Country boy 2: The Woodshed (m/F story)

A sequel to Country boy.

It was now about a month since a boy in his late teens had taken my 32-year-old bottom over his knee, bared it, and spanked it soundly. I had been driving on a backwater road, with no food or water with me, and no map. When my phone's battery died, I lost the GPS that I'd relied on, and had no way to call for help. To make matters worse, I then got a flat tire. Crying my frustration to the heavens, I had proclaimed that I deserved a good, hard spanking – and Ken, who had been walking nearby, overheard. He fixed my tire, pointed me in the right direction, and spanked my backside, and I was grateful for all three actions.

And now, I was heading to his house, hoping that he'd spank me again.

Regular spankings had not been a part of my life since my boyfriend broke up with me half a year ago, and I missed it. I had long ago discovered that I was a woman who needed to sit gingerly from time to time, and I should never go too long without a burning backside. Being unspanked for long stretches of time just led to me acting foolishly. Therefore, I decided to look up Ken's address and visit the only person who had given my butt what it needed since my boyfriend left. Though he was inexperienced, he was also a quick learner, and an absolute natural at delivering spankings. I could have phoned ahead and told Ken I was coming, but I decided it would be much more fun if I didn't.

It was about six in the afternoon when I spotted the lonely house. As I drove closer, I spotted a tall, strong woman in her forties who was sitting on the porch. I realized it was Ken's mother, as she had the same blue eyes – and the fact that they lived in the same house was another obvious hint. As I introduced myself, I spotted Ken exiting the house behind her. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"Hello, I'm Christine," I told the woman as I shook her hand. "A month or so ago, I had a flat tire near here, and Ken was kind enough to give me a hand when and where I needed it the most." Standing next to his mother, he raised an eyebrow at my little joke, but made no comment. "I was driving through the area now, and realized that I hadn't thanked him properly, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to do it now."

Ken's mother, whose name turned out to be Margaret, smiled at me with a typical mother's pride at hearing her beloved son praised. We chatted for a while, and Margaret asked me to join them for some coffee. As she went inside to prepare a pot, I was left alone with Ken. I grinned at him, but he glared back.

"You should have told me you were coming," he scolded.

"I know," I said in an impish tone of voice, sticking my tongue out at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Don't test me," he snapped.

I frowned. "Why not? I'm pretty sure we still want the same thing ..."

There was an unhappy look at his face. "Well, for one thing, I didn't want you to know that I still live with my parents -"

I tried to hold it back, but a snort of laughter escaped my lips, and he glared at me. "Ken, how old are you? Eighteen?"

"Nineteen," he corrected me gruffly. His silly pride forced me to hold back my laughter again.

"Nineteen, whatever. The point is, how many teenagers do you think are homeowners? I was twenty-two before I moved out – and some of my friends were far older than that. Believe me, when we met, I fully expected you to still be living at home. I would have been surprised if you DIDN'T. Nothing about it lowers you in my estimation." I raised an eyebrow. "Though the fact that you're so sensitive about it IS a little bit of a turn-off, I must admit."

"Watch your tongue," he said, swatting the seat of my jeans, and I giggled.

"Besides, did you think I would dismiss you as a child? I didn't like the consequences the last time I tried to do that," I said, grimacing as I theatrically rubbed my rear end.

I hoped to find some way to end up over Ken's knee soon, but I was reasonably sure that he wouldn't want to do it in front of his parents. We'd have to find some privacy – though I should probably meet his parents first. Maybe I could ask him to show me around, and he could pick out an isolated place where no one would see or hear us?

In the living room, I was introduced to his father Jake – a wide-shouldered, handsome man with the same chin as Ken. As Margaret poured the coffee, I told them the story of how the white knight had saved the poor damsel in distress from the flat tire and the poor planning, and they beamed with pride. Though he tried his best to seem cool and unaffected, I could tell that Ken also appreciated the story. Obviously, there were SOME parts of the story I left out – like the bit where he spanked me – and I think I embellished the rest slightly; emphasising how he'd literally saved my life.

After the story, Margaret brought forth some cookies that she'd baked the day before. After complementing her on her culinary skills, I nodded to the window. "What's that?"

