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Subject: {ASSM} Spanked, Deflowered and Impregnated
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Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 17:10:01 -0500
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Dear ASSM Readers,

Greetings from the United Kingdom!

Here is a story that I posted some time ago on ASSTR,
and also on Stories Online where it has notched up some
quite good scores with readers. I hope that you like it.

Best Wishes,


Billie.


{ASSTR 16} Spanked, Deflowered and Impregnated
{Big Billie} (M/F, inter-racial, spank, c, sex)


Spanked, Deflowered and Impregnated

Or

Rachel's Atonement


By Big Billie

(C) Big Billie 2004. Not to be distributed or sold for
monetary gain.


Author' Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking
except for consenting adults; However, spanking
sexually excites him, so he writes about it.


The things that I am about to write were best left
unwritten; the events that I am about to tell should
not be told. Yet despite this I have decided to relate
how I came to marry my wife, and how our first
child was conceived.

My name is Bill Faulkner. I am a committed
Christian, and an active member of one of the
biggest of our nonconformist faith groups here in the
UK. My faith brings me not only eternal salvation
but also employment, since I own a business that
sets up religious websites and provides digital
services for Christians. Some of the work I do
myself, but most of it is farmed out to one or more
of a large team of independent associates. I have
thus succeeded in building up quite a large
operation, so large, in fact, that two or three years
ago I decided that I needed a secretary.

Since the salary that I could at that time offer was
not generous, I tried my luck with an announcement
in our local Church Newsletter. You know,
"Secretary Required for Committed Christian
Company," that sort of thing. Well, to my surprise, I
had several applications, and I interviewed them all.
The successful candidate was a girl of East African
ethnic origin. Her family had sent her over to
England for her education, and, having completed
her 'A' levels, she was taking a gap year before
proceeding on to university. As an active member of
our Church she was already involved in voluntary
work, and she told me that, for the next 12 months or
so, she would like to work full time in a Christian
setting.

I do not know how familiar you are, dear reader,
with the inhabitants of East Africa, but I can tell you
that they are beautiful people. A very great number
of the ladies, in particular, are physically stunning.
They have lighter skin tones that the ladies of West
Africa, and the texture of their flesh is smooth and
silky. To add to their charms, their faces are open
and friendly, and they usually have stunning figures.
But even more beautiful than their bodies are their
immortal souls; they are gracious and generous
beyond measure, with happy, bubbly, vivacious
dispositions.

Well, such was my new secretary, Rachel; she was a
delightful girl. Indeed, she was far too delightful for
me to feel safe. She was just 18 years old when I
took her on, and I would be lying if I said that her
supple, youthful, dusky body, and her bright, co-
operative, easy intimacy did not distract me from my
work, even though (or should I say, especially
since?) she was 15 years my junior.

Rachel was very good at her job; from what I have
already written you can probably deduce that she
had an excellent manner with customers and
associates, both face to face and over the telephone.
She had also received an excellent academic
education at one of our top Ladies Academies. It is
true that she had not been specifically trained as a
secretary, but, to rectify this, I sent her to our local
FE College for training on one afternoon a week,
where she soon began to build up her typing speed,
to master word-processing software and Tee Line
shorthand, and to acquire other relevant secretarial
skills.

Rachel left school at the end of July, took a holiday,
and started working for me in late August. Until
December all went well, but then she badly goofed
on the job. It was only one goof, but it was a big
one. She sent out a final late payment warning letter,
threatening dire legal penalties, to one of our best
and biggest customers, despite the fact that he had
paid the bill some time before.

Well the good news is that I managed to smooth
things over. I got Rachel to apologise profusely to
the client over the telephone, and then I apologised
profusely as well. It was partly my secretary's fault,
I explained, but it was also mine for failing to
supervise her properly.

"I'm sorry, Ken," I concluded, "I will reprimand the
lass, of course, but I am afraid that, in the end, the
blame must fall on me."

"Not to worry, Bill," replied Ken amiably, "We're
Christians. We're into forgiveness and never calling
to mind. Matter closed. Have a good Christmas."

"Thanks, Ken. You too."

"By the way," replied Ken, and he sounded
uncharacteristically arch. "Is it Rachel who's been
naughty, and who's getting the rocket?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Wow! Well enjoy yourself! I wouldn't mind
correcting her myself!"

When I had put the phone down I looked at Rachel
with a mixture of relief and exasperation. I did not
know what to say, and for what seemed like about
30 seconds (but was probably a lot less) there was an
embarrassed silence.

"I don't know," I said at last, not unkindly. "What
am I to do with you? You only goofed once, but you
did it in spades."

Then Rachel made a reply that stunned me.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. Then she paused and
added, "You can spank me if you like."

