Dungeon Crawl – Spanked in a Nightclub

It’s a Wednesday, which means it’s Dungeon Crawl time.

Except… not a dungeon. It’s a nightclub and somebody is about to get spanked.

It’s the late 1960s, in Liverpool, home of the Beatles and Leah has been warned about not getting up in time for work. She likes the clubs. Drinking late. Now she is about to face the consequences for being tardy. Rick, her driver, has brought her one morning to an empty nightclub. Placing a shilling on the table, he promises she can put the coin in the jukebox. After he has spanked her.

***

Blinking back the tears, she caught Rick’s hazel eyes. Still waiting patiently for her obedience, as he had done since she had refused to get out of bed and he had promised her consequences. This was no heat of the moment punishment, he had thought it through carefully, planning it and making arrangements. He gave her the tiniest smile of encouragement, a little reminder that he would never hurt her and perhaps, and she dearly hoped it were true, he felt something deeper for her, something passionate and romantic.

Slowly, she bent over and began to unzip her leather boots. Peeling them off, she removed her stockings, hat and scarf and placed them on the table, next to the little shilling. She came to her knickers and paused, looking over to Rick, still resting on the edge of the stage.

“Please, will you take them off?” she asked politely.

Rick smiled and tapped the edge of the stage. “Over here.”

She tiptoed towards the wooden platform and began to lean over. It was sufficiently high that she didn’t have to bend more than ninety degrees and as she bent, her skirt rose up. His fingers slipped off her knickers, letting them slink down her calves and crouching down, he eased them around her feet.

She could feel his warm breath on the soles of her feet, a gentle caress of his hand followed, travelling up her legs towards her skirt. He lifted the hem high and out of the way, and once again she bared her bottom for him.

“How wet is the towel?”

“Wet enough,” he said vaguely.

“How many?”

“I think this time, we should see how many you can take,” he said evasively. “Push your bottom out more.” His tone sharpened, as did her breathing.

Her legs wobbled, waiting for the slap of the towel. He flicked it a few times in the air. No more than a foot in length, it twirled itself into twist of chequered fabric, a mix of blues and whites.

It was a whipping, she realised, as the first few swipes landed on her bottom. The damp towel snapped over her cheeks, landing in quick succession.  Rick had quickly mastered the art of flicking the towel with his wrist, as if he was aiming for a smaller object than her butt. It stung terribly, forcing her to hop on her feet.

Tears smarted, as he continued to aim at the crease between her upper thigh and buttocks. The noise sounded just like whip, a swish of air and then a strident snap as it made contact with her beleaguered flesh.

After a dozen, Rick stopped and made an inspection. He rubbed down her cheeks, tempering the furnace that he had lit and then to her incredulity, he slid his finger down, over her little puckered bud and then between her folds and into her slit.

He didn’t comment on her overt wetness, her readiness for something more than a spanking. “Another dozen should do it.”

***

I hope you enjoyed the little excerpt from my WIP – Driven Wild.  Appearing very soon.  Watch this space.

Now hop along.