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Lash_le_roux
New member
Username: Lash_le_roux
Post Number: 24
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 01, 2005 - 03:30 am: | 
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The following is a work of pure fiction which I posted on another site a couple of years ago. I hope you like it. It is the last spanking story I ever wrote.
Respectfully Submitted,
Lash Le Roux 
The Naughty Widow
by
Lash LeRoux
Rebecca Bergstrom DiBenedetto was a widow who lived around the corner from me when I was growing up in suburban Chicago. She was tall, at least 5’ 8” in her bare feet, blonde with piercing blue eyes, and very leggy—a classic Scandinavian beauty. She had been married for ten years to Dominic DiBenedetto, a prominent local businessman, before his tragic and untimely death in an automobile accident. She had a teenage daughter named Louise, who had apparently inherited her mother’s good looks. My name is Mike, and I’d had a crush on Rebecca DiBenedetto ever since the first time I laid eyes on her.
My first encounter with Becky, as she liked to be addressed, was as I was walking home from the bus stop at the end of my freshman year of high school at age fifteen. Becky’s was the only house on the block with an in-ground swimming pool, and there was a six-foot high wood fence around the pool deck, making it impossible to see in from ground level. This was disappointing, because rumor had it that Becky liked to sunbathe in the nude. My bedroom just happened to be on the second floor of our house, and overlooked the DiBenedetto’s pool deck. Unfortunately, I never seemed to be able to catch Becky sunbathing. However, my fortune changed one day in June of 1970.
As I said, I was walking home from the bus stop. The shortest route home was between DiBenedetto's fence and Schultz’s backyard. As I walked by the fence, I heard Becky shriek. Immediately afterward, Mr. DiBenedetto bellowed, “I see I got home just in time!”
The next thing I heard was Becky pleading, “Oh no, Dom! Please don't spank me! Not out here! I swear I'll never do it again!”
This was followed by loud wails, punctuated by short, sharp explosions. Anticipating an interesting site, I hotfooted it home and upstairs to my bedroom window. It was wild! Dom was seated on the back of the diving board, with Becky pinned across his lap in the classic position. She was as naked as the day she was born, and most likely regretting that day, I mused. Dom's big arm moved with a metronymic rhythm, bringing his calloused palm down on the round target. Judging from the pitch of Becky's wails, the color of her bottom, and the way she kicked and squirmed on Dom's lap trying to get some relief, it must have been getting pretty hot back there. I felt wretched for Becky, but at the same time, the entire scene made me horny as Hell!
Soon after what Becky would later refer to as her “nudie caper,” Dominic was killed in a traffic accident on his way home from work. The day after Dom’s funeral, my mother approached me and asked if I would help Becky out around her house. Mom said Becky would be willing to pay me for my labor. Since I wanted a car of my own by the time I could drive, I readily agreed. The fact that Becky was the best looking woman I had ever laid eyes on and the object of my desires didn't hurt either!
I spent the next three years helping out around Becky’s house. In addition to what she paid me, there were several fringe benefits. First, during the summer months I could swim in her pool whenever I wanted. That also meant getting to watch Becky and Louise strut around the pool deck in their bikinis. Second, Becky was an excellent cook, and always had some awesome home baked goodies for me whenever I finished for the day. Finally, before I left each day, she would always kiss me tenderly on the forehead and call me her “special man. This was heady stuff for a teenage boy! I adored Becky and would have done anything to please her.
In 1973, I graduated from high school. While I was glad to be done with high school, and excited at the prospect of going away to college, I was also saddened by the realization that my days as Becky's "special man" were numbered. I was really going to miss her when I left for college.
In the meantime, I watched Louise grow from an thirteen-year old girl to a budding young lady of sixteen. I could tell she was going to be every bit the knockout that her mother was. I was then eighteen, and although she was very attractive, I looked upon Louise more as a little sister than as a prospective girlfriend. As a result, Becky often entrusted Louise to my care when she had to go out somewhere. I didn't mind, except for those times when Becky had a date with some man. How I wished I were older! I wished I was one of her consorts. But what chance did an 18-year-old boy have with this 39-year-old Swedish stunner? Becky must have sensed my dismay, because one night after she returned home from a date, she kissed me and said, “Mike, no matter what happens, you'll always be my special man.”
