Ping Pong Paddled

Arlene has a personal trainer, the best in the business. The problem is, when she slacks off, he gets just a little bit too personal:

“Run from one wall to the next ten times.”

“Gosh! How exciting!” She was in a foul mood, hadn’t been sleeping.

“Just do it,” Oliver said.

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll get a red hot arse again.”

“Yeah, from you and whose army?”

Squealed as he grabbed hold of her and pinned her arms to her sides.

“You wouldn’t dare!” But he was marching over to the low gym horse. “You haven’t locked the door, idiot!”

“Calling your trainer an idiot earns you extra strokes.”

Strokes not spanks. Arlene swallowed hard. She’d gone too far this time. Now that he was tying her wrists to the gym horse with the plastic bands they used for resistance work, she felt a little scared.

“Not as hard as last time,” she pleaded, as he fastened her legs.

“Much, much harder.”

“But these shorts are thinner!”

“I’m going to thrash you on the bare.”

“You wouldn’t . . .” She felt his hands on her shorts. “Oh please, the embarrassment!”

“You should have thought of that before you were so rude.”

Arlene remembered all the insults she’d thrown at him these past few days, and her buttocks trembled. She shivered with fear and pleasure as he edged her shorts down, cried out as he tugged off the panties beneath. She could feel the garments bunching at her knees – knees that were spreadeagled.

“Right, you bastard – get it over with!” she said.

“Oh, I like to take my time.” Oliver stroked her bare bum over and over. “It’s going to be very sore in a moment, isn’t it, my dear?”

Damn him! She gritted her teeth. Stared straight ahead – not that she had much option! Felt the vulnerability of every fibre of her naked rear.

“We have to teach this bottom manners.” Her trainer went over to the equipment cupboard and came back with a small hard ping-pong bat. “A spanking obviously wasn’t enough,” he added.

“It was! Please – spank me again. Hard as you like!”

“Spanking’s for minor indiscretions. You’d been committing major crimes. I’ll teach you a lesson with this little beauty instead.”

The first whack was measured, as was the second. Arlene started to relax in her bonds a little. The third stroke struck harder, increased the warmth in the helpless cheek.

“Ouch! That really hurt, Cartwright!”

“It wasn’t meant to tickle.”

“I’ll be good!”

He punished on. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be perfect.”

From the story Motivator by Sarah Veitch.

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