Paddle Poker

She squirmed; I loved it when they wriggled, and their smile, so often plastered to their faces throughout the evening, disappeared as the reality of their situation dawned upon them. She gasped and bit her lip, writhing on the soft, plush carpet of my expensive apartment. I put the King of Hearts onto the shagpile, causing her to give a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

Her cute face framed her desperate worrying perfectly, her long blonde hair covering her bare breasts as she leant forward and looked up at me putting my third King onto the cream carpet. "Three Kings," I said proudly, leaning back on my haunches and watching her hold her cards tightly.

I may have had some rum hands over the evening, but as my companion and I had traded victories, and the clothes had come off, I was ready to claim my prize. She looked at me in my Batman boxer shorts and gulped as I threw my remaining two, useless, cards onto the floor and looked at her.

The offer I make is simple; I like spanking young ladies, and I will bet any woman who wants to, a ferocious spanking if I win a game of strip poker, against any sensible sum of money if they win; I'd never lost and had issued dozens of red bottoms to women all over my town.

"I got a three of clubs," she muttered. "And a five, and a nine. And a Queen." She gulped as she put down her four cards and smiled. "And the ace." It took a few moments for me to focus on her hand and understand the implications of her flush.

"But ..."

She nodded and glanced at my crotch. "Yeah, I win. Get 'em off." I hesitated and she twirled her hair around her fingers as I tentatively pushed my black underwear to my knees and then free. "Ahhh ... so cute," she patronised. "I can see why you didn't want to get it out."

"Oi!" I moaned and she breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the wooden paddle behind her, slapping it gently against the palm of her hand. "Was this going to be used on me?"

"Yes," I groaned, slightly annoyed that my Poker skills had let me down and cost me £1000. "I'll get you on a rematch."

She snorted and raised the paddle. "I don't want a rematch. I want to paddle you."

"Err ... them not the rules."

"I'll take my money then," she countered and watched as I writhed on the carpet. "Don't tell me you don't have it?"

"It's in the bank," I muttered awkwardly and then waited for her consternation. "I'll get it tomorrow."

"I'll claim my prize tonight," she demanded and the girl five years younger than me, stood up and beckoned me to the black sofa. I protested, promising her a cheque to cover the owed monies, or even interest, but she "required satisfaction." My hands felt clammy but oddly excited. She towered over my pleading, and dragged my arm to the sofa, holding the paddle out.

I begged, but Natalie was having none of it, and the half-naked woman stood behind me akimbo, reminding me that it was my defeat that had led to that situation. And then it came: a fierce, powerful strike of my elegantly carved and beautiful paddle, drilled against my bare rump.

I yelled in pain as my bottom exploded into a mass of intense points of agony, shattering as my paddle hit me for a second time, equally as hard. I begged for mercy, but she just cackled. "Show any of the girls mercy, do you?"

Of course I didn't, and she rubbed the sleek wooden torture instrument over my abused bum and as I sighed with relief, slapped my right cheek hard. "Please!"

She denied me, and as her left hand pushed against my back to keep me in position, her right hand brought the paddle across my reddening flesh with glee, continuing to revel in my cries as the wooden paddle turned my arse pink, then red, then crimson.

Excruciating pain erupted across my ruddled rear as tears welled in my eyes and I pleaded for her to show mercy; all worries about humiliating myself before the brazen women disappeared as I desperately begged her to stop my torment; she was breaking me, and as I tried to stand up, she swung the paddle as hard as she could manage against my bruised flesh with a sadistic laugh.

I screamed; louder and more desperate than I had ever screamed before. I wished she would stop, I needed her to halt my torment, but as tears rolled down my cheek and my erection pressed against the cold leather of the sofa, I felt freedom; a sense of relief and satisfaction roll over me and cascade through me. I felt joyful and ecstatic as my eyes watered the black chair, and I sobbed uncontrollably.

I was free and as I felt my welts and bruises my secretary, and torturer-in-chief just smiled at me and sat down on the sofa watching as I sank into the furniture, thoroughly drained.

One of us would be bent over my desk tomorrow and I wasn't quite sure who!