This story is primarily about spanking and is TOTALLY a fantasy. If you are dumb enough to actually try this at home, you will discover that your breaking point is well below Joan-e’s 460+. But if you are smart enough to read this as a fantasy– and accept it as such– you will enjoy it. And whether you enjoy giving or receiving OTK hand spankings, reading this story will give you a nice, warm, internal glow as you think about Joan-e’s glowing red ass.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Joan-e MCallister was a rather regular woman... except for the weird spelling of her name and her once-a-month fetish show at The Club, a local BDSM establishment. The weird spelling was because her name had been recorded wrong at birth. Her first name was supposed to be Joan followed by just an E for a middle name (an idea of her mother’s) and then a hyphenated last name (also her mother’s idea). But the nurse, misunderstanding the name as the mother said it, blurted out, “That sounds like two names!” In response, Joan-e’s father said, “It’s supposed to be hyphenated.” And so it was.
The second strangeness about Joan-e came about because of her fascination with being spanked. She and her boyfriend Kevin had played out some scenes, and both of them knew that she loved being spanked. ... No, that isn’t true, she hated being spanked, but it turned her on beyond belief and she loved being turned on. She especially loved the explosive orgasms that followed her spanking-induced euphoric state.
She also loved her third strangeness, which was flashing people or somehow making herself visible in public while she was naked. She had even done the order a pizza and answer the door naked thing. When the pizza arrived and the delivery person was not a male, Joan-e said glumly, “Oh, it’s a girl.”
The pizza girl, however, said, “That’s not a problem,” as she reached out and stroked Joan-e’s already dripping snatch. Then she said, “I get off at midnight. I can come back here and get you off at least three times by one.” Joan-e just stood there with her mouth open, but Kevin said from behind her, “And I can get you off at least twice in the same time period.”
Kevin eventually split with Joan-e to move in with Pizza Girl. That’s when Joan-e discovered her third thrill and fourth strangeness. She gradually learned that she loved taking risks, especially risks involving semi-sexual payoffs. For example, she would bet on a football game or basketball game or almost anything with the guys at work where she was a receptionist in a stock brokers office. There were eleven men... and her in the office. Almost all business was conducted over the telephone or at the client’s home or business, so it was just Joan-e and the brokers. Usually the bet with the guys was “$25 if I win; if I lose, I come to work with no underwear.”
All of the men knew of the bet or were in on it. Joan-e might end up with a couple hundred dollars, or she might end up sitting at her desk with her dress hitched up and her legs spread so the guys could see that she had lived up to the bet. Once she bet it all on a Super Bowl game and ended up sitting naked at her desk for a whole week. That week a dozen of their best clients “stopped by.” Evidently the brokers were using her nakedness as a selling point with some of their special clients.
Making the bets would get her juices flowing, but having to show her cunt to everyone in the office caused her to tremble and shake with arousal. So, every hour or two, she would go into the restroom to “splash some cold water on my face.” At least that’s what she told her boss. What she actually did was to strip totally naked, lay on the restroom floor, and finger herself to an earth-shattering orgasm.
It was boyfriend number two... or maybe he was number three... that first took her to The Club. The sounds and smells of sex... and humiliation... and pain... were in the air as soon as they came through the front doors. Joan-e was already at the edge of orgasm by the time they entered the darkness of the main room. David had a table near the front. A good friend of his was a member and had gotten them a VIP visitors pass.
As they sat with their drinks and watched the various acts and performances by the Masters, Mistresses and subs, David leaned in close to her and said, “You would like to be up there, wouldn’t you?”
When she didn’t reply, he added, “It’s written all over your face, Joan-e. I’ll bet you would love to get up there and get your naked ass whipped.”
He was actually kidding, but she wasn’t when she made her first bet with him. “You can spank me for as long as you want,” she said firmly, “and if you break me, you can fuck me right there on stage.” She waited for his gasp and gulp to subside and then added, “... and if I cum you can fuck me in the ass.”
“And if you don’t?” he said in a slightly shaky voice.
