About four months ago, I was riding down in the elevator from my office on the 45th floor . It must have been nearly 7PM. I had worked late to complete some papers that my boss had said had to be on his desk by 9 the next morning. I had printed out the report at 5 and the printer had fouled three of the pages. It took me until after 6 to get someone from maintenance to fix the _d_a_m_n_ed thing and then more time to reprint and dupe 15 copies. Secretary work, besides. I was beat and wanted nothing more than to go home and veg out in front of television for the evening.
Suddenly, I remembered that I had left some CD's that I had bought at lunch in my desk, so I stopped the elevator at 22, got out and pressed the up button. As I did, a man I had seen in the building for several months came down the hallway, and stood next to me, waiting for the elevator. He was some 5 or 10 years older than I, with wavy black hair, just beginning to go gray at the temples. When the elevator arrived, I got in, as he did.
"I'm going up." I said, surprised that he was not going down to leave.
"I'll ride along" was his only comment.
I pressed 45, and waited for the doors to close. As they did, he said, "Do you mind a personal comment?"
"No," I said, without thinking about it.
"You have the sweetest ass in this building."
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I couldn't imagine that he, or anyone for that matter, would say such a thing. I looked at him, but he was looking up at the floor counter. 30, 31, 32, 33, 34. I had about 15 seconds to respond, and I would get off, and he would ride down. The moment would be over, and nothing would come of it. If I hesitated, that would be a decision to go nowhere with his comment.
"Ya wanna see it?" I asked with a kind of sarcastic smile in my voice. As I said that, I turned my back to him and pulled on the edges of my suit coat so the center vent in the back spread and showed the seat of my pants. Again, a critical moment. The floor lights read 40, 41, 42, 43. He was aware of the time factor too, I guess, since he said as the bell rang and the doors opened "See it? I want to spank it."
I turned and looked at him face to face with the open door of the elevator separating us. I again had to decide. If I let the door close, it would be over. Did I want to let it be over? I didn't know him, but obviously he wanted to know me. Did I want to know him?
"Really? Come with me and we'll see."
He pressed a button on the panel, and as the doors started to slide close, he slipped out. "I'm Peter. Peter Anderssen."
"Hello Peter."
"And you're...?"
"Randy."
"I see."
"Randolph Marks."
We walked in silence down the hall, he a step or two behind me. I walked past the main office door to the executive entrance, a plain wooden door around the corner. It opened into a corridor with several offices, the copy room, file room and other such rooms on each side. I held the door for "Peter" and wondered what his name really was.
"Come in," I said. We can talk in a small conference room down here."
"Fine."
I opened the door to the conference room and snapped on the lights. The room was often used to view films and video tapes pertinent to insurance claims, so the lights were on a dimmer. I dimmed them to just below "conference" level, leaving the room brighter than a restaurant, but decidedly dimmer than an office. "Sit down, please."
"Look, I don't make a habit of speaking in so frank and personal a manner, but I have seen you in the elevator for six months, and can't take my eyes off your ass. Obviously, I am attracted to you. And just as obviously, you must be attracted to me, or you would have gotten off the elevator without a comment."
"Or would have decked you then and there."
"No, I knew you wouldn't do that. Remember, I told you I have been watching you since before Thanksgiving. I could tell you weren't violent."
"I see. What makes you think I'm gay?"
"Is that what I think?"
"Isn't it? Why would you make such a comment if you didn't?" Silence. "Do you think I'm gay?"
"I think you have the sweetest ass in the building. I think I would enjoy spanking it to a bright rosy red. I think I would enjoy feeling the heat of your ass against my cheeks as I kissed it. And I think you are interested enough in the concept to bring me to your conference room, lock the door and get an erection thinking about it."
Well, he was right. On all counts. "That it? You want to spank me, kiss my ass, and leave."
"Yes. Anything more than that will be up to you. I won't force any other attentions or actions on you." He had looked directly into my eyes all the time we had been talking. His glance wavered only when he said the words "an erection" when he looked into my lap. His clear green eyes seemed to drill into me, but I could not really tell much from them. They were not the windows into anything as far as I could tell.
Another critical moment. Of course, I had more time now. I could tell him I had to think about it. I could tell him to get lost. I could tell him "go ahead."
Instead, I stood up, took off my suit coat, turned my back and walked a few steps away. When there were about 15 feet between us, I turned a looked at him.
"OK, go ahead. Spank me," I said.
He didn't move or bat an eye. I was nervous and shaking. It really was like I was being punished. I had the same shuddery feeling in my stomach. And of course, a new feeling: a hard on that could batter down doors.
"When was the last time you were spanked?" he asked.
"I don't remember. I was about 13, I guess, maybe 14."
"What had you done?"
"I don't remember, probably mouthed off to my father. I did that a lot, and it drove him wild."
"Tell me about it."
"Why, do you want to reenact it?"
"No, not unless you want to. I don't what to relate to you as a father, even a strict one."
