Naked Spanking Breaks

Whenever Jenny and I went away together, we liked to make sure we secured appropriate accommodation, so that we had somewhere private to rush back to when she needed a good, hard, erotic flogging on her infuriatingly sexy behind.

These holiday beatings were always rather exciting affairs, conducted as they were in the fresh sensuality of unfamiliar surroundings and on days filled with the joys of freedom and copious recreational energy. My god how I used to love the hot smell of her bucking rear and her cries of desperate, squealing delight!

With our shared love of sexual punishment at the forefront of our minds, we formed the habit of always looking to rent a detached and secluded cottage to serve as a comfortable whipping base for the week. This was often a very affordable option, and provided the isolation required to protect passers-by from the unexpected sight of my good lady’s beautifully raised and parted, naked hips, and her delicious howls of red-bottomed distress as I exercised my expert dominion over her trembling, submitted tail.

I loved my sweet Jenny. She was a kind and lovely girl, fair of face and fit of arse, the type of companion that keeps a spanking man like me perpetually aroused and hard, and his palms permanently itchy.

Indeed, towards the end of a romantic day touring the countryside, visiting interesting beauty spots and dining in fine, rustic restaurants, I would inevitably find my erection stirring most profoundly, and my eyes drawn irresistibly to the lithe, provocative beauty of my female property. There was always this dancing white light at the back of those deep and beautiful eyes that spoke intensely, enticingly of her need to be punished by a strong man.

As I signalled for the check, she could usually tell by my postural discomfort that her innate feminine naughtiness was arousing me to passionate sexual anger, and the hairs on the backs of her neck and arms would rise in response as cool perspiration freshened the smooth skin of her lovely thighs. Whenever she was in heat, the delicate musk in her knickers would beckon to my lust like a playful hind taunting the taut bowstring of a hungry poacher.

At such times, words were rarely necessary, and we would listen to each other’s breathing to discern the vigour with which our physical passions would be unequally discharged. The long, silent wait of the drive home would be filled with the dark scent of her as the gentle engine vibration fuelled teasing fantasies in our loins. If we were lucky enough to have secluded parking beside our cottage, I liked to open her side of the car and lift her out gently by a pincer grip on the nape of her neck. This is how one should escort an errant student to the site of her debasing ordeal, and her quiet whimper of anxious despair at such coercion never failed to please me.

Normally, it was my preference to lower the panties of my squaw, baring only her bottom, privates and legs for the purposes of corrective sexual discipline and my personal sadistic amusement. I do however firmly believe that a naked spanking is very good for a girl now and again. It is a character building experience for a female to have the living daylights whipped out of her completely bare body by a dominant man, unable to hide even a shred of her distress as her master peruses, explores, extends and finally fulfils her struggling limits with fingers, palm, ruler, slipper, whip or cane.

Stripped and whipped: a simple phrase that encapsulates the ambience of a heated, naked thrashing with perfect symmetry.

It’s a wonderful way of truly taking ownership of a woman, and experimenting upon her in ways that she cannot withstand, no matter how she may fight to control her cathartic, dripping shame. A fully bare beating will sensually debase her whole being, allowing you to take total mastery of her female soul. A willing girl broken in this fashion will want to be held for hours afterwards, so I recommend starting the proceedings at bedtime, so that you can lie down with her and comfort her for as long as she needs.

“Take you clothes off for me girl. I’m going to beat you naked. Even your socks now. I don’t want you wearing a stitch while I teach you to sing.”

Jenny knew just how I liked her to undress. Slowly, with lots of bending and stretching, flashing me glimpses of girly secrets that she knew I would be rudely investigating with devilish fingers during the unbearable punishment to come. She liked to tease me dangerously: a butterfly dancing her lovely wings in the prison of my net, yearning to be finally captured and pinned.

“That’s it, now. Completely bare…” I had to work hard to keep my voice steady, to focus my excitement into my hardening manhood, and stiffen the resolve of my eager whipping arm.

Sometimes I liked to sit and watch her strip, nodding with satisfaction at the intoxicating blend of her effortless beauty and helpless obedience as her stupendous body was slowly revealed, but at others, I preferred to pace up and down, impatient like a hungry lord awaiting the silver platter upon which his maid was about to be perfectly served.

“Right, get you bare arse over here. Over my knee. Jump to it!”

A naked girl dare not disobey, and she always felt so exposed and at my tender mercy as she hopped barefoot across the softness of the carpet and wiggled her pert bottom awkwardly into correct spanking position, releasing a sigh of fearful resignation as my hands glided into familiar and intimate stations on her unclothed form. I knew every freckle and nerve in her perfect tail.

Many long and heated sessions across my lap had taught her how and where to balance her full and perfect cheeks, and how to open her thighs in response to the firm touch of my palm on her inner thigh, parting her buttocks to receive the full force of the coming slaps, and splaying her fanny in submission to the aggression of my relentless, pinching fingers.

Her liberated breasts were large and firm, always hanging with pendulous indignity towards the floor, while I enjoyed the sense of power that grew as I stroked the pure nakedness of soft girlskin from the cute curve of the small of her back to the nape of her neck. She would gasp at the gentle threat of my rough hands on her unprotected flesh and moan as my thumbprint came to rest intrusively in that special little place between anus and pussy that only a girl and her master are ever allowed to touch.

“You belong to me wench, and I am going to work you hard.”

Regular readers of my blogs will know that I really know how to spank, and trust me when I say that I made each slap as sharp as a razor, pulling the high notes from her lungs as my hands bounced crisply from the taut, reddening curves of her buttocks, hips and thighs.

SMAK! “Ahh!” SMAK! “Ohh!” SMAK! “Ahh!” SMAK! “Ahh!” SMAK! “Ow!” SMAK! “Ouch!” SMAK! “Ahh!” SMAK! “Ahh!” SMAK! “Ohh!”…

The rhythm was magical, and as she bucked and kicked in excited, helpless, naked rage, her jerky writhing would tickle the seed out from under me, making my love pole tingle and fizz fit to burst.

“What’s it like, taking it nude, bitch? How embarrassing for you! Kick those naked legs girl. I want to smell your snatch. Oooh! That’s got to hurt! There’s a lot more where that came from, you bare-arsed little witch. Take that!”

Walloping her naked like that over my knee would get me so turned on that I’d have to break the tempo, so as not to pop my champagne cork too soon. I prefer to indulge that particular joy in a controlled fashion, with my twitching cock discharging its aching heat into my spanking wench’s gaping pussy, up her straining bottom, over her heaving breasts or even into her startled face and tousled hair.

So to halt this relentless rise of my manly froth, I would stop the whacking to shift my position, ease the pressure on my swollen balls and lean forward to pinch her fragrant pussy, pouting anus and slippery clit with ingenious and expert pressure. I would really go to town on her private pink spots, tweaking and twisting until she wailed and wept and beat the floor with her fists, pleading with me to stop, begging me to beat her more, if it meant that I would stop the intimate, burning torture of her weakest and most personal places.

“All right, naked girl. You win. More beating it is then! On your feet. I’m going to whip you over the bench until I come!”

While we stood and readied her for the bench, I often liked to take a moment to release my pent up manhood so that my throbbing log could bob freely in front of her, exacerbating her shameful nudity while she leaned for support on the window sill and rubbed gently at her burning crotch and caressed the scorched crimson hills of her punished derriere.

“Ooo-oooh! My poor bottom and fanny!” she would exclaim.

“Ha, ha, … lovely!” I would reply, stroking my shaft to ease my frustrated delight. “Let’s get you over the bench now. I’m going to beat you some more before I shove this brute up your arse.”

To be continued in part 2 tomorrow...