Spanking History Rewritten

Last night, I was out with my girls Alex and SpankCake, and we had our usual five-hour extravaganza of food, chat and laughs. Later in the evening, after the banana split and the strawberry shortcake (Alex: "We're having fruit desserts! We're healthy!"), we got to talking about past spanko crushes, the occasional spanking threats we'd received in younger years, etc. and I talked about my most memorable missed opportunity with a co-worker, many years ago. In fact, I wrote a story about that incident. I called it "Spanking History Rewritten," and in the first portion, I described what actually happened. Then in the second, I went into great detail about an alternate ending I imagined.

I published this in my "Naughty Girls" anthology back in 2007. However, for those who haven't read that, I thought it would be fun to share here. Especially for Alex and SC, since both their eyes went wide when I described it. :-D

I wonder whatever became of Mike. 

Spanking History Rewritten

When I was in college, I had a part-time job in a discount hardware store, mostly cashiering and some paperwork and stocking. I was there for about three years, and worked with a lot of high-school and college-age kids—mostly male. So there was a fair share of banter and teasing and flirting, and yes, there were even a few spanking threats. Of course, back then, I was so completely closeted, I didn’t have a clue as to how to react to them.

There was Armand, who, on a busy Sunday, was beleaguered by a customer I sent his way because I didn’t know the answers to her many questions, and I had said, “Oh, uh, let me get a floor person for you.  Armand?” When he was finally done with her, he stormed up to the counter, stuck his finger in my face, dropped his voice low and said, “If you ever stick me with someone like that again, I’ll paddle that pretty behind of yours.” As I recall, I was quite speechless, and probably blushing and grinning like an idiot. Fortunately, he was too aggravated to notice and comment, and he stomped off in a huff.

Then there was Bobby. Blond, burly and handsome Bobby, who flirted with all the girls. One night, one of the other cashiers (female) and I were play-bickering with each other, and Bobby, as he passed the counter, yelled out, “Hey, cut it out, you two, or I’ll spank you both.” Then he looked back over his shoulder, caught me staring at him, grinned at me and threw back, “You’d love it.” I was mortified. The look on my face must have been a dead giveaway.

Oh, and let’s not forget Loren. Loren, our daytime manager, older than the rest of us—twenty-five. Very chauvinistic, bossy, and yet kind of sexy. One afternoon, he was sitting at one of the desks behind the counter, and I was taking inventory. I had to get to some shelves behind his desk to count up the contents, so I squatted down on my heels right behind his chair and busied myself counting boxes of nuts and bolts. Without a word, he swung his hand back and gave me a hard, very loud whack square on the bottom. I jumped, almost went face first into the shelves, and gasped. Without even looking up from his papers, he said, “You needed that.” “Oh?  I did?” I sputtered. Before he could answer, our supervisor, sitting at another desk, called out, “Erica, are you abusing Loren again?” “Me??” I blurted. “Who hit whom?” And then Loren broke in with, “And who loved it?” Good grief—was I that obvious? Did I have “spank me, I’d love it” emblazoned on my forehead? And this was years and years before I ever experienced the real thing.

But the biggest standout in my memories is Mike. Mike…one of the youngest guys there, sixteen years old. Cute, cocky, playful, with a mop of tousled hair, faded jeans and ripped t-shirts, bulging biceps and a crooked smile. I thought he was kind of cute, but I didn’t want anyone to know that, since he was sixteen to my nineteen, so I teased him relentlessly, calling him Boy. He called me Girl, but it didn’t have the same insult value.

One very busy afternoon, with a store full of customers and a long, long line stretching out from the counter, I was busy ringing up orders, and Mike was one of the floor workers, so he was harried. Behind the counter, we had shelves with a lot of odds and ends, and I guess he needed something from one of the boxes of paraphernalia. He came storming behind the counter, obviously irritated, and ducked down by the shelves, shuffling around, making a lot of noise. I said, “Hey, hold it down, Boy, we’re trying to work here.” He just grumbled at me to shut up or something and went on scrambling. Then he did it…he knocked over an open box of nails, and they all went clattering to the floor. I burst out laughing, and said, “Way to go, Ace!” The customers and the other cashier laughed too. Mike then sat back on his heels, looked straight at me and snapped, “HEY!! Do you want me to take you over my knee?”

I felt like someone had punched me right in the stomach. I was rendered completely speechless, and in that moment, as he glared at me, I felt the heat flood up from my chest, up over my neck and into my face. Before I could stammer out any kind of answer, one of the customers snickered, “Hey, look at her—you got her all excited!” Then, of course, everyone laughed at me. I thought I was going to die, right there. I ducked my head and busied myself with taking money and making change, but my heart was pounding. Mike cleaned up the nails without another word, and stomped off to do his work. I didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon, but I sure as hell thought about him.

