The Night I Discovered My Spanking Fetish

I still remember the exact moment I realized I had a spanking fetish.

It wasn’t some slow-burn discovery in my twenties like you read in most stories. No, it hit me like a paddle across bare skin when I was nineteen, drunk on cheap vodka in a shitty student apartment in Belgrade, with a girl named Mina who looked like sin poured into ripped fishnets.

We’d been flirting for weeks, trading filthy texts, pushing each other’s buttons. One night she sent me a photo of her bent over her desk chair, skirt flipped up, black lace panties pulled just low enough to show the curve where ass meets thigh. The caption read: “Someone should really teach me a lesson.” My cock was hard before I even finished reading it.

So I showed up at her place with a bottle of rakija and zero chill. The second the door closed she was on me, nails digging into my neck, tongue in my mouth like she wanted to devour me. We stumbled to her bedroom, clothes half-torn off, laughing and cursing in that messy mix of Serbian and English we always used when we were too horny to think straight.

She pushed me down on the bed and straddled me, grinding slow and dirty against my jeans. “You think you’re in charge here?” she whispered, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. “You’ve been a very bad boy, sending me those messages. Telling me what you’d do to me.”

I grinned up at her, hands sliding up her thighs. “And you’ve been a fucking tease. You deserve to be put over my knee.”

Her eyes went dark. Actually dark, pupils blown wide. She leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “Then do it. Spank me. Make it hurt.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I’d fantasized about this, jerked off to the thought a hundred times, but hearing her say it—beg for it—flipped some switch inside me I didn’t even know existed.

I flipped her over so fast she yelped, and there she was, face down across my lap, skirt bunched up around her waist, that perfect ass barely covered by those wicked little panties. I ran my palm over her skin—warm, smooth, trembling just slightly. She arched into my touch like a cat in heat.

“Color?” I asked, voice already wrecked.

“Green,” she breathed. “So fucking green.”

The first slap landed with a sharp crack. Her whole body jerked, a shocked little moan spilling out of her. I watched the pink bloom across her cheek and felt my dick throb painfully against my zipper. Another slap, harder. Then another. I found a rhythm—firm, deliberate, each one making her squirm and gasp and push her ass higher like she couldn’t get enough.

“Harder,” she hissed into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress. “I’ve been such a brat. Punish me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I yanked her panties down to her thighs, baring her completely. Her pussy was already glistening, swollen and dripping onto my jeans. The sight nearly made me come in my pants like a teenager.

I spanked her again—open-palmed, merciless—watching her skin go from pink to angry red, listening to the wet sound of each impact, the way she cried out my name mixed with Serbian curses I only half-understood.

Between strikes I’d rub the heat in, rough circles with my palm, sometimes letting my fingers slip lower to tease her slick folds. She was soaking, grinding shamelessly against my thigh now, trying to get friction on her clit. I stopped her with another brutal slap that made her scream into the pillow.

“Not yet, kurvo,” I growled. “You come when I say.”

She whimpered, nodding frantically, tears streaking her mascara. I’d never seen anything more beautiful.

I lost count somewhere around twenty. Her ass was glowing, hot to the touch, covered in my handprints like I’d branded her mine. Every time I paused she’d beg—“Please, more, I need it”—voice completely wrecked and desperate.

Eventually I slid two fingers inside her without warning. She came instantly, clenching around me so hard I saw stars, a guttural moan ripping out of her as her whole body convulsed. I kept spanking her through it, lighter now but relentless, drawing the orgasm out until she was sobbing and boneless across my lap.

When I finally flipped her over, her eyes were glassy, lips swollen, cheeks wet with tears. She looked completely fucked out and I hadn’t even put my dick in her yet.

“Inside me,” she rasped, spreading her legs wide, showing me how red and swollen her pussy was, how her thighs trembled. “Now.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I shoved my jeans down just enough and buried myself in her in one brutal thrust. We fucked like animals—hard, messy, the bed slamming against the wall, her nails raking down my back. Every time I slapped her sore ass she’d clench around me and scream.

I came harder than I ever had in my life, teeth sunk into her shoulder, hips jerking as I filled her up. She followed seconds later, legs locked around my waist, milking every drop while whispering the filthiest praise in my ear.

Afterwards we just lay there, sweaty and wrecked, my hand gently stroking the furnace heat of her punished skin. She turned her face into my neck and laughed—shaky, delirious, perfect.

“So,” she murmured, “when do I get to put you over my knee?”

I groaned at the thought, already half-hard again.

That was the night I knew—this isn’t a phase. This is a spanking fetish carved into my fucking soul.

If you’ve ever touched your own sore ass the morning after and gotten wet all over again…

Message me.

I’ve got strong hands, a filthy mouth, and a lap that’s been empty far too long.

Who wants to be next?