Olivia and Kristine (F/F story)

 The first time I met Olivia, she was standing outside the apartment next door, searching through her pockets for a key. She was wearing a pink shirt and wore her blonde hair in two long braids. I estimated the girl to be between 13 and 15 years old, and I assumed that she was the younger sister of the college student that had moved in the weekend before. I introduced myself and learned that my guess had been wrong – Olivia was in fact the college girl in question,  19 years old (ten years younger than myself), but as a petite girl who liked to wear bright colours, she was used to people misjudging her age.

 

I told her that my name was Kristine, and I worked in an office downtown. She invited me in for a cup of tea and a chat, and I accepted. As I sat on the couch and looked around the room, I glanced at the unopened cardboard boxes. I decided to be a good neighbour and offer to help her unpack.

 

One of the boxes I opened turned out to be full of clothes, so I carried it into her bedroom. I stifled a giggle as I picked up a pair of pyjamas – the bottom half was bright pink, while the upper part was white and covered in pink flowers. Not exactly the kind of pyjamas I had expected to find on a college freshman.

 

The next thing I picked out of the box was a few pairs of underwear – these, at least, weren’t pink, but most of them had a bear or a kitten or some other cute animal on them. I chuckled, and Olivia turned her head to see what I was laughing at.

 

“What’s so funny?” she asked, in a tone of voice that suggested genuine curiosity.

 

“Well… it’s all so…” I waved my hand vaguely. “Well… childish. Are you really going to wear this stuff?”

 

“I would hardly have bothered to pack it if I weren’t,” she said.

 

“Aren’t you worried about what people are going to say?”

 

“No. I like them, and none of my clothes are against the college’s rules,” she said, still seemingly confused about what I found so funny.

 

I shook my head, trying to picture myself going to college like that back when I was nineteen. I think I would have died of embarrassment.

 

“Look, you can’t go to school like this,” I said.

 

“Of course I can,” she told me. “I am an adult, and I can wear what I want. I want to wear that.” She put her hands at her hips and glared at me. “And if you try to meddle in what I choose to wear, I’m going to spank you.”

 

I chuckled again, but she was still glaring at me. I looked at her face, trying to find traces of a joke, but found nothing. I arched an eyebrow, folded my hands in front of me, and stood towering over her. I was 5 and a half feet, and this girl was a few inches shorter than five feet.

 

“And how exactly were you going to accomplish that?” I said.

 

“Like this,” she said simply as she grabbed my hand. She dragged me behind her as she walked over to the bed, sat down, and started to pull me forward. I could easily have resisted her if I tried, but I was far too shocked about what was going on.

 

Less than an hour ago, I had met a petite college student who dressed like a pre-teen, and now, she was going to pull me over her lap and spank me. I like to think I’d just decided to see where things were going, but to tell the truth, I'm not sure I was doing any conscious thinking at this point.

 

Once she’d placed me over her lap, Olivia began to spank the seat of my jeans. Her hand moved from cheek to cheek, delivering a crisp smacking sound and a slight sting as it landed. Once I got over the shock of finding myself in this position, I discovered that it was far from unpleasant. In fact, her hand was spreading a pleasant warmth across my bottom.

 

When she stopped, I looked over my shoulder. Olivia was blowing on her palm.

 

“These jeans are hurting my hand,” she complained. “Stand up."

 

I did as instructed, and then watched as she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. Once she’d lowered them to my knees, uncovering my white cotton panties, she smiled to herself.

 

“That’s better,” she said. She then looked up at me and patted her lap. “Back across my knee. I need to finish your spanking.”

 

As I laid across the bed, my bottom across her lap, I decided to rest my head on my folded arms and just enjoy the moment. As she continued the spanking, I found that it hurt more without the protection of my jeans, but it was still a pleasant sensation. Her soft thighs under my belly, her palm gently patting my warm backside… I couldn’t remember the last time I was this content.

 

My reverie was interrupted when her fingers grabbed the waistband of my panties and began to pull them down. “Hey!” I protested, surprised by this move.

 

“All proper spankings are on the bare bottom,” she said, as if this much was obvious. “You need a proper punishment if you’re going to learn your lesson."

 

Did she honestly think she was punishing me, or was this part of some game she played? I decided not to ask. I lifted my hips, allowing her to pull my panties down. After all, I was already over the lap of a girl ten years my junior, with my jeans around my ankles and a pink, warm bottom – keeping my panties on wouldn’t make things much different.

 

Her palm continued to gently spank my bottom, and I found myself lifting my hips to meet every smack of her hand. The room was spinning, and I was moaning with pleasure.

 

“Have you learned your lesson, Kristine?” she asked after a while. The sting in my rear was beginning to build, and I decided I’d had enough for now. I nodded.

 

She gave my backside a hard slap that woke me from my reverie. “That’s ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘no ma’am’, Kristine,” she lectured. “Which is it?”

 

“Yes, ma’am” I replied. She helped me to my feet, and I wandered over to the wardrobe. My jeans were still around my ankles, but I kicked them off as I walked. As I stood with my back to the mirror, I marvelled at the sight of my pink rear end. I felt warm and tingly all over.

 

Olivia stood up. “Are you going to be a good girl now?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

 

She walked up to me, grabbed my head and pulled me down, and shocked me by giving me a loving kiss, right on the lips.

 

“Good to hear!” she said. “Let’s finish unpacking.” I reached for my jeans, but she shook her head. “Can’t you leave those where they are? Your bottom is really cute, particularly when it’s pink.”

 

I pulled up my panties but decided to grant her wish and leave my jeans on the floor. I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking things, getting a gentle smack to the seat of my panties every time Olivia walked by, or a comment that would cause my face to blush just as pink as my bottom.