At 8:00, we closed. The other cashier left, and I was alone at the counter, putting things away and straightening up. Steve, our supervisor, went out into the back of the store to lock things up, and Mike sauntered over and came behind the counter, watching me. He sat on the edge of my desk, and as I started to pass him, he grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Boy?” I snapped. “It’s after 8:00,” he said, pulling at me, “and you’re going over my knee, Girl.”  Oh God…no way. Not here. No. This couldn’t happen to me. Sure, it was exciting, sure, I would have loved it, but my fear and embarrassment overcame my excitement, and instinctively, I yanked my arm away and said, “No!” In the stories, he would have insisted. In the stories, he would have overridden my protests, and over I’d go. But this wasn’t a story, and despite his youth, he was smart enough to know better than to push things. So he just laughed, shook his head and went about his business. Nothing ever happened between us after that. He didn’t work there much longer…the turnover in that store was high.

All of the above is true, and I had to wait another nineteen years to get my first spanking.

But what if he hadn’t let me go…

* * *

“Come on, guys, hurry up,” Steve said. “I have to lock up and get out of here; I have a date.”

“Hey, man,” Mike said to him. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll close up.” Steve looked at him doubtfully. “Can’t do that, Mike, but thanks…you don’t know the procedure, and I can’t leave you the keys.”

“Come on,” Mike insisted. “I closed two weeks ago, remember? When you went home sick? Just leave me the keys and I’ll give ‘em back to you tomorrow—I’m coming in same time as you.”

Steve thought for a minute, then said, “OK, you’re right. Thanks, man.” He tossed Mike the keys and left. Probably wasn’t the most responsible thing to do, but he had other things on his mind.

As I took care of things at the register, Mike sauntered behind the counter and sat at the edge of the desk, watching me. I ignored him, and then turned away from the register to go put the money away. As I tried to pass him, he grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Boy?” I snapped.

“It’s after 8:00,” he said, pulling my arm, “and you’re going over my knee, Girl.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I cried, trying to pull out of his grasp. He was strong, and tightened his grip on my forearm. “Yeah, I guess I am, Girl,” he drawled. “But you have this coming and you know it. Get over here.” He grabbed my other arm, pulled me closer, then down across his legs. I tried to get up, but he pinned me in place with one arm. I felt the blood rush to my head as it dangled toward the floor. “Let me up, dammit!” I shrieked. “OW!  Hey!”  He was spanking me, over my tight jeans. “Stop it! That hurts!”

“Good!” he said calmly, continuing with the smacks, alternating cheeks. “You deserve it. Making fun of me in front of customers. Calling me Boy. Think you’re funny, don’t you?” “YES!” I yelled, thrashing around to no avail. “As a matter of fact, I do!”

“Well, I’ll agree with you there, darlin’,” he replied, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Because you’re looking mighty funny right about now!” Arrrgghhh!! In helpless anger, I punched his leg with my right fist, but soon regretted that, as the blows got much harder and faster. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. But it was about to get worse.

The spanking stopped, and I heard him say, “Stand up.” OK, that wasn’t so bad, I guess. Flustered and red-faced, I stood up, glared at him and said, “Is that it? Feel like a big man now?” “Nope, not yet,” he said, not getting up. “Take those jeans down.”

“Whaaaaaaaaaat??” I blurted, not believing what I just heard. “You heard me, Girl,” he answered. I tried to move away from him, but he grabbed my arm again. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. You just might forget to put the money away, and Steve will see that tomorrow morning.”

“Oh…” I spluttered, furious and frightened at the same time. “You wouldn’t!” “Yup, I sure would,” he said, smiling at me. I wanted to slap him silly and then run, and yet, I couldn’t move. My feet stayed planted where they were. And as he continued to stare at me with a half-smile on his face, I slowly unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, and pushed them down, my face burning with humiliation. At least I had decent panties on—plain light blue cotton bikinis. “Nice,” he said, and pulled me back down. “Very, very nice.”

If I thought his hand hurt before, it was nothing compared to this. In all the years I’d imagined being spanked like this, I had no idea it could hurt so much. His hand cracked over and over against the thin cotton, and then he yanked the panties up to wedge into my cheeks and began spanking my bare flesh. I yelled, threatened, struggled, but he wouldn’t stop. How did this kid get to be so damned strong?