"That building over there? It's the woodshed," Jake explained.

"I've never seen one of those," I said, before turning to Ken. "Maybe you can take me there later." Ken stiffened, and Jake chuckled. "What is it?" I asked him innocently.

"I guess you don't have that expression where you're from? 'Take someone to the woodshed'?" Jake said, grinning.

"No. What does it mean?" I said, with wide, naive eyes. Ken was glaring daggers at me, showing that he still didn't appreciate my humour.

"Never mind, it's not important," Jake said, still chuckling, and changed the subject. I could tell that I had annoyed Ken, which was good. I've found that needling your spanker is a great way to get what you want – assuming that what you want is a good, hard spanking, and fortunately for me, that's exactly what I was after.

We'd been chatting for hours now, and it was getting late. I turned to Margaret and asked her where the nearest hotel was.

"Oh, you can't drive to a hotel now. We have a guest bedroom, you can sleep there," she told me – which was exactly what I'd hoped.

Still, for appearance's sake, I thought it best to protest a little more. "I wouldn't want to impose..."

"Nonsense", Jake exclaimed. "We've plenty of room and few visitors. And besides," he said with a humorous glint in his eye, "We've already established that you're a girl who gets lost, so I don't want you to start looking for the hotel in the dark. Who knows where you'll end up."

Margaret wagged her finger at her husband for teasing their poor little guest, then showed me to their guest bedroom. I still wasn't entirely sure how I'd get Ken alone so that he could give me another spanking – maybe we'd go for a walk in the morning, to somewhere private and isolated? But that was a question for tomorrow.

It was maybe an hour or two later that I awoke to someone sitting on the side of my bed. Before I could cry out, I felt a firm hand across my mouth. "Quiet," Ken whispered. "My parents are sleeping. Get some clothes on and follow me."

I stared wide-eyed at him. I hadn't expected him to do this in the middle of the night, but I couldn't think of a reason to refuse him. I considered asking him to turn around while I changed from my nightie to my clothes, but realized how stupid that would be – he'd seen me naked before and was about to see me naked again, so what would be the point? I could feel his eyes on me as I bent over to pick up my jeans, and wriggled my bottom saucily in his direction. "Where are we going?" I asked as I pulled the nightie over my head, moving slowly and sensually as I undressed. If I was going to give him a show, I wanted it to be a good one.

"You'll see," he replied, his voice slightly strained – I had the distinct impression that he was enjoying my performance. I had a feeling from his tone of voice that further questions would also be pointless, so I got dressed and followed him. He led me out of the house and toward the old woodshed – the obvious location, in hindsight. I grinned; I'd been metaphorically "taken to the woodshed" countless times, but this was the first time it was literal as well.

"What if they hear us?" I whispered. I didn't want his parents waking up.

"The woodshed is too far from the house – plus, both buildings have thick, isolated walls, and their bedroom is in the basement. No chance," he said, which was comforting.

The woodshed was old, dusty, and full of firewood for the coming winter – which is why they call it a woodshed, I suppose. He closed the door behind him, then turned to face me. "I think there is a naughty young lady here who needs a good, hard spanking on her bare bottom."

"Who would that be?" I asked sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him.

He grabbed me, spun me around, and delivered five hard smacks to the seat of my jeans that had me moaning with pain and pleasure. It was great to feel a man's hand on my backside again – or a hand, at least. "Take your jeans off," he commanded. It seemed he'd grown up somewhat since our last meeting. There was something more authoritative about him.

As I unzipped and unbuttoned my jeans, I grumbled. "Why did you tell me to get dressed if you're just going to tell me to take my clothes off again?"

"Because," he explained calmly, "If we'd been spotted leaving the house, I can easily think of ten or twelve perfectly innocent excuses for what we were doing and where we were going. Going off with a naked or half-naked woman, however, is a bit harder to explain." He stepped forward, swatting my bottom again. "And don't argue."

My jeans were now around my ankles, and my cute little pink panties were on display. At his command, I stepped out of the jeans, folded them up, and placed them on the nearest woodpile.

