Hell of a spanking

The spanking continued without mercy, each strike landing with the same deliberate ****—palm flat, fingers splayed, no warm-up, no reprieve.

One.

The crack echoed sharper than before, your left cheek blooming with fresh heat.

Two.

Right cheek this time, lower, catching the tender undercurve so the sting raced straight up your spine.

Three… four… five…

You tried to stay quiet at first—biting your lip, clenching every muscle—but by the seventh your breath was coming in short, broken gasps. Her left arm stayed locked across your lower back like an iron bar, keeping you pinned exactly where she wanted you: ass high, thighs trembling, cock trapped between her silk-covered legs and leaking steadily onto the expensive fabric.

Six… seven… eight…

Each impact jolted you forward, grinding your painfully hard little length against her thigh. The friction was unbearable—too much and not enough—and every spank made you leak more, a thin, steady trickle now soaking through the cream silk in dark, spreading patches.

Nine… ten…

Your voice cracked on the eleventh.

“I’m—sorry—Mommy!”

It came out louder than you meant—almost a shout—raw and ****, bouncing off the polished wood of the stairwell.

She paused.

Hand hovering mid-air, palm already flushed pink from the contact with your skin. She tilted her head, studying you like a specimen under glass. Then her gaze dropped.

Lower.

To where your cock—fully erect, straining, flushed dark at the tip—was pressed helplessly against her thigh. One inch. Maybe a fraction more when measured from the root, but no more than that. Tiny. Throbbing. Leaking so copiously that a glistening thread of pre-cum stretched between your slit and the wet silk every time she shifted.

Dorothy’s lips curved—slow, wicked, delighted.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, the sound pure velvet satisfaction. “Look at that.”

Her spanking hand descended again—not to strike this time, but to cup. Gently. Possessively. Two fingers and a thumb encircled the whole pathetic length, barely needing to close. She gave it the lightest squeeze, just enough to make you whimper and spurt another clear bead that rolled down her knuckles.

“So small,” she murmured, almost tenderly. “So eager. So… perfectly inadequate.”

She stroked once—slow, deliberate, thumb swirling over the slick head—then released you entirely. The sudden absence of touch made you twitch, hips jerking uselessly into empty air.

“Fifteen more,” she announced calmly, as though reading from a list. “You’ll take them all. And you’ll keep saying ‘Sorry, Mommy’ after every single one. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear if they’re listening.”

Her palm cracked down again—twelfth of the second set—harder than before.

You yelped the apology instantly.

“Sorry, Mommy!”

Thirteenth.

“Sorry, Mommy!”

Fourteenth.

“Sorry—Mommy!”

Fifteenth.

The final one landed square across both cheeks, low enough that the tips of her fingers grazed your balls. You shouted it this time—voice breaking, cracking on the high note.

“Sorry Mommy!”

Silence followed. Thick. Heavy. Filled only with your ragged breathing and the faint wet sound of your cock dripping onto her robe.

Dorothy’s hand returned—gentler now—rubbing slow, soothing circles over the blazing skin she’d just punished. She leaned down, full breasts pressing against your back again, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“There we go,” she whispered. “Such a good boy when you finally remember.”

Her fingers drifted lower, tracing the cleft of your ass—teasing the tight pucker there without pushing in.

“But this little thing…” She gave your cock another lazy, encircling stroke, letting it throb uselessly in her loose grip. “…this tiny, leaky cock isn’t allowed to come today. Not yet. Not until Mommy decides you’ve earned it.”

She straightened, helping you up off her lap with surprising gentleness. Your shorts were still tangled around your ankles; she left them there. Your ass burned like fire, every shift of weight sending fresh sparks across heated skin.

She stood—tall, regal, robe gaping open now to reveal the full, flushed length of her own cock jutting proudly forward, easily eight inches and thick as your wrist, veins standing out, the head glistening.

She caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up.

“Bedroom. Now. Crawl if you have to—I want to watch that bright red bottom sway the whole way.”

Her smile was all teeth and promise.

“And when we get there, baby… Mommy’s going to show you exactly what a real cock looks like when it’s ready to claim what’s hers.”

She released your chin.

Took one step up the stairs.

Turned back.

Waiting.

Your move, sweet boy.

Crawl… walk… beg…

It’s all the same to her.

You’re already exactly where she wants yo