Friendly Fire

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Now thinking about something like that and having it actually happen in real life are two rather different phenomena. The first is at least theoretically under one’s own control, but in order to get the second enacted, all manner of things need to be aligned in very precise ways. Many of these turn out to be outside of a woman’s control. During her undergraduate years and in law school, Alison dated regularly and went to bed with perhaps a dozen very carefully screened nice attractive young men. Without exception, they were chosen to be kind and considerate and attentive to her needs, quite the opposite of her self-involved parents. And equally without exception, she found them to not even remotely k****e the smoldering erotic flames that she glimpsed during her solo sessions with her vibrator and her b**m fantasies.

These grew more elaborate when she encountered the whole realm of written erotica, which included surprising amounts of material in which female bottoms were subjected to just the sort of attention she daydreamed about. It began with acknowledged mainstream literature, such as a Thomas Pynchon novel in which a teenage girl receives a very arousing public spanking on her bare bottom with a metal ruler. Then ‘The Story of O’ crossed her radar, followed by ‘9 1/2 Weeks’, and soon a small library of such books (which she termed ‘b**m c**t lit’) occupied the bottom drawer of her bedside table for her nightly forays into self-gratification. But she could never figure out how to recruit one of the all too nice men who occupied that bed from time to time to turn her over their knee, bare her bottom, and deliver the good sound spanking she secretly craved.

Now such longings were devilishly hard to reconcile for a woman whose life was now devoted to exacting legal retribution from the perpetrators of just such abuses. After many hard and emotionally wrenching hours in therapy, Alison and her counselor reached the conclusion that her erotic wiring had gotten permanently crossed. It seemed that some stubbornly resilient part of her had unconsciously decided that a sort of healing could be achieved by appending adult orgasmic gratification to at least fantasizing the sorts of depredations her poor girlish rear end was subjected to. She and her therapist concluded that this connection had become rather robustly hard-wired, and had shown no signs of yielding too many hundreds of hours of psychotherapy over many years.

So our heroine decided that she needed to enact some version of the old saw, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”, the double entendre not lost on either her or her therapist. Alison resolved to find a nice man who could genuinely love her while still getting equally real pleasure out of spanking her bare behind just the way she wanted him to. Her first attempt came the following week, as she was necking with her current nice guy boyfriend. She surprised him by crawling over his lap and coyly suggesting, “I think I’ve been a very bad girl lately, and sometimes very bad girls need to have their bottoms soundly spanked…” Her flummoxed partner looked at her like she was psychotic and suggested maybe she should try talking to a shrink. Crestfallen, she got up and left the room, never to return.

Her next try, with a new boyfriend who was a bit wilder and less conventional, resulted in a few desultory swats on her perfectly gorgeous yoga teacher’s sculpted pantied behind. But it was not long before he became distracted by the proximity of her p***y, which was his true goal in the proceedings. She had a stronger orgasm than usual from their subsequent f*****g, but his lack of genuine enthusiasm for the spanking her ass made her disinclined to try the experiment again with him.

She and her therapist concluded that simply taking pot-luck as to partners with whom to pursue enacting her fantasy was not a winning strategy. Perhaps the Internet, which by that point in the early 2000’s was burgeoning, could provide an avenue. Maybe she could screen larger numbers of possibly suitable men to find the needle in the haystack of one whom she genuinely found attractive and whose heart would delight in baring and spanking her lovely rear end. She and her therapist crafted an Internet ad to post on a new nonprofit website that welcomed people of all stripes, Craigslist. It went as follows,

“25 year old SWF, blonde, blue eyed, successful professional, teaches yoga on the side, tired of vanilla s*x, and ready to seek long-term partnership with equally remarkable man 25-40. You must be smart, funny, successful, financially and emotionally secure, a good communicator, and erotically open-minded. In particular, I need a man who will treat me as a treasured friend and equal outside of bed, but who in the boudoir will genuinely enjoy regularly taking my shapely ass over his lap and giving the naughty thing the sound spanking it needs and deserves. Considerable on-line dialogue will be required before acceptable candidates exchange their photos for mine after we speak on the phone, so interested parties should be amenable to extremely careful screening.”

