A Day At The Beach
When I left university I started I started work as a teacher. The school was along way from home and I knew nobody so my colleagues were quite important. There was only one man on the staff who was not middle-aged, fat or married. He was tall and was a national champion at some sport I have now forgotten and inevitably we started going out. He was a very opinionated man and took it that his championship made him right about absolutely everything but he was good looking and I was envied by quite a few other girls.
Of course he wasted no time in trying to get into my knickers but I wasn’t ready for that and we started just going out. One free day in early summer we decided to drive to the beach not being far from a long stretch of sandy beach that was only really crowded at the height of summer. We parked and found that we had the place to ourselves. Because of long shore drift it had groynes running down to the sea with the sand piled up high on the one side and lower on the other. At the top of the beach there were sand dunes beyond which was a gravel road and on the other side of that were some chalets. One of them had a shop attached selling snacks, drinks and beach stuff. The shop made me think of childhood with its smell of ice cream, rubber rings, candy floss and the salt from the sea. I think it must have had the same effect on him because when he saw the children’s buckets and spades he suddenly suggested that we build a sandcastle.
With our newly purchased buckets and spades we went back down to the beach and found a spot above the high tide mark because “we don’t want the tide to wash our work away.” Naturally he was chief of everything: chief architect, engineer, craftsman and workman. I was just the humble assistant whose main duty was to run into the sea and fill the buckets with water so that he could get the sand just right. Well I was only wearing a one piece swimming costume and actually liked running in and out of the sea so had no complaints. He, to be fair, was in shorts and an expensive summer shirt that must have cost a packet and of which he was very proud, so going into the water was not an option for him. Also I have to admit that his castle was a wondrous creation and I could not have done half as well.
As time went on he became more and more bossy. At first I ignored it but then I tried to tease him out of his dictator manner but to no avail. Finally when I arrived with yet another bucket of water he said something like, “Put it down there girl and be quick.” I tried a sort of humorous response like, “Us workers will all come out on strike if you’re not polite to us.” But he was even more brisk in handing out his next order.
At this point I made my mistake which was to imagine he might understand my humour. I said, “You know Boss I think one of us workers might just throw a bucket of water all over your shirt if you don’t treat us better.”
He sat back on his heels and gave me a severe look. “That would be a mistake young lady because you would find yourself over my knee getting your bottom spanked.” Well I now know that that is a clichéd line from almost any spanking movie but I didn’t at the time and it brought out the stroppy side of my nature. I thought there was only one thing to be done and I did it: I chucked the bucket of water straight over his chest. Did I hear a cheer from my female readers….well don’t cheer yet girls it was a big mistake. He was fast and strong and before I could blink he was on his feet, had grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to the groyne where the height of the sand on our side meant that he could sit down comfortably.
He sat on the groyne and pulled me across his lap with ease and then he started to spank me with his hand. My swimming costume was cut in such a way that it only just kept me modest and in effect he was spanking me on my bare bottom. He was big and strong and he spanked hard. The first smack alone made me yelp and the others followed so fast there was no relief. I was cross and fought him but he was too strong: soon I wasn’t fighting him but just trying to get my bum out of the way. I wriggled and kicked and yelped but nothing stopped the relentless stream of smacks and the stinging heat that just got worse and worse. There was no way I would beg for mercy but truthfully I was beginning to panic and felt that he was just going on for hours. The heat in my bottom became so intense I could think of nothing but getting off his lap but he had me in a tight grip.
Suddenly he threw me off his lap and I stumbled to my feet clutching my bottom in both hands and desperately trying not to cry with the sting and anger of it all. His car keys were in a sort of waist bag that he had taken off and was near to his castle. I walked straight through his castle creation (yes now you can cheer girls and I admit I may have given it a few extra kicks on the way) picked up his bag and went off to the car. He caught up with me before I could drive off and he drove me home.
Neither of us spoke on the way and we did not refer to the incident again. Needless to say I never went out with him again and I heard on the grape vine that he claimed we had a row because I had PMT.
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