In early August of 1973, about three weeks before I was to depart for college, Becky asked me if I would be willing to chaperone Louise at a rock concert she wanted to attend with some friends. I agreed, since I also liked the band and, as previously stated, would have done anything for Becky. Before I arrived, Becky had given Louise a strict 11:00 pm curfew, but neither one of them said anything about it to me. This would turn out to be a critical detail this particular evening.
The concert was a success. Louise and her chums had a great time, and I enjoyed myself in spite of being surrounded by four teenyboppers. When the concert ended, I asked the girls when each had to be home. They all sang in unison, “midnight!” This included Louise. Since we had some time left, or so I thought, I stopped for burgers and fries for all of us on the way home. I dropped off each of Louise's friends in turn, then pulled into Becky's driveway. My watch read 11:55 pm.
Louise leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and thanked me for a wonderful evening. I looked at her and said, half jokingly, “Hurry on inside, I wouldn't want you to get a spanking.”
Louise looked at me, stuck out her chest and declared, “I'm much too old for a spanking!” Then she ran inside.
I pulled my car into our driveway, and turned off the ignition. It was a gorgeous summer evening, so I decided to sit for a while on our screened-in porch to enjoy the weather. The windows were open at the DiBenedetto's, and I soon heard how wrong Louise had been about being too old to be spanked. I went through a myriad of emotions. At first I was surprised, then I felt sorry for Louise. I felt responsible for her punishment. Finally, I began to get angry. After all, Louise had been left in my care many times in the past, and there had never been any trouble before.
I stood up and strode briskly around the corner to Becky's front door and rang the bell. About a minute later, Becky answered the door, clad in a formfitting, scarlet mid-thigh-length dress. She had a mahogany hairbrush in her right hand. She appeared surprised to see me, then asked, “Yes, Mike? What is it?”
I looked at her sternly, and announced, “Becky, we need to talk.”
Becky ushered me into the house, yelled up the stairs for Louise to remain in her room, then led me into the den.
As soon as we were seated, I asked, “Did you just spank Louise for breaking curfew tonight?”
She looked back at me and replied, “Why yes I did, Mike. I gave Louise a strict curfew of eleven o'clock. When she came in at twelve, she admitted that she deliberately lied to you because her friends didn't have to be in until midnight.”
I exploded, “I think that was a mean and absolutely wrong thing to do! You know I always take good care of Louise, and if you had a specific curfew for her, you should have told me!”
Becky blushed and responded, “You're right, Mike, that was a wrong and a mean thing to do, and I know what that means. You must turn me over your knees and spank me hard.”
As she rose from her chair, she continued, “I know what to expect, and I deserve it. You are going to sit down on that couch, pull me across your lap, hold me in your strong arms, and give me at least forty hard spanks. And I know that no matter how much I cry and plead, that you will not stop until I have been soundly spanked.”
When the rules of the game are explained so clearly, even a rank amateur like me knows how to play!
I looked at the leggy blonde bombshell standing before me and commanded, “Come here, Rebecca,” as I sat on the couch.
Becky handed me the hairbrush, and said, “I know too, that my dress is going to be pulled up, and, with a man like you, that my panties will probably be pulled down.”
As I pulled the naughty lady across my lap, she issued one final instruction. “And I know that between each hard spank, I will have plenty of time to reflect on my naughty behavior.”
I sensed a quickening of her breathing as her tummy settled across my thighs.
I looked at the shapely derriere I had laid across my lap and immediately got rock hard. Like a child unwrapping a birthday present, I peeled Becky's dress up above her waist. I paused to consider her sheer lacy red panties. They scarcely provided any protection at all; her bottom was essentially bare. There was no need to remove her panties, but a lady should not be denied her wish, and so I pulled the skimpy panties slowly down to her knees. I glided the smooth back of the wooden brush over her glutes, which tightened in anticipation. She caught her breath, and then began breathing even more rapidly.
I raised the hairbrush to full height, bringing it down with a WHOOSH, followed by a THWOCK! CRACK! SMACK! THWACK–WHACK! I paused for a second or two between each smack of the hairbrush. Each hard spank left a red oval imprint on Becky's bare behind. She squeaked and jumped on my lap, then began to squirm and kick her long, shapely legs.
