her and she accepted them, let sensation flow back into her core where need whisked it into cream.  She rocked, willfully wanton, and hiked up her skirt, inviting Hoyt to strike again.

Crack, across her left cheek and Nola nearly came.  Saliva flooded her mouth and the room blurred, light and sound muted by the fire he stoked inside her.

She heard the rasp of his breath and felt his hands rough on her thighs. She pushed her butt at him and he explored. She reached back to help him remove her panties but he slapped her hand and tore the fragile garment. Silk shredded, hurting a little as he broke the waistband. The cool air of the room on her bare bottom condemned her and then his finger dipped into her sopping pussy.

“Nola, you are such a bad girl.”

She heard him unbuckle and unzip and then the thick head of his cock pushed through the wet curls to introduce itself to the pulse of her clit.  He gripped her hips hard and slid erect along her wet slit, coating himself. Then his merciless hand swatted her ass and Nola cried out.  She braced against the chair, moaning, dying of desire in the long moment before his cock filled her pussy with one hot, hard thrust.

She groaned, her mind oblivious to anything but sensation.  She pushed back against his hips, brazen as a whore, and laughed with delight as his hand connected with her ass again.

He fucked her.  He gripped her hips, pulled her against his fast, punishing thrusts, one hand reaching around to flick at her clit until her knees shivered. She exploded in an orgasm that blasted from her pussy, up her spine to blind and incinerate her brain.

Through the haze of pleasure she heard his howl of release and felt the hot stream of come.  The sticky, cooling residue spilled onto her ass as his cock slipped out and he half-folded over her.

Trembling, weak as water, she managed to twist and sit on the chair.  The cool vinyl kissed her skin and grounded her.  She pulled uselessly at her blouse and straightened her skirt over the smear.

Hoyt stood over her, his cock shrunken and wet, his eyes glazed and amazed.

“Don’t spank Tammy again,” Nola panted. 

“It don’t hurt much,” he offered putting his cock back in his pants.

“That ain’t the point, Hoyt. There’s enough of me in that girl, I’m afraid if you spank her for skipping, she’ll never be regular to class again. 

“From now on,” Nola breathed, “you save those swats for me.”