“Then you buy me a new outfit,” she chirped back.
David immediately excused himself to go talk to the stage manager. When he came back, he said, “We’re on next.”
After a Dom in black leather finished flogging her boy-toy slut, the emcee came up on stage and announced loudly, “We have a club virgin appearing on stage tonight.”
She broke at spank four hundred and fifty-five. Her butt was all purple and swollen as David flipped her off of his lap and dropped her to the stage. She gasped loudly as her tortured ass hit the stage floor. She continued to gasp as David drove into her sopping cunt. David wasn’t known for his endurance– except at spanking– but she still orgasmed twice before he grunted loudly and drove himself hard into her cunt.
She never told David, but she hadn’t broken. The pain hadn’t gotten beyond what she could handle. The pain hadn’t even yet gone from pleasure-pain to pain-pain. The reality was that she was afraid that she could no longer hold back her orgasm.
She and David repeated their performance at the club a dozen or so times before they broke up. Once, she even let it go past four hundred and fifty-five, just to see how long she could actually go without orgasming. On swat four hundred and seventy-one, she suddenly arched into a bow and began screaming and wailing on David’s lap.
Before her wails had died down, David had slipped out from under her and draped her over the chair. Then kneeling on the floor behind her, he drove into her virgin asshole in one push. There was plenty of lube flowing from her pussy, but her ass was very sore and her rosebud, itself, was dry and still very tight from the contractions of her orgasm. The additional pain triggered a second orgasm and then the realization that she was being fucked... in the ass... in public... on stage... triggered a third.
After that, spanking alone wasn’t enough for David. Neither was normal fucking when Joan-e called “Uncle.” He wanted her to orgasm so he could again take her ass on stage. He was so obsessed with her ass, that he lost interest in the spanking routine. It was his persistent nagging for her to do an anal show at the club that finally caused them to break up.
Because of a superb body and a wise choice of parents, Joan-e was always able to heal in three or four weeks after one of her and David’s marathon spanking performances, so the people at the club learned to expect a monthly performance. But Joan-e and David were no longer a couple. Two months came and went and Joan-e and David did not perform. Four months passed, and then six.
Finally after almost a year, Joan-e approached the club management with a proposition for a one-girl show. Well, it wasn’t one girl. It was Joan-e and twenty-three men. She called it “23 and Me.”
The Club received no cash and didn’t directly handle the betting, so it was on the gray side of legal– which a lot of activity at the club also was. The setup was this. Twenty-three men each bet $25.00 that they could break Joan-e. Each man got twenty swats. There was a drawing to determine who went first and each man delivered five swats at a time. If she broke before the fourth round of men finished, the man who broke her got to fuck her on stage like David used to. As with her bets with David, if she orgasmed, the man got to fuck her in the ass. Almost always, the night ended with Joan-e walking out of the club with a very sore ass and $575.00. Occasionally, she would scream out, “Uncle! Uncle! I can’t take any more!” and the lucky man would flip her over and drop her onto the stage like David used to. Then he would pound into her cunt while she screamed and wailed beneath him.
Some people thought she was screaming in pain. Others thought it was passion. The reality was that it was a little of both plus some showmanship to keep things interesting. Once or twice, she faked an orgasm during the spanking and was fucked in the ass. No one caught on that, when that happened, she was always over the lap of the least-endowed man among the twenty-three.
Most of the time, the four hundred and sixty swats would complete and she would give a big bow to the audience in the club. That was always followed by an even deeper bow facing the back wall so that the people at the tables could appreciate her swollen, red and purple, and almost bleeding rear end. Then, as she left the stage, she would select one of the men– or women– to take home with her. She would always tell them that it was a consolation prize for being such a good spanker, but the reality was that she was so horny from being spanked that she needed someone or something to relieve her distress or she would explode.
Joan-e was always in control... except for that night when the old sailor limped up to the stage to sign up for the bet drawing. The fact that he was old was obvious. The fact that he was– or had been– a sailor was revealed when his name was drawn for the spanking session.
