Statuesque - Spanking
John caught her red-handed, touching the leg of the marble statue.
"What a bad girl. Didn't you see the signs? No touching of the statuary." The silence of the museum echoed as he clicked his tongue. Deirdre sidled nervously.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was just . . . it's so beautiful. And I was all alone. I thought—"
"It's very bad for the sculpture," he explained, a hand on the small of her back. "I'm afraid I'll have to throw you out."
John worked there; he had the authority to do it, too. The thought of being exiled from his presence saddened her. "Please don't," she said. "I won't do it again!"
"Perhaps you can suggest a better punishment?" he replied, moving his hand down to cup the rounded cheek of her ass beneath the breezy little skirt of her sundress. His fingers tugged the hem up until his hand rested on her satin panties.
"S-sir. Spank me."
"I don't know. How many strokes, do you think? For breaking such an important rule, I think at least fifty good smacks." She knew how hard he spanked, and her heart quailed. "You don't like that?"
She shook her head even as she trembled in anticipation.
"Well. Twenty-five, then. And after that, we'll see. Take your panties down."
This was the most humiliating part, pulling her own panties over her ass and sliding them down her thighs. He nudged her ankles apart so that her panties were stretched between her knees, pushed the skirt firmly up around her hips.
He bent her at the waist so that she leaned against the statue's great wooden pedestal, barely a hand's breadth from the statue. She felt the breeze on her ass a bare moment before the first blow fell, high on the round of her right cheek, almost on the hip. Oh, it hurt!
"One!" she gasped, counting out loud without being told. It'd be ten more if she forgot.
He smacked her again, the sharp sound echoing in the vast, dim hallway of the museum. She wondered if anyone would hear… perhaps a late patron or another employee. She bit back another cry when he struck her a third time. The numbers spilled out of her as the blows fell. How could his hand not hurt after such a punishing?
Each blow was like a palmful of fire pressed to her bare ass. At home he had used hairbrushes, little mirrors, switches, straps, all sorts of things on her, but there were no such toys here. And anyway, Deirdre had always preferred a bare-handed spanking. She liked knowing that he felt it, too, knew he enjoyed the contact with her silken ass.
John turned to get a better angle, the bend of her waist pressed into his hip as he held her against him for stability and paddled away. From the top of her ass to the tops of her thighs he reddened her, each blow shuddering through her flesh.
She could feel the vibration of it in her pussy, making her drip and ache deep inside. She wanted his hands on her, wanted his fingers inside her, his tongue, his cock. There was not a chance of it until she'd taken her punishment.
Twelve, thirteen… Her knees trembled slightly, and only her spread-eagle stance and firm grip on the pedestal kept her upright. Her breath came in harsh little pants, between stammered numbers. She was afraid she lost count between fifteen and seventeen, but if she did, he didn't notice either. Just kept paddling her.
Now he moved in, concentrated on the sweet spot just above the tops of the thighs, where they bent into her ass, the heavy, fleshy part that could take the harshest punishment. He slapped her there, pausing now and then to feel the heat rising from her punished skin, to trail his fingers along the sore red bloom he'd created on her fair flesh.
Only once did he touch her pussy, to feel the wetness there, dripping out like nectar from a ripe peach. He chuckled and delivered the last four strokes hard, right across the split of her ass, striking her exposed pussy lips as well.
"Twenty-five!" she gasped, shivering. Her hands were locked on the pedestal, and she wasn't sure she could move. Her pussy felt hot and swollen, her clit overripe and ready to burst between the puffy outer lips. He stroked her, and even his smooth hand was like torment.
"More?" he asked.
"I want you to fuck me," she panted. "Please, please god, I can't stand it any more."
He did, brought to arousal as much as she had been by the spanking. His cock was hard and eager; he thrust into her quick and hard, paddled her again with every second or third stroke.
He made her keep count, even though with the pleasure mounting she could barely concentrate enough to say the numbers. When she'd slurred out the last, her ass was hot as fire, and she tingled from the impacts all the way down her thighs and up her back.
"Come for me," he demanded, smacking her again. "Come!"
He spanked her, just four more, and she came, hard, spasming around her, engulfed in a firestorm of pleasure. She thrust her head down between her wrists, against the statue's base, its cool marble length towering above her. Her voice was a muted groan.
Only when she caught her breath and looked around her again did she realize that he had come, too, was buried comfortably in her to the base, a contented smile on his face.
"That'll teach you to be bad on my watch, little girl," he said, pulling away from her.
"Yes," she smirked. "Yes, I think it will."