Up the stairs (F/m story)

The winter I turned sixteen, I spent a few weeks living in my aunt's apartment. I didn't have too many friends there, so I felt a bit lonely, but one thing made things a lot better.

Her name was Lara, a tall redhead about ten years older (and I knew well enough not to ask). She had great curves, and she was never scared to show it off. She was always wearing short skirts, but unfortunately, you couldn't see QUITE enough if you walked behind her. Luckily, her apartment was in the same building as my aunt's, with the same stairs, so if I hung back and let her go first, I could follow her up the stairs and look up her skirt – and I did, more than once. Much more.

This was a Tuesday, and to my pleasure, I arrived home at the same time as her. "After you," I told her, trying to seem like a little gentleman – a role I had some experience with. She didn't smile at me, like she usually did when I did these little gestures. In fact, she looked annoyed. This lit up something of a warning bell in my head. Something was wrong, and I didn't know what, so the wise thing to do was to get out of there. Of course, since there was a chance I'd get a good look at her backside if I stayed, the choice was easy.

She started up the stairs, and I followed, and as I hoped, her skirt was short enough to give me a good look of a delicious backside in a pair of none-too-modest panties. These glimpses were the highlight of my day.

She reached the top of the stairs, and after she'd unlocked her apartment, she turned around to glare at me. "Alan, do you think I'm stupid?" she said angrily.

"What?" I said confused. "No! Why do -"

Her hand shot forward, grabbing my earlobe, and I cried out; she could really pinch. "Don't try to be clever, you little pervert," she said. "You think I haven't noticed you staring at my ass? You're not subtle, boy. You're far from subtle. Luckily, I know just what to do."

She pushed the door to her apartment open, dragging me in by the ear. Resisting was in no way an option.

"Think you're clever, boy?" she said as she pushed me into the living room, letting go of my ear. I rubbed it gingerly. "Well, your little stunt just earned you a good spanking, young man."

"What?" I said. "A spanking? You can't -"

"Can and will, little man." She pulled out a dining room chair, sitting down on it. "You've stared at my ass for days, it's high time I saw yours – and I think I want it in red." She patted her lap. "Drop your shorts and underpants and bend over my knees." I hesitated, and she added: "Or do you want to add to your punishment? Want me to get my hairbrush?"

I'd never been spanked before, much less with a hairbrush, but some of my friends back home HAD, and they'd spoken about the hairbrush as if it was some ancient evil from the dawn of the Earth or something. I was fairly sure I didn't want to feel it. I unbuttoned my shorts, pulling them down past my knees, before leaning forward. She stopped me, and gave my bottom a quick slap. "Underpants too, young man." I blushed, but did as she instructed.

"Now," she said, patting my cheeks as I laid bare-bottomed over her lap. "I think a childish punishment like this fits your childish actions as of late." She raised her hand and started spanking.

I gasped as the burn spread through my cheeks , and I tried to stand up. "Stay in position, sport," she said, holding me down. She giggled. "Not used to being spanked, are you? Not to worry. Before this is over, you'll have had a proper introduction."

She kept spanking me in silence. At least, she was silent; I was letting out yelps of pain every time her palm landed on my poor bottom. I would never have believed that her hand could hurt as much as it did.

About ten minutes later, I'd given up on holding the tears back, and I was crying openly. It did nothing to lessen the punishment; if anything, it seemed to egg her on to spank harder. I kicked my legs, but she lifted her right leg, wrapping it around mine, so I couldn't move them. I She also grabbed my hands with her left, making sure I didn't reach back. With my hands and feet held firmly in place, there was nothing I could do but cry and beg, and I did plenty of both.

I have no idea how long I was over her lap, but by the time she pulled me to my feet, it felt like she had ironed my bottom. I tried to rub the sting away, but she slapped my hands. "Not yet," she said. "Go stand with your face to the wall. Hands on your head, no rubbing. I think a bit of time left to think will do you a lot of good."

I spent the next thirty minutes facing that wall, wanting with all my heart to reach back and rub my sore cheeks, but terrified of the consequences should I do so.

This even left me with a very difficult choice. Should I stop trying to stare at her ass, giving up that lovely sight forever? Or should I continue, a little more stealthily in the future, with all the dangers that involved? Good question.