As usual, more than 23 potential participants came forward. Joan-e was standing at the table naked while an assistant wrote the person’s name on a slip of paper and added it to a large jar. After everyone had signed up, Joan-e would go up on stage and slowly draw names from the jar, reading each one aloud, until she reached 23. The assistant remained at the table to actually take the money for the bet from those who won the drawing.
When the 23rd slip of paper was drawn, Joan-e called out loudly, “Sailor Sam,” and everyone in the club laughed. They laughed even louder when he held up his hand as he walked forward and said loudly, “I am what I am.”
Joan-e– and everyone else– couldn’t help but notice that he had muscular arms and huge hands.
When the laughter died down, he said loudly, “Why don’t we make it fifty dollars a man and everyone gets to fuck you if you lose?”
“It would have to be one hundred and fifty for that to happen,” Joan-e replied rapidly, “but I don’t think the rest would agree to it.”
She cringed slightly as there was a loud chorus of shouts saying “Yes, we would,” or words to that effect. Joan-e swallowed hard and looked around the club. She took a deep breath and then said, “OK, this one time. One hundred and fifty dollars each and if I break, you all get to fuck me.”
This was definitely going to be a night where she didn’t break. She would be leaving with over three thousand dollars at the end of the evening. ... Or, at least, that was the plan.
The twenty-one men and two women gathered in a group at the side of the stage to strip off. Part of Joan-e’s rules were that they had to remove their pants, dresses or whatever so that she lay over their naked legs. She instituted that rule after getting cut by something in a man’s pocket. When she was scratched rather badly by some stars on a denim blouse, she added the requirement that tops also had to come off.
Some of the 23 bettors that night stripped down completely. Most stripped down to their underwear. One of the women stripped down to a very tight, black leather bikini bottom... so did one of the men.
When Sailor Sam stepped out of his trousers, he left his right leg behind. A young woman who worked for the club ran up and handed him the pair of crutches he had left with her. “I assume,” he said, “that you didn’t want me to leave my prosthetic leg in place. The harness would be very uncomfortable to lay across.”
“No, that’s fine,” Joan-e said with a forced smile. She was starting to think that Sailor Sam was pulling something. She just couldn’t figure out for sure what it was.
The first round of spankings was rather routine... at least for Joan-e. She made sure that she yelped or whimpered for at least one of the swats in each of the 23 sets of five. It was too early for a gasp of passion to be believable. Normally it took around 50 swats for the pain to become pleasure-pain and 150 to 200 swats before the pain went from pleasure-pain to passion-pain. In any case, round one, despite some very accomplished spanking, was primarily acting on Joan-e’s part.
The second round was a little different. One of the women hit very hard, and every swat was exactly in the middle where Joan-e’s asscheeks met her legs. If her legs were a little wider apart, the woman would have been spanking her slit. The way it was, each spank shot through her like an electric spark that somehow originated from her cunt. One of the men was hitting so that only his fingers, and not the palm of his hand, was striking her ass. It felt different. She wasn’t sure whether or not it hurt her more, but she was pretty sure that he would have a swollen hand in the morning.
Sailor Sam was again the last to spank. For some reason, he sat very still before he began to spank. Then he slowly pushed her farther and farther out on his lap. Suddenly she could feel the end of his stump rubbing her pussy. He was able to move it so it rubbed from the base of her slit all the way to the top. In fact, he seemed to be able to hold it exactly under her clit as he spanked. She was moaning quietly by the time he finished his fifth swat... and she wasn’t acting.
Before he let her go, he leaned down close to her and whispered softly, “You will cum like a banshee on the fourth round.”
Maybe if he hadn’t said that... or perhaps maybe if Joan-e didn’t think so much about it as the other twenty-two contestants smacked her ass... maybe, just maybe, she would have been able to get through the entire four rounds of spanking. The way it was, she nearly lost control at the end of the third round as Sailor Sam’s stump again rubbed and bounced against her clit with each of his five swats.
This time, before he let her up, he whispered in her ear, “Next round, fourth swat, you explode.”
