A Moorland Spanking
Mary Bird came through the door just as I ordered my third pint.
‘Join me in a glass of cider Mary?’
‘That I will, and how long have you been on the apple juice today?’
‘Since ten-thirty, when they first opened up.’
‘Disgraceful,’ she chuckled, ‘a young man like you should have better things to do with his time. If you were one of mine I’d smack your bottom.’ The smile evaporated and her eyebrows lifted enquiringly.
‘You’re right Mary. I ought to be dragged across a good woman’s lap and spanked senseless.’
Her powerful right hand encircled the glass. ‘And what constitutes a good woman may I ask?’
‘One a little older, maybe a lot older? And a hand large enough to consume a twenty five year old male buttock within its grasp.’
‘For two pins I would take you home and smack your bottom, lad?’
‘Would you do it for a second pint, Mary?’
Mary pinched my bum as I turned to leave the bar. I say pinch, but it was more of a grope. Her hand is large and sinewy following years of working the farm. And when she locked onto my left orb, her fingertips reaching into my crack, it felt like a blacksmiths vice had hold of my flesh.
‘Good day at the market,’ enquired George as we took our place at the table with the rest of the regulars.
‘All the meat got sold which can’t be bad,’ answered Mary.
The conversations continued with Mary repeatedly gesturing one way or another with her open right palm. She sensed my excited stare directed at her hand, exchanging knowing smiles on the odd occasion when she caught me looking. I pushed my butt out behind gesturing my submission to that hand. A sideways glance from Mary and another smile signalled her approval.
‘A second glass of cider, Mary?’
‘Yes Harry and I will.’
The rest of the table made no sense of the conversation, but as Mary passed the bar on her way to the Ladies Room she left me in no doubt.
‘You can get yourself to my farm house when that pint’s drunk,’ she whispered, ‘I want your bare bum on my lap for the mother of all smacked bottoms.’
I was in no fit state to drive and so was obliged to ride in Mary’s Land Rover over the bleak snow covered moor towards her farm. I was to stay the night, and be spanked a number of times before the setting sun was to reappear over the snow covered hills. Leaving the road and taking the track towards her farm took us further from any third party. We were alone and free to do as we please when the farmhouse came into view.
‘You can get your kit off in the Tack Room next to the barn, but put your boots back on, it’s a might muddy in the yard this time of year.’
‘You want me naked apart from my boots?’
‘You don’t expect me to spank you with your pants on do you lad? Anyways I’ve a chore for you before I red you up.’
Mary handed me an axe as I joined her in the yard, her eyes fixed unashamedly on my penis rendered limp by the cold despite the stirring in my loins caused by my nudity. I led the way behind the barn to the wood pile knowing her stare was fixed on my springy tight boyish buttocks. I split a dozen logs under her gaze before taking them to the farmhouse.
‘And see you walk slowly ahead, lad. It’s not every day an old girl is treated to the delights of young active bare male buttocks.’
Mary followed me all the way, watching me ease my boots off in the hall, and carry the pile of wood to the inglenook.
‘You get that fire blazing while I fetch more cider, and I want you in that corner with your hands on your head. See your bottom is towards the fire.
I stand here alongside the other trophies in the room, a foxes head, and long dead stuffed otters and salmon. Noises behind signal Mary’s return and what sounds like a chair being dragged across the stone floor sends a shiver down my spine.
‘Time I smacked your bum lad, come park yourself on my lap.’
No sooner do I mount Mary’s thighs before her large hand explores my curves, pinching, stroking, and kneading my flesh. Instinctively my thighs part allowing access to penis and testis. The room is warming up and so am I, sprawled across a large soft comfy lap that seems like a bed.
‘Downing the cider when you could have been working boy. Of course you deserve to be spanked!’
SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!.......................................
My heart skips a beat at the initial onslaught. Mary has no need for leather or wood with her weathered palm. Slow and rhythmic, hard and true. Her hand follows a wide arc before homing in on each buttock, smacking my flesh, and following through to leave it wobbling like a jelly…………. A strawberry jelly.
She pushes me a little further over her lap to concentrate on the under-swell of my arse cheeks where they join my thighs. Her hand now drops vertically to bounce off a butt rendered more taught by the spanking. At some point the surface of my reddened flesh becomes anaesthetised by Mary’s spanking hand, and the exquisite hurt with each slap melts away. Clenched buttocks relax and shudder more when they are smacked, filling the farmhouse with ever louder sounds of a bare female palm on bare male bottom spanking.
Rests for her arm accompany more ‘feel time’ and increased stiffening between us. ‘Stand up Harry. It seems my breeches are getting in the way of your penis and my thighs.’
We stand to attention, my manhood and I, and Mary floors her breeches. Somehow I expected large oversize knickers, but I’m treated to snug fitting white cotton panties with two half moon fleshy orbs peeping out of leg elastic. As powerful and full as her hips and legs appear, they are smooth and as flawless as any country girl. The temptation is too much, and I press my lips against her outstretched thighs repeatedly as I go over her knee again. Mary reaches between my thighs to caress what now hangs between her freshly-kissed thighs before getting on with the business in hand.
‘Looks like we are in for a long night, lad. But you will be reminded of your misdeeds throughout. That you can be sure.’
SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!!.............................
You are welcome to contact the author Dave Chum
-- The End --
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