“Do you want to beat her?” I heard Martin ask as he and his friend Jason
settled themselves on the sofa in Martin’s flat.
I was pouring out two glasses of whisky for them and a port for me when
he spoke and I nearly dropped the bottle in shock.
“It’s a gorgeous arse,” he went on, “and she loves having it spanked
I spun round in fury and humiliation but he just carried on quite calmly
and Jason didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed.
“That’s a tempting offer,” he said. “Will she bend over for it in here?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are!?” I finally found my voice and
yelled at Martin.
“I’m the guy who beat you earlier this evening before we went out,” he
replied. “And Jason here is the guy who’s going to beat you now.”
I simply gaped at them both. Of course it was quite true, Martin had
spanked me before we had gone out to meet Jason for what had turned out to be a
very boozy dinner. But this was ridiculous! I thought about hurling a drink at
him but then settled for flouncing out and turned on my heel.
“If you leave Emma, don’t even think about coming back ever again,”
Martin said as he read my intention and stood up. That stopped me in my tracks,
as he must have known it would. I wasn’t in love with him; but I lusted after
him like I had never done with any man before. He was completely different to
any man I had known before.
For a start he beat me and I enjoyed it.
But bending over for him and just hiking up my skirt and doing the same
for a man I had only met that evening were two very different things. And I had
a lot to lose if he ever bragged about it, which he was bound to do. Having
Emma Stewart bend over for a beating at her boyfriend’s behest would be a
feather in any man’s cap and he wouldn’t be able to resist telling his mates.
But to lose Martin?
He gave me sex like I had never had before and even as I framed that
thought, I felt a tingle run from my nipples right down into my belly. Martin
saved me from my dilemma by coming very close and licking my ear while one hand
cupped a breast and stroked the nipple into instant erection. Suddenly I didn’t
care if Jason was there or not, I felt hot between my legs and knew that Martin
was about to make me do something outrageous, but afterwards he was going to
take me the way only he could.
“Come on Em,” he whispered. “Just let him have a few smacks. I really
want to watch your bum ripple under his hand.”
I moaned softly as his words seemed to lodge directly in my crotch.
“And then afterwards I’m going to do something new to you.”
“Mmm! Tell me,” I begged, turning my head so I could kiss him.
“I’m going to beat you… not with my hand this time. I’m going to take
that heavy leather belt I use in my jeans and I’m going to thrash you… and
thrash you so hard…”
“Oh Christ!” I sighed, as my insides turned over and something molten
seemed to drench my sex, “I’ll do it.”
He smiled and stood back. I looked over at Jason, who was watching me
with blatant desire, and I realised dimly that I really had drunk too much
because I found myself sauntering over to him with a ‘come hither’ smile on my
“Okay Jason. Where do you want me?” I felt a stomach-churning excitement
at the thought of how wanton and easy I was being, and what professional risks
I was running. In a voice hoarse with excitement he ordered me to bend over
right in the middle of the floor and to grip my ankles with my legs well apart.
It was how Martin liked me and I willingly did as I was told. The restaurant we
had been to was a very good one, and the men were in suits while I had worn a
long, full skirted dress which was easily lifted and piled up on my back. I
even wiggled my bottom provocatively when I felt my thong being pulled down
until it stretched tight between my thighs.
I glanced back between my legs, wild with a reckless excitement. “I
don’t usually do this Jason, so you’d better make it a good one,” I told him.
He did too, delivering hard blows and allowing time for the sting to
sink in deep before the next one built on it. He landed eight in all before
Martin stepped in and told Jason he could fuck me if he wanted.
The very coarseness of the word ripped through my excitement and the
heat which was building inside me as my buttocks were scalded. Suddenly the
whole scene was thrown into its proper perspective. What the hell had I thought
I was doing?
How had I got into this mess?
I had always led a busy life up until I met Martin, and men had been a
part of it — fun but no more than that — but that first night with Martin! He
lit the lights and pushed all the right buttons. And what’s more he got me into
bed the first night we met, and that was a first for me. I wasn’t prim or
proper or anything, it was just a standard I had set myself no matter how much
I fancied the man. A girl who was in my position didn’t want to be thought of
as an easy lay. Word gets around; especially in the media business.
I was a political journalist in those days. You might well have read my
work in the national dailies. After leaving university with a very good degree,
I worked for two of them and loved every minute of it. I wasn’t above a little
flirting with press secretaries and ‘advisers’ to get my briefings — and yes
there were a few ‘double entendres’ about getting my briefs in return — but
none of them did. Too risky; everyone said I was heading for TV.
But I never got there. I would have been good though. A sharp mind in a
five foot six body, good enough legs and a thirty four C bra size, trim waist
and stomach — even now — and I am conceited enough to admit that I have a
pretty face. Wide-set hazel eyes, a chin that someone who later played a large
part in my life called ‘cute’ and the kind of lips that men like to kiss, or be
kissed by. Top that with a thick brunette mane worn to shoulder length and I
would have been up there making mincemeat of politicians five nights a week,
batting my eyelashes, crossing my legs, then hitting them with the question
they really didn’t want to answer; all the usual tricks of the trade.