This posting generated quite a flood of responses to the dummy email account she established under a pseudonym. Most of them were profane and disheartening and quickly discarded via the spam filter to ensure no further contact with their authors. It seemed that a whole lot of guys on Craigslist were quite excited at the prospect of spanking a 25-year-old blonde yoga teacher (though if they knew she was also a wicked smart aggressive lawyer who would cheerfully sue their asses off they might have been less enthusiastic). But a handful of inquiries were more thoughtful and articulate (and even employed proper spelling and grammar, niceties lost on the vast majority of horny respondents in the discard pile).

So our heroine proceeded to initiate conversations with three potential candidates. Two sounded as though they were closer to the ‘sweet spot’ of the kind of men she had dated, graduate level educated professionals who shared some of the nerdy sensibilities she knew were a part of her own makeup. But one of these got discarded by the third round when he revealed he had been less than honest about his age, which was outside the upper end of her stated range. The other, a CTO at a startup company, turned out to be less devoted to fitness than he implied, and was screened when his photo showed him to be at least twenty pounds heavier than he had initially indicated.

The final applicant was a different kettle of fish from any man she had ever dated. He was a former military officer who had fought in the Special Forces in the first Iraq war, and had not even attended college until the GI Bill kicked in after he mustered out. And while widely read, he made no claims to being an intellectual, professing to enjoy his job as a self-employed high-end residential subcontractor who designed and installed custom cabinetry for the local gentry. His photo revealed a supremely fit, well-built and handsome man of forty, with piercing slate-blue eyes, and a completely clean-shaven head. Alison had never dated a bald man before, and she was surprised at how attractive she found his well-formed pate, perhaps because the rest of him was instantly identified by her body’s mute but embarrassingly undeniable reaction as exactly what it had in mind.

His name was Avery Williams, and he allowed in one of his early emails that having such a sissy name had caused him to have to defend himself from earliest memory in the tough neighborhoods of Baltimore where he grew up. The local YMCA became something of a refuge, and he was taken under the wing of a martial arts coach there while he was barely more than a tyke. Soon he was able to emerge from most street skirmishes with less and less damage, and steadily more respect from his opponents. By the time he reached middle school, no one was interested in fighting him any more and he was left in peace to go his own way.

That way tended to be fairly isolated, with only a few friends from the Y and his main companionship being found in books. His mother, whom he came early to despise for her drunkenness and abusiveness, had started out caring deeply about her quiet, eager to please only son. His father had been a Marine who finished his stint in Vietnam with a raging PTSD and a serious drug habit. Though it was probably for the best that dear old Dad didn’t stick around long, Avery’s violent paterfamilias left a legacy of abuse that got handed immediately down to his innocent son. Martial arts training helped immeasurably in developing the self-control in the only child to prevent him acting out his hostility in violence towards others outside of the dojo.

But some years after he became sexually active as a teenager, our hero discovered that his deep resentment towards his mother found an unexpected outlet. It seemed there was a cohort of women who were drawn to Special Forces soldiers because of a certain need to submit erotically to dominant males. A bright light went off in his head the very first time a sexy young woman crawled over his lap and declared that a bad girl like her needed nothing more than a good hard spanking. The subsequent s*x was an order of magnitude hotter than anything he had ever experienced to that day, and a budding dom was born in that instant.

Alison elicited this history in her painstaking online vetting of this very interesting man, as she asked forthrightly why he was interested in inflicting painful attention to female bottoms. In hearing this story, she could feel a strong resonance to her hard-won understanding of the childhood roots of her own particular kinkiness. Each of them had adapted to difficult circumstances by finding an internal well of resilience and come to terms with their abuse by finding (or in her case, at least seeking) healthier outlets for their complex feelings. Now, to be sure, she felt pretty f*****g odd communicating at such a deep level to a man whom she’d never actually met in person. On the other hand, given that the whole contact had been led by her declaration of an intention to be spanked on her bare bottom, it was hardly any weirder to be talking so vulnerably about why each of them was interested in such an eventuality.