"Would you like me to remove my panties as well?" I asked him, trying to sound submissive.

He shook his head. "No, I'll do it," he said, with a lecherous grin.

I frowned. "I didn't know you were wearing panties," I commented innocently.

For a brief second, he just stared at me, shocked at my audacity. Then, he grabbed me and spun me around again, pushing me against the woodpile, with my face shoved into the seat of my own jeans. Using some cruel wooden implement that he seemed to pull from nowhere, he delivered twenty firm spanks that had me howling and kicking my legs. The sudden sting was overwhelming – this hurt far more than his hand!

Once he let go of me, I rose on shaking knees, my hands fluttering uselessly around my stinging rear. I turned to see him holding a big, evil bath brush. It had a label on it that said 'Cruelty'-free', which I found particularly laughable. If I'd known earlier that he had put that thing in his jacket pocket before waking me, maybe I would have watched my mouth. Or maybe not.

"Any other funny comments you wish to make?"

"No, sir," I said, shaking my head emphatically. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that. Please forgive me, sir." Bath brushes always made me eager to please.

He stepped forward and caressed my face, kissing my forehead in a way that made me even weaker in the knees. How could a teenager make me feel this way? Kneeling before me, he grabbed my panties and lowered them to my knees, staring at my crotch with obvious delight.

Sitting down on a convenient woodpile, he patted his knee. I laid myself across his lap, my bottom raised to meet the descent of his hand – at least, I hoped he would use his hand; if he continued to use that dreadful bath brush on me, this would turn out to be a lot less fun than I'd hoped.

To my relief, I felt his hand caressing my bare bottom, rubbing in circles. "What a cute, pale, little bottom," he muttered. "Time to make it red and sore." And with that, he lifted his hand and started to spank.

His hand moved from cheek to cheek, delivering a delightful sting that made me shiver. Noticing his increased skill, I wondered briefly if it was just his experience with me, or if my young cavalier had been spanking other women, though I decided not to ask.

Gradually, the smacks came harder and faster, and I let out the occasional "Ow!" or "Oh!" when a particularly hard slap landed on my rear. His erection was poking me in the stomach, and I was glad to feel that he was enjoying it as much as I was.

"Will you be a good girl from now on?" he scolded.

"Hm. That depends. What will you do if I say no?" I smirked.

I heard him pick something up, and felt something cold and hard tapping against my toasty cheeks. With a feeling of dread, I suddenly remembered that awful bath brush he'd wielded so expertly. "I'm sorry, sir!" I pleaded in a terrified voice. "I misspoke! I meant 'Yes, sir, I will be a VERY good girl, sir!' Please don't spank me with that – OW!" I howled and squirmed as he delivered a dozen hard smacks to my bottom, kicking my legs ineffectually. Then, to my great relief, he placed it back down, and I once again felt his hand rubbing my sore rear.

"Are you done with the sarcastic remarks, young lady? Or would you prefer it if I used the bath brush for the rest of your spanking?"

"I'm done, sir. I'm very sorry for what I said, sir. Please forgive me." I looked over my shoulder at him, batting my eyelashes pitifully.

He continued to spank me with his hand. By this point, there were tears at the edges of my eyes, and I was squirming and moaning with every smack. It was wonderful!

To my surprise, he started spanking even harder and faster. I was sobbing and squirming, kicking my legs with every smack, but he easily held me down, and while I was exhausted from crying and wiggling, he didn't seem the least bit tired.

By the time he helped me to my feet, kissing my forehead and comforting me, I could honestly say I was one well-spanked girl. I sat on his lap, being comforted and kissed, until the bulge poking me in the bottom began to annoy me. He'd done this wonderful thing for me – it was time I repaid him.

I knelt before him, and he stared wide-eyed at me as I unzipped his trousers. "What are you doing?" he grunted, shocked. It was clear that this young man, despite his spanking expertise, was not as experienced in the ways of love and lust as he tried to seem.

"Thanking you for my lovely spanking," I replied, freeing his erection from his underwear. As I wrapped my lips around it, he began to moan, and I had a feeling he would be delighted to have me across his lap again.