"Well, he wasn't strict, really, just easily angered. I must have said something snotty, and he grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me over the arm of the couch. I was wearing shorts, or a swimming suit, or something, and he yanked them down with one easy pull. Then he started to smack my behind fast and furious. I remember being surprised at how fast the blows came. And it hurt, I remember that. But being over the arm of the couch put a good amount of friction on my penis, so I did get an erection. When he let me up, I was crying, and I stooped to pull up my pants. He saw the erection, started to ask something, all he go t out was 'What...?' and stopped. It was the last time he spanked me."
"I see. Did you enjoy it?
"No, it hurt like hell."
"I mean the erection?"
"It wasn't the first one I had had, but it was the first one anyone had known about. I didn't know what it meant. As a matter of fact, I thought it was some kind of disease or abnormality. It was two years or more before I found out what they were good for."
He stood up and walked to the side of the room where there were a few chairs lined up against the wall. They were supposed to be for secretaries or office boys to sit in to run errands during a meeting. In truth, they were almost never used. He moved one out from the wall and sat it.
"Well, shall we begin."
I instinctively put my hands on my ass and rubbed up and down a few times.
"There'll be enough time for that later. Come here. I'd like to begin."
I squared my shoulders, and walked over to where he was sitting. He moved me to his right side, and gestured for me to lay across his lap. I unbuckled and unzipped my pants, and started to push them down.
"No, just loosen them. I will do the rest."
I lay across his lap, but not very well. My chest was on his thigh, and my ass must have been too far off. I got up, and repositioned myself so my ass was high over his right thigh, and my arms supported my weight on the other side. He patted my ass, moved his hand up and down each cheek and then struck me on the base of my right buttock just where it emerged from my thigh, with such force that it made me wince.
"Hey, that's too much."
He didn't say a word, but just continued to spank me, stroke after stroke after stroke, in an even, steady, rhythm, each time lingering with his hand on my behind just a moment longer than was necessary to prepare for the next stroke. This continued for about 2 minutes, through about 50 strokes, I guess. I was breathing heavy and wondering why I had agreed to such a thing.
Suddenly, he stopped. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Yes! This hurts like hell."
"Ok, but I thought I would do more than this."
"Yeah, I know." I hesitated. "Go on. I'm not going to back out."
He patted me on the ass and then took hold of the waistband of my pants with both hands. As he started to pull them down, I couldn't believe that I raised my hips and helped him.
With my pants below my knees, he began again to work over my backside. I wouldn't have believed that the pair of wool and rayon pants would have absorbed any of the blows from his hands, but now that there was just silk boxers covering my ass, the pain was greater. Again, the steady rhythm, hard, firm, even, and moving from the base of one cheek up to the top and then down the other cheek to the base. I wasn't breathing hard any more: I was gasping or sobbing with each stroke.
He didn't ask me if I wanted to stop. He simply pulled the boxers down in one stroke. I heard the fabric rip. Now his strokes lost their direction and pattern. He simply beat my ass frantically, with obvious abandon.
And I could feel my _c_o_c_k_ growing harder and harder. The boxers were wrapped around my thighs, and the head of my _c_o_c_k_ was being rubbed by the waistband. I was squeezing my ass together and trying to control myself, but the onslaught was too much.
He quickened him pace yet again, and after four or five strokes landed in the same spot, I sobbed, "Stop, I can't keep....I don't want..." and it was over. I came on his lap.
The blows continued for five or six more, and then stopped. I stood up, surprised to find tears on my face and embarrassed to find semen on my belly and on his lap.
"Thank you" he said, and wiped the semen off his right thigh. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers clean as I started to pull up my pants.
"No, let me." He turned me by the hips until my ass was pointed at him. He kissed me ass, softly and tenderly, six or seven times. He ran his hands over it, caressing it, as if to feel its texture.
"Can I pay you for your underwear? I've ruined them."
"No," I said. "It's ok." I had no idea why I had let him do what I had let him do.
"Just go." I said. and pulled up my pants. I buckled my belt, and was surprised to see him standing there with his hand stretched out.
"Thank you." He said. "Sincerely. Good by Randy Marks. Perhaps I will see you in the elevator again."
He turned and left the conference room. I watched him go and listened for the door at the end of the hall to shut. He was gone. Why had I allowed this to happen? I certainly didn't want him as a lover, and if I did want a lover, it would not be one who spanked me. I couldn't believe I had agreed, and I could believe even less that I had an orgasm while being spanked. I found my hands rubbing my ass. Where they touched, the heat seemed more intense.
I left the conference room and went to the men's room. I dropped my pants in front of the big mirrors over the sink and turned my head to look at my ass. It was more than rosy. It was a deep crimson color, with one faint hand print on the left cheek just fading.
"Well, Daddy's little man got himself spanked good and proper this evening."
That sentence ran through my head all the way down in the elevator and all the way home on the bus as my ass stung and then tingled with heat and pain I could not deny I was enjoying.