Jumping Hurdles

Erin's pretend school-girl innocence was wearing thin. Frankly, it always did. Although I had often seen her wear this outfit: clunky heels; a too-short dress; thong underneath, right then, the ensemble only added to my desire to swat her ass.

"Over the edge of the bed," I demanded.

"Claire, I..." she tried, turning to the soft bedspread. "I haven't been..."

"Yes, you have been bad," I said to her unspoken protest. "Now get."

Balancing her taut legs on those three-inch clogs, Erin lay her upper half across my solid wooden bed frame. The back of the thin dress just about covering her cheeks, she spread her legs slightly and bent at the knees. I paid her no mind (or pretended not to, at least), stepping to the chair behind me to lift the leather crop that lay across its cloth seat. Then, turning, I spied a slight smile playing across Erin's angular features as she turned her head, pushed her left cheek into my bedspread, and regarded me through her fallen hair.

"You know..." I began slicing the air between us.

Each 'fick-swip' caused Erin's shoulders to twitch, yet she shifted her hips, spreading her thin legs even wider.

"We go through this every time," I continued. "If you just learned."

But I knew she wouldn't, just as sure she didn't want to.

A lesbian, as was I, but being twenty-one, full of the hubris of youth, Erin was full into her local college scene where she courted both guys and girls, hoping to consistently affirm her attractiveness and flirt unmercifully. If her mother knew her daughter was gay, I had no idea, as Erin ran with quite a diverse ethnic and gender crowd, and when we saw one another around town, we only ever allowed a quick neighborly hello (her mom surely knew I was gay). That this young woman had found her way across our parking lot to invite me to the diner that one fateful night was still something I often thought I had only dreamt.

"That dress is just too short," I said, closing the carpeted distance between us by taking another step.

"Well," she attempted.

"No excuses," I said. Reaching down and across her, I fingered the hem and lifted it to the small of her bent back.

Erin's tight round ass was halved by a black thong. I wasn't really sure if these spankings added to my longing for her or quenched a thirst we could have built on, but damn, she looked as hot as he always did, bending her fine, halved tanned little butt to me.

How I kept my hands off her (well, beyond spanking her), I truly had no idea.

"Looks fine, doesn't it?"

Christ, she was cocky, but yes, she was pretty much on this side of perfect. Erin often took to spinning as she danced, and I knew in this outfit, everyone in the club had to have caught quite an eyeful this night. Regrets this young lady would never own, not now, maybe not even ten years from now when she was my age, so I reached back, flicked the long crop through the tight air of my bedroom, and connected to those fine bared cheeks to teach my neighbor a lesson once again.

As always, that first strike caused Erin to jump as she rode through the sting.

"Ah ha. I don't need it that hard!"

We both knew this wasn't true.

Some six months ago, Erin had made me promise that I should never relent because of her protests. She trusted me to know what she needed and how hard; she might complain, cry out, growl, and beg me to stop, but always afterward, my dark-haired neighbor smiled and thanked me for the beating. Somehow, much to my protests when first approached, I had learned to give her, and it seemed to me, exactly what was needed. Hell, I loved looking at her ass anyway, so why not enjoy making it a bright crimson red? Who could have ever thought from that first night she confessed her need to me that we'd ever grow to this point...

"I need to stop," Erin confessed that night six months before as we sat huddled in the corner of the diner.

I had been only half listening as the cute girl bragged of her aching for some 'new attention.' She was running through a litany of how bored she was of deleting all the phone numbers she had agreed to store the second she left a bar, as she never grew the least bit wet when close with seemingly every girl her age in Des Moines. I had simply smiled, intoxicated with fully finally facing the girl over that corner booth, engaging in the longest conversation we had ever managed. By that point, I had known Erin, her mom, and her brother for a good two years, having moved into our complex about the same time as them. But this was the first we had ever been out and obviously enjoying the intimacy of what our shared sexuality allowed. I had heard rumblings from a friend or two about "That hot little flirt who lives across from you; she's gay, ya know?" But it wasn't until that very second, with Erin admitting that she was seemingly growing tired of the girls she met, danced with, and dated, that I knew I was being let into her confidence because she knew I was gay.

"You are, ya know, someone I can come to with this," she said as I nodded and sipped my beer. "The girls my age would never get it, even the gay ones."

I was as discreet with my lovers as anyone should be; bi, straight, gay, doesn't matter to me, I think one needs to keep their business, their business. But I was out, and I suddenly thought then that maybe Erin had squirreled me away to the diner this night to exploit an attraction she just assumed an older lesbian would just have to have for her. Shit, I didn't like that aspect of this assumption, and just as I was about to set her straight, she surprised me with:

"I really need your help. I can't keep going partying like this. I'm so out of control, going out so much."

Struck by her obvious sudden distress, I said:

"It's no big deal. Just rest your ass for a couple of weeks."

"But I don't want to," Erin had said, literally bouncing in the booth while playing the most impudent little smile under her high white cheekbones. "I really don't want to."

"But I know it's wrong. I'm staying out way too late. I got a Lit. final tomorrow...later today, and I'm gonna barely be able to drag myself into class."

The last thing I needed right then was to be reminded how much younger than me she was when I so wanted to avoid the obvious cliché of being the older gay woman obviously becoming ever more intrigued by a younger cute lez.

"I'm gonna ask you something, and no matter what, you've got to promise not to laugh..." she had whispered slowly, then said. "...or think I'm weird."

"I already think you're weird."

"No, really, Claire," Erin said, took a breath, and began to explain her plan.

It was pointed and perverse, much like Erin's wild mind. Don't get me wrong, even then, I knew she was more tease and flirt than slut, but I was coming to see she had, and would, exploit her whims.

Given the right audience, sexy young girls, gay or not, can do this in spades.

Erin wanted to be whipped once a month. A quick, possibly week-night early evening that would probably only take an hour at most (or so she claimed). The way she laid it out, this would be penance for what she knew she couldn't stop; she had to pay for her carousing, and a good beating across her bare ass would help her balance the wild abandon she felt when she did go out. She had the crop, she assured me, and by how she was all big brown wide-eyed and biting her lower lip way too deliciously while telling me the rest of her plan, I realized even though she was young, she had probably experienced more than her time with it.

I strained to understand, of course, while growing a wetness between my legs I'd have rather done without. She wanted to be whipped? Beaten? Sure, I wasn't above a little swatting now and again and had even dated a couple of pretty dom ladies in my time. But any kink I had ever delved into had involved a steady partner and centered around arousal. Here was a girl a full decade younger than me, possibly miles ahead of me sexually, who wanted a comeuppance from a spanking, seemingly nothing much more.

Shit, did I need to be intrigued by this girl any more than I already was?

But as Erin explained and I ordered another Coke, the logic of her plan became clear, and what's more, I started to realize that I very much wanted to see her suffer in this way. If she wanted a good hard swatting to settle her mind every thirty days or so, shit yeah, I was down for seeing her fine ass bared regularly, even if that meant whipping it. I guess we all have a bit of a sadistic streak that we don't mind exercising if we can see the purpose it will serve. What I couldn't have imagined then though was how the beatings would progress to the point where I would come to like them so much...