Last month I submitted a couple of stories to Alison Tyler; neither were accepted and this one was similar to what else she had received, but it seemed silly to leave it on my hard drive so it is here for everyone to enjoy!
I bellowed in agony, my rump burning with white-hot pain from where my young neighbour had struck it mercilessly with her foot-long wooden paddle. I struggled pointlessly, wishing away the searing pain from my muscles as I tried not to focus on the streaks of suffering striped across my sensitive buttocks. My wrists and ankles were fastened to their spanking bench, one of two that occupied the room, with the black leather sticking to my naked skin as I was restrained for the “challenge.”
“Two,” she cried, and giggled as she watched my wife strike the lesbian partner of my tormentor with another wooden paddle. I stared into my competitor’s eyes; they were awash with steely determination and focus as the sting of the paddle echoed around the second bedroom, adapted fantastically into an intimidating BDSM playroom.
I closed my eyes and waited for the next assault on my exposed and upturned bottom, wondering why I agreed to this ridiculous scenario after the dinner party; but I was a man, and I would not surrender to a woman. Even as my abused flesh was in further peril, my sexist competitiveness was foolishly unyielding. She may have been sexy, stripped half-naked so my wife could issue a paddling, but she was no match for the superior will of a man.
I clenched my buttocks, feeling the rush of air across my sensitive skin as the paddle was brought down angrily on my bruised flesh. I yelled, crying out in agony, and straining my bonds as I fought to get free. I clenched my fists, mumbling threats and profanities into the leather bench and glanced over to my wife.
“Give in?” She asked, but I shook my head; I would not surrender. She giggled, and swung the paddle against the exposed bottom of my rival. The painful thud and agonising cry, coupled with her tearful eyes, made me smile involuntary. I would not lose.
The next strike was harder than all the others: the evil tormentor ramming the paddle against my rear as if she was trying to hit a home run. I screamed, stretching my bonds so that they dug into my wrists. My bottom glowed angrily, excruciatingly painful streaks were layered onto my burning skin. I sniffed and begged for mercy, rudely squealing gibberish as my wife revelled in my discomfort.
“Give in?” She asked. Her taunting expression and gleeful smirk sharpened my resolve.
“No,” I yelled, tensing my buttocks with determination. I watched as my wife slashed the paddle against my rival’s arse, causing a small rivulet of tears to stream down her face. I took a deep breath; I would not surrender.
I didn’t; not on the next hit or the hit afterwards, but as my neighbour smashed the paddle repeatedly against my fiery flesh with ever increasing delight at my discomfort. I heard her giggle and taunt, savouring the bruising to my vulnerable buttocks that she was causing with such gusto. They wanted me to despair and resign; they all did, but I blocked out their taunts and focused. Focused on ignoring out the pain, focused on watching my rival suffer, focused on the stickiness of the leather seat and the tightness of my bindings. Focusing on anything other than surrendering to three women.
She coughed and took a step back, steadying herself for another vicious hit with the paddle. I heard her grunt as she moved her arm and the floorboard creak as she shifted her weight, smacking the paddle with unwelcome force onto my exposed skin. I gripped the leather bench and tensed my buttocks but it made no good.
The smack filled the room, the sound of agony and torment bringing smiles to the faces of the two women I could see. I yelled, splitseconds after the deafening crash on my skin set light to my buttocks and sent a painful surge of agony through my rump. “I give in,” I cried, desperate to stop the torment, and my wife shook her head. I knew what she wanted to say, but she just reached for the bindings on my rival with a wicked grin. “Now untie me,” I told them, but there was no movement.
“Never challenge me to a paddle off,” my competitor cried as she shook her hands free from the untied rope. She reached for the small table and picked up a small chocolate. “Especially not for the last Rolo,” she giggled as she took the paddle from my wife. “They are my favourite. Now, I have to claim my prize as the victor,” she added before adding the disputed chocolate to her mouth.
“Let me go,” I begged, but the bondage held me tightly in place, awaiting the first smack of my arse from my young lesbian neighbour.