As I warmed to my task, and each spank grew harder and harder, Becky would rock her pudendum across my lap and scissor her legs sharply. Her once milk-white bottom globes turned first to flaming pink, and then to beet red. She arched her back, clenched her buttocks and yelped at each impact of the wooden brush.
THWOCK!
“OWWWWWWW!”
WHACK!
“OOOOHHHH!”
CRACK!
“AAIIIIEEEEEE!”
SMACK!
“OWWWWWWEEEEE!”
THWACK!
“OOOOOWWWWOOOOWWWW!”
By the time I reached the fortieth and last spank, her gyrations were uncontrollable. Tears were flowing freely. I helped Becky to her feet. She stood before me with tear-streaked eyes and asked, "Well, aren't you going to help me pull my panties back up?"
I looked at this sultry blonde goddess with the passionate look in her deep blue eyes and decided that “up” was definitely the wrong direction for those panties to go!
I removed Becky's panties and stood up facing her. We fell into an ardent embrace. I kissed her deeply, and she responded in kind, our tongues swirling together in a slow dance. Then we fell onto the couch and I finally realized my Scandinavian dream. And it was better than I’d ever imagined.
© Copyright 2003 by Lash LeRoux. All rights reserved.
Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. — Dr. Seuss
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Pagan
Spanko
Username: Pagan
Post Number: 217
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 01, 2005 - 06:58 am: |
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I don't know how I missed seeing this the first time, Lash, but it's wonderful! 
I particularly liked reading Mike's humourous self talk. You write very well - you should do it more often. I suggest that you repost this where you did originally. I bet you'll get more responses that you think.
Oh, now THAT was topping from the bottom in high style! 
(Message edited by pagan on November 01, 2005) |
Wolfie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Wolfie
Post Number: 675
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Tuesday, November 01, 2005 - 10:48 am: |
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Oooops, there I was berating you for not posting any of your stories...and you were doing it. Sorry Lash, I guess I should be spanked for inattention. 
Great story, I remember this one fondly. Maybe one of the first stories I read once I came out of the spanko closet. Thanks for sharing. 
wolfie loves Steve more than anything else in the whole world...even more than chocolate and lobster!
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
HAPPY SAMHAIN!
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Lash_le_roux
New member
Username: Lash_le_roux
Post Number: 36
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, November 02, 2005 - 06:36 pm: |
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quote:Oooops, there I was berating you for not posting any of your stories...and you were doing it. Sorry Lash, I guess I should be spanked for inattention.
Now that can be arranged, young lady....
Lash 
Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. — Dr. Seuss
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Wolfie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Wolfie
Post Number: 698
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, November 02, 2005 - 10:33 pm: |
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*squeak* Oh my! Not sure I like that shade of red Lash...light pink is more my hue. 
wolfie loves Steve more than anything else in the whole world...even more than chocolate and lobster!
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.
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Pagan
Spanko
Username: Pagan
Post Number: 243
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, November 03, 2005 - 09:50 am: |
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I disagree, Lash. She's not going to learn her lesson unless you make the appropriate impression. 
And Wolfie...she IS pink. |
Lash_le_roux
New member
Username: Lash_le_roux
Post Number: 38
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, November 03, 2005 - 10:17 am: |
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quote:She's not going to learn her lesson unless you make the appropriate impression.
No need to worry about that, Pagan....
I repeat... I can't wait until Gatlinburg... some brats are really gonna feel the heat!
  
Lash 
(Message edited by Lash_le_roux on November 03, 2005)
(Message edited by Lash_le_roux on November 03, 2005)
Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. — Dr. Seuss
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Wolfie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Wolfie
Post Number: 700
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, November 03, 2005 - 10:27 am: |
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That's not pink...it's at least fuschia, but looks red to me.
You know what they say, if you cant stand the heat get out of the kitchen. Looks like I wont be doing any cooking if I attend the next conference! 
wolfie loves Steve more than anything else in the whole world...even more than chocolate and lobster!
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy.
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Ziggy
Advanced Spanko
Username: Ziggy
Post Number: 874
Registered: 08-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, November 03, 2005 - 08:16 pm: |
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yes I think you should make her learn her lesson !! great story I loved it |
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