Bad Girls (2 page)

Normally, Anne was the kind of girl who all she did was think. She was a permanent prisoner in her own head. But when she was being spanked she felt something she had never felt before: nothing. She was emptied of everything save the burning, screaming flesh of her bare ass. She was free: free from worrying about what to do; free from doing anything at all; free from herself. The sharp crack and brutal pain of his palm swatting her bare ass was almost a relief compared with the constant pain that had burned silently in her head for as long as she could remember. Every spank kept her from thinking about anything other than when will this end, how will I stand it?

She managed to stand it though, and it finally did end, but she never forgot it. Ever since that moment across Tony's lap it was the feeling she sought but never found. It was what she wanted from men. They never gave it to her, though. Sex was too easy to ignore. Pleasure just didn't take her away like pain did.

But in that hotel room, across David's lap, having told him to do it as hard as he could, she felt it again: the agony that blew her away, the beating that set her free. She was back on Tony's lap. She was a little girl, even littler than she had been when Tony had taken her. She was beyond herself with pain, squealing and gasping in useless protest. None of it made it any better.

After Tony had finished Anne began to cry again and hadn't stopped for a long time. Tony comforted her, telling her that it was all over and that she'd been a very good girl. He told her she was pretty and that any boy would be lucky to have a girl like her. He had probably just been in a hurry to cheer her up, scared that her mom was going to get home and catch them, but she'd always remembered his words. At some point she stopped crying and noticed the warm wetness flowing from between her legs. Her thighs were slick with it. This was what happened when she listened to her mom and Tony fuck, but even that hadn't made her so wet. It didn't make any sense. She looked at the TV. A woman was giving a man a blowjob, so Anne dropped to her knees in front of Tony and tried to do like the porn star.

His cock had grown soft during the spanking. She wondered why. Hadn't it turned him on? She took it in her mouth and began to suck, doing a pretty sorry job but still managing to get him hard again. He put his hand on the back of her head to help her to establish a good rhythm and make her take him deep in her throat. She moaned and gagged a few times, but he wasn't very big. He came in her mouth and she didn't know how to swallow it. Some splattered on her face when she pulled away and more dribbled down her chin as she choked a bit and caught her breath. She looked up at him, tearstained and spunk-covered, her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks.

She didn't know what to do, so she gathered her clothes up off the floor and left quickly. Tony had been lying back on the bed, but he raised his head to watch her battered ass, the redness rapidly turning black and blue, as she hurried out of the room. It was an unceremonious end to an unceremonious spanking. It had been quick and harsh, without dramatic ritual or an elaborate
mis-en-scene
.

Anne never romanticized spanking. It wasn't about paternal love or a master's care. It wasn't about naughty schoolgirls, dungeons or French maids. It was nothing more than a brutally efficient way to drive her beyond herself, to cause the pain that permitted her a moment's respite from her own mind without doing permanent damage. The brutality and shame of it forced her across a threshold she could never cross herself; it forced her to stop being what she thought everyone else wanted her to be.

She hadn't recognized it at the time, but she had fallen in love with Tony for what he gave her. She hadn't been able to stop thinking of him and scribbled his initials in the margins of all her notebooks. She taught herself to masturbate like she had seen the girls doing in Tony's video and she did it whenever she overheard him fucking her mother. She even cried when her mom broke up with him.

She had always been a little scared that no spanking could live up to Tony's, but David was putting that anxiety to rest. His hand was just as relentless, and her skin, though twenty years older, was just as sensitive. It was set aflame with the same anguish that she felt with Tony that afternoon. It was sheer torture. She urgently needed it to stop. She wondered why she couldn't have asked for fifty instead of a hundred, but part of her knew that the more it hurt, the more it was what she wanted.

For the last forty or so spanks she went limp across David's lap. Her body's only motion was caused by the impact of his hand.

David wondered if she had fainted, but he just kept telling himself the same thing he'd been telling himself since he began: she told me what she wanted and I'm going to give it to her. This thought kept him going through her cries; it would certainly keep him going through her silence. He was determined to give her what she wanted, no more, no less, no matter what. That's the kind of man he was.

He didn't understand it, but nor did he object. He found the sight of her red, flush ass bouncing on his lap surprisingly arousing. Truth be told, he even liked her protests, though he was a little shocked at his own capacity to willingly and intentionally cause another such pain. He was glad she had told him to give her one hundred. He was lucky to be freed of the difficult task of deciding when to stop. Without the specific number he might have been tempted to stop earlier when she'd begged him to, or he might have even given in to the opposite temptation and kept going.

Her silent passivity during the last part of the spanking spooked him, but it irritated him too. He wanted to make her protest and cry again. It brought out a cruel streak he didn't know he had. Normally he considered himself a good man. He was a checker and a pleaser. He made a habit of complying with the wishes of his lovers whenever he could. He prided himself on the decency and respect with which he treated women. Even when they had met at the hotel bar, even when he had thought he might get lucky, he hadn't thought of Anne as just a good lay. He liked her; they had connected; she was more to him than just an ass and pussy… but now that was all he saw.

Slut. Brazen whore. Look at yourself. You should be ashamed.

It wasn't like David to think these things, but he took her impassivity as an affront to his efficacy; he took her retreat from him as rejection. Say something, bitch. He thought if he spanked her hard enough it would make her come back. He worried that her silence might indicate indifference or, worse still, disappointment.