Have you ever tried not to cum? Some really submissive sluts can put off their orgasm like a well-trained dog balancing a dog biscuit on the top of their nose. Then the Master says “Cum,” and they explode. Joan-e had never been trained not to cum. She wasn’t a submissive slut, she was a pain slut... specifically she was a spank slut and Sailor Sam was uniquely equipped to simultaneously drive both the spank side and the slut side of that well over the edge.
Fourth round, twenty-third spanker; five swats left; Sailor Sam stopped to lightly rub Joan-e’s flaming ass. “I’m going to count them down backwards,” he whispered in her ear and then he slammed his huge, calloused hand hard into her left asscheek.
“Four,” he said loudly.
The audience was confused, but not Joan-e. She knew exactly what he meant and was visibly shaking with fear and with pre-orgasmic tremors.
“Three” he said even more loudly with the next slap.
Joan-e responded with a loud grunt through her clenched teeth. Her hands had risen off the floor and were out in front of her like Superman flying through the sky. Her feet were an inch or so off the floor.
“Two” he said and the whole club joined him in his count. Most had no idea why he was counting, but they loudly called out, “Two!” anyway.
Joan-e was now arched almost in a bow. Her fingers and toes both pointed toward the ceiling of the club.
Sam took advantage of Joan-e’s position to shift her slightly on his lap so he could press even more firmly into her cunt with his stump.
“One!” the entire club yelled loudly as Sailor Sam’s hand slammed down exactly in the middle of Joan-e’s ass, driving her clit hard into the stump of his right leg.
There was no doubt that on the four hundred and fifty-ninth swat that evening, Joan-e orgasmed. Sailor Sam held her hard in place as she thrashed and screamed. He continued to hold her until her wail slowly faded out. Then he said, loud enough for the audience to hear, “Time to prepare that asshole for a thorough buggering.”
One of the club slaves ran forward and handed Sam a tube of lube. Joan-e lay collapsed over his lap as he opened it and squirted a generous glob between her flaming asscheeks. As he used his fingers to open her rosebud and prepare it, he said loudly, “I think we need a large cushion or a cushioned chair.”
Another club slave brought a big round Ottoman up on stage and set it on end so that it looked like a portion of a barrel.
“Perfect,” Sam said as he positioned Joan-e over it.
“I’m going to let the others loosen you up,” he said softly and motioned for the first drawn name to step forward. Joan-e didn’t realize it at the time, but that was a very good choice. Spanker number one wasn’t a micro penis, but he was well below average. Sailor Sam squirted additional lube before each participant. He also made both women select smaller dildos for their strap ons. When they resisted, he said firmly, “We don’t want to damage her before we get to the end of the line.’
Sailor Sam was the end of the line. Joane-e was thoroughly loosened up and more than a little sore when he slowly pushed his huge salami into her ass. “Just imagine that I am pushing my stump all the way into your pussy,” he whispered, “and you will enjoy this.”
She more than enjoyed it. She burst into her greatest orgasm of the night as Sailor Sam slowly pushed a prick that matched his huge hands in and out of her ass.
That was the last night that Joan-e MCallister appeared at The Club. It was also the end of her sports bets at work. When the stockbrokers pressed her for a reason, she replied, “I’m a married woman now. I’m Mrs. Sailor Sam.”
Her husband’s name, by the way, really is Sailor Sam. His parents, Mr & Mrs Sam had a weird sense of humor and named him Sailor. With a name like Sailor Sam, he was destined to make the Navy his career, which he did until he lost his leg in the line of duty.
People sometimes whisper as she and Sailor pass on the street, or snicker behind their backs as they eat in a restaurant.
“What would a young woman like her see in an old man like him?” they say to each other. But the neighbors know. Several times a month, they can hear the sounds of a spanking coming from Sailor Sam and Joan-e’s flat. And those sounds always morph into the loud moans and keening wail of an intense orgasm.
Joan-e Sam is a very regular woman... except for the weird spelling of her name and having a one-legged husband almost twice her age who knows how to make her howl like a banshee.
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END OF STORY
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