Instead I met Martin. No regrets.
It was in one of those West End pubs where hacks of all descriptions
hang out. I had just done an interview with a junior minister and was going to
write it up the next morning, so I was chatting with a girlfriend who wrote for
one of the tabloids when he joined us.
He was tall and dark, but not handsome. He had a pleasant smile though,
I do remember that making a big impression on me. I don’t want to describe him anymore
because subsequently he has made it into TV and his face is very well known.
But in any case women don’t focus on appearances as much as men do to form
initial judgements. I just remember an easy way with words, that smile, and a
relaxed self-assured manner. A lot of journalists are constantly on edge —
always looking for that next idea, that next item — but Martin seemed to know
exactly where he was going and was quite certain that he was going to get
After some small talk we adjourned to a restaurant a few doors away. All
through the meal washed down with a couple more glasses of wine than was good
for me, I was aware of that special secret tingle of anticipation and
excitement that women get low down in their stomachs when there’s sex in the
air. And there was. He was a good listener, which is a very sexy quality in a
man. After all if a woman is going to end up in bed with a man, she likes to
think he at least knows who he is screwing.
His flat was only a short walk away and while he poured out a nightcap I
hurried to the bathroom. I was still dressed for work and that meant tights.
They had to go! But what about the knickers? They were workaday too, and
frankly a bit damp by that time. I wriggled out of them, screwed them up with
the tights and crammed them into my handbag. Then a quick comb of the hair and
I was ready. The skirt could have been a bit shorter but it would have to do.
There is a very special feeling, any woman reading this will know it,
when you decide that the man you are with is going to have you in his bed in a
few minutes. There is a wonderful sense of release. That’s it, you have burned
your boats and all you want now is for him to be as good as you hope he is.
It’s a hot, moist feeling and the butterflies start in your stomach.
And that night it was unusually strong. As soon as I entered the lounge
he kissed me long and hard. He tasted of whisky and smelled of sweat, deodorant
and above all; man. His arms held me tight and I pressed into him until I was
breathless, then he led me to the couch and sat down beside me — close.
I managed to take a bit of my drink although my hand trembled; the
butterflies were running riot and I knew that between my legs I was hot and
“Do you want to tell me you don’t usually do this now? Or later?” he
His hand was on my bare thigh.
“Neither. I’ve taken my knickers off,” I told him.
I reached my arms up to pull him onto me, just inched my hips forward
and parted my legs for him. I shivered and moaned into his kiss as I felt his
fingers slide up my thigh and into the warmth at the top. Expertly he parted
the lips and found my clitoris. Just a fingertip at first and then the length
of the finger itself as it slid down and into me through the front door.
He was good! He explored every inch of me slowly and carefully, probing
up with two fingers, parting them inside, then twisting them and clenching
them, sensitising every nerve ending in my vagina until I was getting the first
flutterings of orgasm before I was even undressed. And I came properly when at
last he went back to the clit and gave it some serious attention. He was
rougher with it than anyone had been before, rubbing and rasping his hand up
and down, pressing hard. But I responded, it was pleasure so intense that it
was almost pain, I broke the kiss and just lay there gasping, pushing up with
my hips to grind against his hand harder and harder until I came in full
That was the first of many firsts that night. In bed he went on being
patient and slow, but very rough in some ways. I loved every second of it. When
he first drove up between my wide open legs, he dug his fingers deep into my
bottom, making me arch up under him and cry out as he squeezed handfuls of my
flesh between fingers and thumbs, his nails sending sharp little needles of
pain to mix with the delight of feeling him deep inside me. I lifted my legs
and wrapped them round his hips to get every last bit of him right up there
where it counts while I ground my poor clit against the base of his shaft. It
wasn’t the biggest cock I had ever seen but it could stay the distance all
I was almost praying for him to come after two more almighty climaxes
had ripped through me, and then he started those big pushes, the ones which
seem to go right up to the cervix and beyond. I clawed at his back and he
clenched his hands even harder into my bottom. He ducked his head down and
started giving the side of my neck a painfully hard love bite. I had always
climaxed fairly loudly but I’m sure that when he finally reached his peak
inside me and pushed me over the edge yet again I swore and yelled like a
It was my first ever experience of the strange alchemy of pain and
pleasure mixed. Pretty tame by the standards I have come to expect subsequently
but very real nonetheless.
There were other firsts that night. The first time I did oral on a first
screw. The first time I ever had a finger in the back door while I had a penis
in the front. For me it felt wild and uninhibited. This was new territory and I
explored it eagerly. In the warm, after-sex-scented dark under the duvet I
licked my way round his scrotum until it tightened into that lovely crinkly sac
which means the balls are ready to shoot all over again.