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he stopped, and told me once again to stand up. This time, I was much shakier, and a lot quieter…somehow, somewhere along the way, the pain had changed, the lines of pain and pleasure had blurred, and my anger had given way to an entirely different emotion that I couldn’t define. But I didn’t get much of a chance to ponder on it.

“Panties down too,” he said. Oh no, oh no…surely he didn’t mean that. I shook my head, biting my lip and looking at him pleadingly, but he just looked at me, folded his arms and said, “What did I say, Girl?”  I wanted the earth to swallow me up then and there. Wordlessly, I pushed my panties down to my knees, to meet my jeans. “Now,” he said, “get on all fours.”

Now I was really scared. “What—what are you going to do to me?” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. He just smiled, but it was a smile that somehow reassured me, that said he meant me no harm. “You’ll see,” he said. “Down you go.”

The warehouse floor felt cold and hard under my hands and knees as I knelt down, trembling from head to foot. He didn’t do anything at first, but I heard him moving, so I tentatively looked up over my shoulder—oh God. He was unbuckling his belt. “No!” I blurted. “No, no, Mike, please don’t!” “Hush,” he said, removing the belt from the loops and doubling it in his hand. Then, to my complete horror, I saw him reach for the box of nails—the very same one he’d knocked over earlier. In disbelief, I watched as he deliberately upturned the box and spilled the nails all over the floor around me. “Way to go, Ace,” he mimicked, then, “Pick them up,” he commanded.

OK, this was going too far. I snapped, “Go to hell! I will not,” and started to scramble to my feet. Crack!!!  I both felt and heard his belt as it came down hard across both cheeks. I shrieked, and dropped back onto all fours. “Yeah, you will,” he said. “Now.” I stayed in position, but somehow, I couldn’t move. He swung down again, and I felt searing pain once more, slightly below the first stroke. “Now.”

Tentatively, I reached out, picked up one nail and put it back in the box. I reached for another, and whaaaack! The belt snapped hard on my right cheek. “Faster!” Fearfully, I grabbed three more and tried to put them in the box, but my hand was shaking so much, I missed the box and they fell on the floor again. Whack! My left cheek this time. “Get a move on!”

I began desperately snatching at the nails, grabbing them up in handfuls, pricking my palms and fingers, slamming them back into the box, but he kept smacking me with the belt, relentlessly. “Hurry up!” he taunted. “The cash register is open! You have customers waiting! The line is piling up! Get those damned nails off the floor, now!” When I leaned forward to gather some that had rolled away, the belt caught me right below the curve of my bottom, on the upper thighs, and I had to stifle a scream. Tears blurred my vision, my hands grew filthy from the floor, but I couldn’t stop what I was doing for a second. “Make him stop, make him stop,” I prayed to myself, but my body betrayed my mind. Involuntarily, my back arched deeply, thrusting my backside up high to meet his blows. I felt wetness between my legs; I wondered if he could see it. He hit me again and again with the belt, until at long last, I had every last one of those goddamn miserable nails back in the box. “OK!” I gasped out. “That’s it! No more nails! Please, please…”

Wordlessly, he knelt down next to me and offered me his hand. I hesitated, then put my hand in his, and he helped me to my feet. I braced myself briefly against the counter, because my legs were trembling violently. He just stood there watching me, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. I brushed off my hands and my knees. My face burned with embarrassment as I reached down and slid my panties back up, and I winced as I pulled my jeans back on over them. No one could have ever prepared me for this kind of pain. And yet, despite the intensity of the discomfort, I was still aroused. I felt the dampness soak into my clothes, and I squirmed. My thumb stung, and I looked down at it. It was bleeding from a nail scratch.

He stepped up close to me, reaching out to push my hair off my face. “OK,” he said. “No more giving me a hard time?” I shook my head. “No more calling me Boy?” Again, I shook my head, scrubbing under my eyes with my fingers. “Not going to insult me in front of customers anymore?” “No,” I managed to croak out. He smirked.  “Good girl.” Pompous ass! I started to protest, but he put his hand over my mouth. “Hush up, Girl,” he said softly. “You talk too much.” Still with his hand in place, he reached out with his other hand and took mine, lifting it to his lips. Gently, he sucked my afflicted thumb. Then he took his hand off my mouth and gave me a hard, bruising, passionate kiss. My already shaky legs threatened to buckle, and I backed up against the counter. He pressed into me, hard, unyielding. I kissed back just as hard. Then he pulled away, and looked into my face. “What’re you thinking?” he asked. His voice was low, soft and sweet.

My voice barely above a whisper, I answered, “Um… I was thinking that…uhhh…our break room has a very comfortable couch.”

He grinned, that cute cocky half-smile.  “I like the way you think, Girl.”