In this regard, he misinterpreted her. Her complete submission was beyond his understanding. It would have surprised him to know that it was beyond hers, too. Though David was mystified as to why anyone would want to experience such anguish, he presumed that there was an answer to this question and that Anne knew it. But she didn't. Neither of them knew the reason that this made them feel like it did, but in the exhilarating liberty granted them by the spanking, neither of them cared.

It happened astonishingly fast, taking only a bit more than two minutes. David's strokes had rained down at nearly one per second. He had only taken the time necessary to raise his arm again before bringing it down as hard as he could. He hadn't wanted to stop because stopping would have offered them the chance to reflect on what they were doing, and neither of them wanted that. As it happened, there was no variance in the rhythm. David counted the strokes like a metronome and it was almost hypnotic. Afterwards, both would say it felt like it lasted forever, though it was Anne who had to deal with an agony that felt like it would never end.

Well after she heard David say, ‘one hundred,' Anne finally emerged from her deep silence and began to cry again. This time she wasn't crying because of the pain but just because of the intensity of the experience, because of the enormity of what she had just experienced. This was the thing that had grown to such an unbearable magnitude in her mind, and it felt like she'd finally released something that had been bottled up all that time. She was drained. She curled up in a tight ball and shed silent tears. David curled around her and said all the right things. He was kind, tender and reassuring, but none of it really mattered. No, she was ready to go to sleep. She wouldn't stir again until morning; there would be no tossing or turning. David could stay the night. David could definitely stay.

In the morning they would be shocked by the dark, irregular bruising that covered her ass. Each would worry that the other thought the worst of them. Each would worry that they had gone too far. But after the awkwardness and fear passed, they would feel enormous relief. Anne would come during sex for the first time ever. David would ask her for her phone number and actually call. And Anne would never again write Tony's initials in the margins of her notebooks.

After I heard from Ted that Megan wanted to be spanked, she was the only thing I could think about that whole summer.

She had moved out from the city in June, just after she graduated high school. Her parents, who had been staying together for the kids, were finally free to split and her mom had moved to our suburb to be with her new boyfriend. Like us, Megan was just passing the time until college began in September. She would be a freshman; we would be sophomores. When we weren't working at our mall jobs, we were hanging around the pool, shooting hoops and generally trying to show off for the high school girls.

I never found out how Ted met Megan. She just appeared one day, riding shotgun in his car and wearing black, even at the pool. She popped cassettes that we'd never heard before in and out of the stereo as we drove. She wasn't like us. I would have been too scared to go out with someone from a tribe so different from our own, but Ted wasn't. Because she was with him, we accepted her like we accepted it when he told us where we were going or what we were doing. Besides, it's not like the rest of us were bringing many girls around that summer. I just wrote off her black and her music to New York.

Anyway, a few days after we met her, Ted dropped the bomb. We were drinking beer around a campfire on some land that Scott's family owned in the country, and Ted said, ‘Remember Megan? Well, she sucked my dick and asked me if I'd spank her.'

Scott asked if he was bullshitting and he said no. I was dying to ask if he did or not, but I didn't want to seem too interested. Then Ted answered my question without me even having to ask it. ‘I'm not into sick shit like that,' he said, and we all hooted and told him to shut up and threw bits of dirt at him. Ted was exactly the guy who was into sick shit like that. He claimed to have fucked a senior Kappa girl up the ass. We all knew he was most likely lying, but we jacked off to the thought of it anyway. We didn't hassle him about stories like that because otherwise we might have gotten hassled about our stories. Most of us were still virgins but we had been lying about it since prom, and it was like we had some secret agreement to accept each other's stories without too many questions.

Even after six beers I could hardly sleep that night for thinking about Megan. I got up as if to piss, but I walked passed the tree we usually used and continued up the hill far enough that no one could see me masturbate. Afterwards, though, I thought it was a pretty stupid thing to want to do, and Ted was probably lying anyway.

Megan wasn't in Ted's car next time he came around, and we didn't ask what had happened. Even after a few weeks passed and Ted began to regale us with stories of some other conquest, Megan was the one I remembered. Maybe the other guys stopped thinking about her, but I didn't. Well, I should say that I didn't stop thinking about spanking – a lifelong habit that I didn't dare tell anyone about – and she was the first real girl I'd ever had to put a face on my fantasies. After a while, though, she became as distant from reality as my elaborate, masturbatory fantasies of bare bottoms raised to meet stinging slaps, or white cotton panties red with blood from a wicked caning.

Towards the end of the summer I had to go to a picnic for the company where my dad worked. It was a family day and we were at a park where they'd rented a little outdoor amphitheatre to make speeches and tell everyone how great everything was. I felt way too old to be dragged to things like this. Squished in the back seat with my younger sister and dressed up in a jacket I had to borrow from my dad, I felt about thirteen. When we got there they put a pink paper bracelet around my wrist to indicate that I was too young for beer. Finally, after the third speech, I was so bored that I told my dad I had to use the bathroom. I was wandering slowly in the direction of the portajohns when I heard someone say hi to me. I'd been looking down, kicking a nut or something, and when I looked up I saw Megan standing just a few feet in front of me.

‘Pretty lame, huh?' she said.

‘Yeah.'

‘Your dad work for them?'

‘Yeah.'

‘So does my mom's boyfriend.'

It got silent and I didn't want her to go, but I couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't stupid. It was beyond me to be clever or witty; it took all my concentration just to keep from looking at her ass.

‘Want to go for a walk?' she finally asked. Thank God.

‘Yeah.'

We walked silently while I wished I had said something other than ‘yeah' three times. She kicked the nut I'd been kicking and then I kicked it again. I dug my hands in my pockets and was glad when our elbow accidentally touched.