It seems that, through the imagination, spankings can happen anywhere – in another excellent reader submitted story, ‘Falling to Grace’ shows us what could happen when even ‘crossing over’ can’t save you from a hard hairbrushing. Enjoy!
He was standing before her as naked as Adam, squinting into her face. She was seated, and with the white silk gown draped over her feet, he couldn’t see if she wore shoes. If so, he knew they were the most brilliant of silver pumps.
She had dispensed with the wings, and that accentuated her pale, long arms. Oddly, those arms were mismatched, with the left arm much larger in diameter. This asymmetry struck him as strange, especially here. She also looked familiar.
She patted the left side of her lap several times and without thought he lowered himself slowly over her legs, settling his nakedness onto the silky fabric covering his thighs.
“If you’re wondering,” she said, “there is no He around here. We take care of everything.” Her voice was close to his ear, low and engaging.
From his position over her lap, he and the floor were bathed in the illumination from her halo. A mother of pearl hairbrush, lay within his arm’s reach. He yearned to retrieve it, to feel its heft in his in his hand, to slap his other palm with it, to surrender it to her with delicious hesitation. But he was scared.
“Of course we all spank here,” she said, caressing his naked bottom. “Just some harder than others.”
“How much will it hurt?” he asked. His body was responding to the feel of her thighs, the smooth hands on his flesh.
“I should think a great deal,” she said. “You won’t be sorry.”
She started slapping his bottom gently, glancing blows that warmed and teased him. Her palm struck where his legs met the curve of his bottom and she slowly worked her way up that arc, eventually connecting with more force on the fullness of his cheeks.
His hands had lowered to the floor, helping him balance. Now she took one of his hands and brought it behind his back, spanking harder for awhile. Then she paused. It took him a second to realize the sensation had stopped. She slipped something flat and cool into his hand.
He brought the object around so that he could look at it. An Android tablet?
“You don’t use…I mean I thought here of all places…” he started to ask.
He heard her laugh deeply.
“He was an absolute genius but so straight-laced it hurts me to think.”
The tablet was displaying a YouTube page and when he saw the particular video, his stomach somersaulted.
“It ends about 1:42 or so,” she said. “Well, it and you.” She laughed.
But he was sidetracked now, staring at the screen, how he’d looked on the edge of the cliff, before he’d jumped.
She had to slap his already sore bottom several times hard before he pushed the play button.
He had really looked good, hadn’t he!
“There you are in your cute wingsuit,” she said. “Falling out of the blue sky, a lone beautiful bird. So magnificent I daresay it reminds me of my earlier days.”
“Picking up speed as you swoop down, down, down. Hurtling toward the hole in the rock face. There’s nothing else like flying! They know…you know…it’s certain death if you miss the hole. But you have the parachute on your back and safety is the most likely outcome.”
She started spanking him again as he watched. “There’s no way you could miss the hole is there? No reason for that…”
He was transfixed as the video merged with his memory. Outside his body, watching, he was feeling the elation of the flight in every nerve, the precision in his trajectory born out of the most minute changes in the wingsuit.
The video played on and he almost forgot his burning bottom and the fire of her hand. As he flew closer and closer to the hole, it gained in size and the video transitioned to slow motion.
“There,” she said. “Stop it there.”
He had approached the hole dead center with plenty of room on all sides, until this very moment, where a variation had pitched him slightly off course.
“Miscalculation” he said. “At that speed there’s no room for error.”
“No,” she said. “No miscalculation. Do you want me to stop spanking you?”
He felt her hand pause and he sighed, then muttered something.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“No, please!” he said. “Butt wiggle. It was butt wiggle. Keep spanking!”
“Ah,” she slapped his bottom once in punctuation, then again and again. “Butt wiggle. I thought maybe. Replay that.”
He rewound the video and played it over.
“It’s so clear isn’t it,” she said. “You were perfect, absolutely perfect, *until* you wiggled your bottom the tiniest of a millimeter. Practically invisible in the wingsuit. The aerodynamics changed just a teentsy. But at 69.3 meters a second, it doesn’t take much does it? And you knew that.”
He remained quiet.
“Well,” she said, “we really don’t need to see much more. Suffice it to say that what happened got you twice as many views as a success would have.”
“Plus,” she added, “you’re here.”
She grasped his hair lightly and her lips felt almost in his ear. “Be careful in the future – if you go to the Other Place, it’s an eternal timeout. In fact, there’s a bored guy in the corner there because he jumped semis on a motorcycle too successfully.”
He moaned. It was time. They both knew it.
Still over her lap, he swung his arm back and returned the tablet, the screen dark now. Then he reached down slowly and picked up the hairbrush. He held it for a moment, drawing it slowly down the side of his face, feeling the coolness as he slid the back of it past his temple, over his jaw, past his chin. So flat. So hard. So smooth. He gently passed it to her.
“You may not remember,” she said, “but this isn’t the first time you’ve been here. Oh no, not by a stretch.”
She laughed. “To this day, they still talk about a certain young man as a myth. They say that in this myth he flew too close to the sun and the wax wings he wore melted and plunged him into the sea.”
“We know better don’t we? I wonder what maneuver brought you closer to the sun. Close enough to melt the wings.”
He smiled and laughed, and together they said “butt wiggle”.
“The thing that you *do* forget every time,” she said, “besides your sordid, naughty history, is that the spanking is cumulative.”
“So I’ll be spanking you not only for your latest collision with the rock face, but for the melted wings, and everything in between. With this heavenly hairbrush!”
She brought the brush down on his bottom and he gasped.
“It’s mostly fun right now,” she said in a happy, menacing voice, spanking him again, “but your bottom will remember this for a long time even if you don’t”.
“And the thought of it may cause a twinge down there, a wiggle if you will.” She laughed.
“Then you’ll be back seeing old Grace again. I guarantee it!”