How do men produce the stuff so quickly? Time after time.
I had never been afraid of oral or found it distasteful but this time I
went much further, exploring that ridge which runs back from the base of the
penis and merges into the anus, then it was back up and open wide for the
helmet. It filled my mouth very nicely and tasted richly of his sperm, and
acridly of my own juices. I flicked my tongue at that sensitive spot on the
underside of the helmet, just where the foreskin gathers and heard him groan.
That was enough, I didn’t want him coming in my mouth just then. Later maybe
but for now I wanted to go for another ride. I heaved myself up and straddled
him then lowered myself towards where I held his shaft in both hands. First I
guided it to my clit which was fully up again and ready for more punishment, I
rubbed the head of his cock against it until I was ready and then sank down
onto it. He ran his hands along my thighs, rubbed his thumbs at my clit with
brutal hardness which only made me begin to jiggle up and down on him and then
he reached behind me. I think I groaned in mock protest but covered his hands
with my own when they resumed that grip on my buttocks. When I came that time,
I was collapsed forward onto him, being shaken about like a rag doll by his
upward lunges into me and beyond all thought.
I know we woke each other in the night and there was more because when I
woke in the morning the first thing I became aware of was a stinging, burning
feel between my legs, a sure sign that I had had a good seeing-to.
But I wasn’t just a well-screwed girl I was also a working one. I
glanced at my watch and leapt up, I had an interview to file. Martin sat up and
watched me, looking very tempting but there would be other times, for now I was
“You’ve got a lovely arse Emma,” he said. “A man could get off on
smacking it good and hard.”
“A man could die waiting for the chance to try it,” I told him, but
waggled it at him playfully.
In a second he was off the bed and onto me. There was a confused minute
or two of laughing, giggling struggle. He was naked and fully erect, I could
feel it pressing against me as I fought him and could smell the scent of sex.
And here was another first; the joy of struggling against a strong man, knowing
you’re going to lose and he’s going to do what he wants anyway. But it feels
good to make him exert his strength to overpower you. I thought I was going to
get the morning screw but when he picked me up like I weighed nothing at all,
he carried me back to the bed, sat on the edge and put me face down across his
knees. All I had managed to do was get my knickers on, and these he yanked
Suddenly I was furious at being put in such a humiliating position and
all the excitement died. I flailed my arms at him and tried to twist but he
simply reached down and around with his left arm, trapping my upper body. I
squirmed and wriggled but only ground my already sore breasts against the rough
hairs on his thigh.
Here was I, a highly paid young career woman put over a man’s knee like…
like a schoolgirl! No way! But there was nothing I could do.
I heard the first smack before I felt it. It went off like a pistol shot
and there was a second’s numbness, then a sharp, stinging pain which seemed to
catch in my throat and make me gulp for breath. Then he smacked me again, on
the other cheek. When I could get my breath I screamed every insult I could
think of at him. But he carried on regardless. It was a good hard session too;
he put all his strength into it and soon I was ablaze with scalding pain and
crying my heart out. I was so hurt and humiliated that I was totally limp when
he picked me up again and this time threw me down onto the bed on my back. I
yelled as my bottom hit but then Martin was on top of me and I fought again.
Nails, teeth, I tried everything but he calmly trapped my wrists and pinned
them to the bed over my head while he used his thighs to spread mine and I felt
the hardness of his erection rub against my pubes. I went mad then, twisting
and bucking, but he waited till I ran out of energy and let his weight pin me.
I had lost and all he had to do was hump his back slightly and there he was,
nudging at my entrance. My vagina certainly wasn’t lubricated, but neither was
it totally uncooperative. He was able to get a little way in. I gritted my
teeth and tried to concentrate on my fury, anything but think of him easing
into the body he had treated so badly only minutes ago. But for a woman to
think of anything else while a man is pushing himself up into her is virtually
impossible. I stared up into his face, which was regarding me calmly, and spat.
“Next time, I’ll beat you harder for that,” he said.
That left me utterly speechless. Next time! Beat me again! After what he
had done? I was going straight to the police, never mind anything else.
But while I was struggling to absorb this latest outrage, quite suddenly
he was fully into me and his whole weight pressed down on me. He let go of my
wrists, reached under me and gripped my buttocks again. This time I really
yelled, but he stopped my mouth with his own and began to move inside me.
Thrust and withdraw, slowly, rhythmically, the oldest rhythm in the world, at
the same time he gradually increased his grip on my bottom. My attempted yells
faded to groans and then I suddenly realised that my hips were responding to
the rhythm and that the pain in my bottom had joined the pleasure in my sex to
form one seamless sensation that was neither pleasure nor pain but something
The previous night’s orgasms faded into insignificance. I couldn’t tell
where his body ended and mine began, I lost all thoughts and very nearly passed
out when my climax exploded. I heard him shout something and realised that he
had come as well and we bucked, thrashed and twisted as one body while the
aftershocks ran through us.