Soon they each realized that the other, at least by their photographs, was as physically attractive as they were verbally and emotionally intriguing. Then there was nothing for it but to meet in person, and they negotiated a dinner date at a local bistro famous for its fresh seafood and creative uses of local produce. Alison felt nervous as hell as she dressed carefully, trying to catch the sweet spot between prim and slutty. This was successfully accomplished with a superficially demure ensemble in varying shades of fuchsia and blue. The weather was warm, so she went with a light silk summer dress in a subtle floral pattern, topped with a translucent silk jacket in blues and purples. The daring aspect came in our heroine’s choice of underwear. She decided to capitalize on the firmness of her perfect B-cup breasts by eschewing a brassiere. And down below, the area defined to be of special interest to both of them was left bare under its silk covering as well, as she went to Victoria’s Secret and bought mauve silk thong panties, far sexier underwear than she had ever worn.

Her date was nervous as well, but for different reasons. While unusually articulate and well-read for a contractor, he knew he was going on a date with a much more intellectual woman. Would she find him dull and stolid, or could his innate intelligence shine through? He had no worries about his physical presentation, as long experience with women appreciating his well-muscled and impeccably conditioned physique had generated well-earned confidence in that realm. In a physical world, he was deft and masterful on all levels, from martial arts skill to delicate craftsmanship, all executed with a matter-of-fact skillfulness that most women found riveting. As for clothing, Avery chose a form-fitting high end black tee tucked into pleated-front black slacks, topped by a pale grey silk and linen blend Armani sport jacket tailored to show off his broad shoulders.

When they met in the foyer of the restaurant, the chemistry was instantly electric on both parts. Alison loved Avery’s deep confident baritone voice, and slightly sardonic self-deprecating tone. He seemed at home in his skin without being one iota arrogant, and his physical presence was totally magnetic to her. She was used to interacting with lawyers day in and day out, most of whom were very bright and totally inclined to flaunt their intelligence at every opportunity. Not so this self-possessed large man who made her body immediately swoon with its unqualified approval of him.

The conversation was nothing short of scintillating for both of them. Alison found Avery’s rather right-wing (like almost all military officers) but well-informed world view to be challenging but intriguing, in sharp contrast to her crusader’s liberalism. They both managed to have a sense of humor about their obvious differences in politics, both agreeing that they would probably always cancel out each other’s vote at the polls. Avery decided to use the opportunity of their joking exchange of this promise as dessert was being served as his opening sally into the realm which had prompted their original connection, since he correctly sensed their powerful positive chemistry. He took Alison’s hand and looked deep into her cornflower blue eyes as he kissed it gently and said in a low voice, “Of course, any wife of mine who presumed to negate my vote could count on an Election Day trip over my knee for a long and detailed conversation between my palm and her rebellious backside.”

Alison felt a mortifying flood of arousal between her legs, immediately soaking the crotch of her skimpy thong as her face flushed brilliantly. She was frankly shocked at both of these sudden physiologic declarations on her part, at least one of which the very attentive massive man across the white linen tablecloth was sure to notice. In fact, he had an unusually sensitive nose, and detected the faint but unmistakable odor of her p***y’s silent declaration of its total approval of the suggestive promise he had just made. And then Avery leaned forward with a tender smile but an intense look in his eyes, and barely whispered, “I see that a certain very beautiful, naughty, blonde girl had more of a reaction to that prospect than perhaps she had bargained for...”

Alison’s moment of truth had arrived. She could hardly deny her flush, which long experience as a trial lawyer taking depositions had taught her was an unfakeable sign of autonomic arousal. Fortunately (perhaps...) she had consumed just enough wine to overcome at least some of her inhibitions. So she downed the rest in her half-full glass in an overt bid for ‘Dutch courage’. And then she looked right back into Avery’s penetrating slate-blue sardonic gaze and replied in her own intense whisper, “And if you felt between my legs, I suspect you know exactly what kind of reaction you would find...”

This was as brazen a remark as the controlled blonde had ever made in her life. She was astounded by her own insouciance, but even more by the response of her fearless date. He scooted around the booth and leaned forward to give her a tender kiss on the lips, taking his time and employing only the slightest hint of tongue. And then, when her heart was hammering from the sheer sexiness of his manly smell, he calmly reached his right hand underneath the tablecloth, parted her paralyzed legs, and felt her exactly where she had effectively invited. She moaned into his mouth at the pleasure of his touch, and he drew back slightly and said, “If you come home with me now, I promise to give you just the sound spanking we both know you deserve for meeting a stranger while not wearing a brassiere, after which I will f**k the living daylights out of this place that is clearly registering its own opinion about what it wants!”