Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor
Pretty hard to write an intro for this post that consists of anything other than ‘Holy fucking shit this is hot’, so I won’t even try. Please welcome the phenomenal @jamiebear – who has contributed stunning guest blogs here before on being a proud sub, and the sexiness of smell – to share an outrageously horny story about a spanking event. And – all together now – holy fucking shit this is hot.
“Are you a dirty fucker?”
Seeking more adventure in my sex life, I put my natural in-born introversion to one side and went to an organised spanking event in a nearby city.
Such things don’t suit my personality. I have to meet new people. I have to put myself out there. I have to be charming and interesting. I have to guess the rules. I have to be able to hear in a pub, something that I’m really not good at, especially as my hearing aids are useless in places with music so I don’t bother with them.
But… I really, really wanted to get my arse spanked. So that saw me on a train and then on a tram and thus to a leather bar. You can do this, Jamie. Brave heart.
It was fine. Fetish events are always welcoming to new members, and this was no exception. I paid my entrance fee and was rewarded with a brief hug of welcome from the organiser. He gave me a sticker with a ‘B’ on it (bottom; there’s also ‘T’ for top, and ‘S’ for switch).
I got myself a pint of cider to calm my nerves and make me more gregarious. I’ve been downing pints of cider for this reason since I was 14 and it has never worked, but this time it might, yeah? Of course it will.
After ten minutes, I saw a couple standing away from the bar. One guy was dressed as a headmaster, one as a schoolboy (they were both easily my age: 50s). The headmaster was truly stunningly good looking. ‘Stop in the street and stare’ stunningly good looking. I ordered a second pint, downed it remarkably quickly, and – suitably fortified – went up to them.
“Excuse me, sir, but would you be interested in punishing me?”
He opened his mouth, but the sub spoke first. “That’s NOT how this works! Not at all!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m new. I meant him punishing both of us?”
“That’s even worse! You don’t just go up to people and ask them to beat you! You’re new, but you’re an idiot if you think that’s how it goes! Christ!”
I scurried back to my seat by the bar. Okay, you fucked that completely Jamie. And sitting here for 5 hours waiting for a top to select me for a beating? Well, no, I’d be far too drunk by the time it happened. Pack up and go.
The organiser appeared at my side. “I heard that exchange.”
Oh no, here we go, I’m getting thrown out anyway.
“Asking someone to play is exactly how it works here. It’s how it works everywhere. This is their first time too, so I’m going to warn them gently. It’s fine.”
I downed another pint.
He was right. I asked other guys with an S or a T sticker if they’d like to help me out. As the evening passed, S and T guys started to ask me. It turns out that spankers are more shy than spankees. That’s nice to know, don’t you think? That seems right. The sub is actually the one with all the control in a Dom/sub scene, so in something more… I think the word I’m looking for is “formal” in an odd way… in something more formal, the Doms hanging back make sense.
Right at the end of the event, a Dom-top I hadn’t seen before materialised at the table I was drinking at. Burly is a good word. Hairy. Dressed in rugby kit, with actual mud on his legs. Had he come from a rugby game or was this the best cosplay ever?
“Are you a dirty fucker?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” I replied instantly.
He grabbed me by my ear and dragged me (that’s the fantasy; the reality is that he gently took hold of my ear and guided me, but that’s not what happened when I’ve wanked about this event later) to a table in the middle of the room. He pushed me over it, pulled down my shorts and pants and gave me a really hard handspanking.
He stopped, and then said again, “are you a dirty fucker?”
“Yes sir,” I said again, and reached down to get my little bottle of squirty lube out of my shorts pocket. I handed it to him.
“Dirty fucker,” he said and spat in my face. He pushed me forward over the table again and started spanking me hard once more.
Then he paused and I could feel his dick against my arsehole.
“Dirty fucking boy,” he said and then he was in me.
I’m vocal when being spanked and even more vocal when being fucked, but this rendered me almost silent. Eventually I found my voice, much quieter than usual.
“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry. I’m sorry sir.”
“You will be,” he growled and then started slapping my bum cheeks in between thrusts. I had to do everything I could — think about the absurd popularity of 1980s sitcom “That’s My Boy”, think about the pizza I was going to get on my way home, think about what tram would get me to the station — in order to not cum there and then. I wanted this to go on and on and on.
With three hard thrusts interspersed with half a dozen hard slaps to my bum cheeks, he came in me, then fell on top of me, his breath in my ear.
“Dirty fucking boy,” he said again. “Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I stayed exactly where I was, his cum dribbling down my leg, glancing at my watch to note the time. The other people at the event, which was winding up at this point, continued to mill past me. Some of them touched the welts on my arse. Some were talking about what they’d just watched. Curse my poor hearing, but I did get snatches of “that was good” or “he was good” (me or the top? I need to know!) and “god I’d like that to happen to me”.
I continued to stay in place, bent over the table in the middle of the room, my pants around my ankles, his cum slowly but surely dribbling down to my socks.
The wait was so very hot. My dick remained hard. What could possibly be coming next? My dick twitched at the various thoughts I had, but nothing was going to be as good as I’d just got, was it?
I glanced at my watch. 10 minutes had passed. The event was thinning out now, but guys were still admiring my stripes and welts and, I discovered later, a perfect handprint on one side of my bum. My dick remained almost painfully erect.
His cum reached my sock. I looked at my watch again. 13 minutes. I could just about see that the next event — pup play, I believe — had early participants appearing. My hard-on was still strong.
His cum had fully soaked into my sock. I looked at my watch. 15 minutes.
And then it dawned on me. He’d fucked off. He’d left me there, my bruised and fucked arse in the air, with about 30 to 40 guys just watching his cum dribble from me, and fucked off. The absolute fucking git, a fucking git of a Dom who knew, just knew, what would work for me, the perfect thing to do, how fucking dare he…
…and then I came.
Not touching myself, although my dick was rubbing against the underside of the table which helped.
A cheer went up from three guys in pup masks behind me. I squeezed the last of my cum out of my dick and flicked it off my finger on to the floor, then pulled up my pants, put on my shorts, patted my pockets to make sure I’d got my phone and vape, and left.
“Everything go well for you?” asked the organiser as I passed.
“Oh my god yes.”
“I thought so. See you next time?” he asked.
“Oh my god yes,” I said.
“Good boy.”
