Over my knee.

“. . . over my knee, Miss Kyle.” You command.

With a resigned sigh your defeated topless adversary walks to the side of your armless chair and slides her succulent frame across your lap. Placing her hands flat on the floor while locking her elbows she lowers herself down into position.

“Ass up, bend those arms.” You cruelly order. “And keep your hands on the ground.”

Kyle bends her arms in a half push-up position while arching her back to comply, putting her in a most unseemly and awkward position. Her head now below your knee level, her large breasts uncomfortably sway and pull downward, while her generous firm round ass gratuitously trusts upward.

Forgoing the paddle you reach around with your left hand taking hold of her right side so your forearm is laying across her back.

“Bastard.” You hear Kyle whisper.

Bringing your right hand down hard against the center of her right cheek causes a loud “smack!” to echo through the room as her body rocks forward while she gives out a grunt of discomfort.

You now go to work on her ass. Slowly, methodically, you spank one cheek hard and then the next, working across her ass with dozens of thunderous swats.

Stammers, hisses, gasps, groans, and moans, increasingly slip from Miss Kyle's lips as her rear turns from pink, to red, to bright crimson. Slowly, inevitably, she begins to squirm about more in your lap, her tits rocking about more violently with each spank, finding it harder for herself to stay in position.

Your commands of “arms bent”, “keep still” and “ass up” become too frequent for your liking and when she grabs her aching over stretched bouncing tits you have had enough.

Thinking you are done Kyle collapses over you. Still holding her chest she rubs her soar ass with her other hand. “Fuck that hurts, next time I have to wear a bra.”

When you don't answer, she looks up over her shoulder and sees you holding the paddle. A strange look of both shock and defiance comes across her face.

“I told you,” you declare not realizing the act is gone and that your juvenile lusts have taken over, “to keep your hands on the floor. Having your breasts knock about is why you took off the bra. As for them hurting too much, lets see if we can make the other end match.”

Kyle stares at you for moment, her breathing deep and heavy, and then without a word she goes back into position; her hands flat on the ground, her ass raised high.

“CRACK!” The paddle explodes across her crimson ass turning it a bruised purple.

“Fuck!” She cries as her body violently jerks forward and then back into position.

Nine more times you blister her ass with the paddle. Each time she cries out some obscenity: “Bastard!”, “fuck that hurts!”, “damn it!” But each time she sways back into position.

After the twenty swat you stop. She glares up at you as you both gasp for air.