The Demonstration

This is an approximation of a recurring dream I’ve had since I was 20 and beginning to fulfill my spanking desires. Written months ago, I’ve decided to post it.

….

I awaken, disoriented, with my nightgown damp and twisted between my legs.
 
Voices from the kitchen, a low conversation punctuated with thoughtful laughter, drift into the dim bedroom. Who is here?, I wonder, my curiosity free from alarm.
 
Untangling myself from the sheet, I pad out of the bedroom to investigate my midnight guests.
 

 
Sitting around the table, a deck of cards split between them, are three men I don’t recognize and one whom I know well — my boyfriend, Doug, dressed in a white button-down shirt and a loosened tie. Running my hand through my tousled hair, I groggily greet the foursome and become aware of how improperly I am dressed.
 
My nightgown, made of thin cotton, allows the light to cast my thighs in shadows beneath the fabric. Gooseflesh covers my arms and I feel the familiar tightening of my nipples as all eyes flicker to me.
 
Feeling exposed, I turn to fetch my robe or, at the very least, put on panties. But Doug pats his thigh and says, “C’mere, sleepyhead, and meet my friends.”
 
I cross my arms over my puckered nipples and join the table with a shy smile. Introductions made, Doug pulls me onto his lap and briefly nuzzles my neck, inhaling the sleepy lavender scent that clings there.
 
“I was just telling everyone how we make our relationship work,” Doug says to the table. Blushing, I hope he didn’t share all of the inner-workings of our arrangement — specifically that he spanks me whenever and however he chooses.

The next words confirmed that he hadn’t spared that detail when describing the success of our partnering.
 

 
“I’m not sure they understood exactly what I meant when I said that I spank you,” he loudly whispered, rubbing my back in reassurance. “Don’t worry. You’re among friends.”
 
“What’s there to understand?” I ask him quietly, unable to look up from my fingers twisting in my lap. “You…spank me. Surely they know what that means.”
 
“But how? How do I spank you?”
 
“The same way anyone is spanked, I suppose,” I answer, suspecting where his line of questioning is leading.
 
“I think they want a demonstration. And I think we ought to give them one.”
 
I could not meet the men’s eyes but knew they were nodding in agreement, their interests piqued. My embarrassment increased as I felt arousal spread.
 
With barely opportunity to protest, Doug lifts me into position over his lap so that my covered bottom is at table level and displayed for all to see. Rubbing a gentle circle over my quivering cheeks, he begins to explain to his guests how best to spank a woman.

 
 
“Start out slow. Over her clothes,” he lectured, as the rubbing was replaced by gentle swats to my yielding cheeks. The only comfort was that I could not see the men’s expressions as Doug increased speed and force. “Usually I will have lectured her before she ever goes over my lap, telling her why I must spank her. Isn’t that right, Pink?”
 
Mortified, I groan a “yes, Sir”, during his expectant pause for my answer.
 
Continuing, “When she is sufficiently warmed, it’s time to inspect your handiwork.”
 
I twist slightly, to convey my discomfort at the apparently imminent unveiling of my nether cheeks, putting my hand across my bottom in an effort to keep the fabric down. Swatting away my weak protest, Doug lifts the gown slowly, a collective silence descending around the table as the men lean forward in anticipation. Feeling the cool rush of air, I hang my head and close my eyes, willing him to finish the demonstration quickly so I can retreat to the privacy of my room.
 
“See how pink she is? Isn’t it lovely?” Doug asks, as his hand admiringly circles his work. “And then we begin again, with more speed. Rhythm is important, but it’s also good to keep her guessing.”
 
He illustrates by alternately swatting the right and left cheek and then landing a surprise smack on the sweet spot, making me yelp and grasp his ankle tighter.
 

 
“Okay, I think that gives everyone an idea of how to begin. The rest I will leave to your imagination,” he says as he pats my glowing bottom. “You may get up.”
 
With a deep breath, and with my hair covering my face, I raise myself from his lap and smooth the nightgown back in place.
 
“I hope that helps, gentlemen,” Doug says in a Good Samaritan voice. “But now, it’s time to call it a night. I need to finish what I’ve started with Pink.”
 
With murmurs of gratitude, the men file out of the kitchen. My desire to never see them again is incongruous with the polite words I speak in farewell.
 
Doug leads me back to bed where, true to his word, he finishes what was begun at the kitchen table.

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