Now the formality of Rachel's first sentence threw
me. We had always been on Christian name terms,
and she had never called me "sir" before. As for her
proposition, well wow! Where did it come from? As
you can imagine, it caused my mouth to go dry, my
face to flush, and my heart to pound fiercely against
my ribcage. I gazed, hard and long, into my young
secretary's eyes. My head was reeling and, when my
reply came, it was spontaneous, and it expressed my
deepest sexual fantasies and my sharpest desires.

"On the bare?"

"Yes, of course. I deserve it."

By now I was in a catatonic trance, and my actions
were involuntary. My office chair was on castors; I
slowly rolled it back from my desk and pointed to
the floor with my right hand.

"O.K.," I said. "Stand here then."

Contritely and obediently Rachel carried out my
order.

"Right," I continued awkwardly, by now feeling
more than slightly foolish. "Over my knee then."

By now I was on the point of chickening out, and of
making a joke of the incident. I certainly would not
have dared to insist that the culprit bare her bottom.
But I need not have worried. Without a word, Rachel
pulled her knickers and tights down to the middle of
her thighs, raised her pleated secretary's skirt over
her back, and nestled down across my lap.

Oh, wow! There is only so much excitement, dear
reader, that a gentleman into his early to mid thirties
can take, and Rachel was pushing me right to its
limit. I felt her trim, pneumatic tummy, and her firm,
fit, muscular thighs pushing into my crotch, and my
cock, already tumescent, grew rock hard, and pushed
back vigorously against the weight of the gorgeous
body and the luscious loins that were pressing into
it. Then I gazed down into my lap, and the sight that
greeted my eyes sent me into seventh heaven. There,
perfectly presented to me, were Rachel's lower back,
her big, firm, meaty, protuberant bottom, her long,
nubile thighs and her shapely calves and ankles. Her
skin was flawless, a beautiful shade of mocha coffee
with just the right amount of cream and brown
sugar. Then, where the buttocks met the tops of the
thighs, there was the roundest, plumpest, meatiest,
sexiest and most protuberant bit of all, the bottom's
stunning undercarriage. On the insides of the two
thighs, where they joined the crotch, two concave
hollows rippled and twitched. These, together with
the outer edge of the vulva, formed a delicate,
inwardly curved equilateral triangle filled with thick,
curly, jet-black pubic hair. The skin on the vulva and
inner thighs was darker than the rest, and from the
midst of it I discerned, through the thick, hirsute
pubic thatch, a thin line of delicate coral pink pussy
flesh, where Rachel's labial lips pouted ever so
slightly open.

Ouch! To paraphrase the poet John Keats, how rich
did it seem at that juncture to die, to cease upon that
moment with no pain, to go to my maker in such a
perfect state of happy and excited bliss! But no! Like
Keats's nightingale, Rachel's youthful, sumptuous
body was not born for death; it was fashioned for
life and for love, for pleasure and for procreation;
and perhaps, before that, for a little saucy spanking
action!

Now that I had Rachel's bare bottom at my
command, however, I proceeded with caution. I
knew that I could not coerce her to take
chastisement. In the last analysis, this was a
consensual spanking, and I needed her acquiescence
to whatever I decided to do. On this one, warning
bells were already ringing in my head, and I could
see the likely headlines in the gutter press if things
went wrong: "Prominent Christian in Saucy Spank
Assault Rap," "Your Ass is Mine, Saith the Lord,"
and so forth. I needed guidance from my victim, so I
started an interrogation.

"How hard do you think you deserve to be spanked,
Rachel?"

"Very hard, sir; but I'm scared, so please don't be
too severe with me."

"How many spanks should you get?"

"I don't know, sir, but until you make me cry I
guess."

"Should I spank you with my hand, or with a
hairbrush?"

"I deserve the hairbrush, sir, but it would really hurt.
Please be merciful and use your hand."

Wow, oh wow! This was exactly the reply that I was
hoping for, and when I heard it I gasped with relief,
and in eager anticipation. No. I did not want to
bruise Rachel or to hurt her too badly; I did not want
to slap her with a hairbrush. I wanted to smack her
gorgeous, protuberant bare bottom with my flattened
hand, and to feel her taut, firm, nubile bum flesh
shudder wobble and quiver under my fingers and
palm. I wanted to press my flattened hand into her
meaty, youthful rump, and, if I could work up the
bottle for it, to grope tantalisingly between her upper
thighs, and across, around and into her hairy love
slot. But did I have the nerve to do it? Would I be
equal to the challenge? Well, still almost apoplectic
with excitement, I determined to give it my best
shot.

"O.K., Rachel, here's the first. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Well, I still could not believe what was happening. I
thought that at any minute I might wake up, and be
dragged back to a cold, harsh, prosaic reality. As if
in a trance I raised my flattened right hand high into
the air and contemplated its intended target. Yes,
right there, I concluded, right across the meat of the
seat just above the tops of the thighs and adjacent to
the vulva, where the flesh was at its meatiest and
sexiest. Right across the back of that beautiful, dark,
tight, hairy, stunning little box! Come on! Do it!
Now! Don't chicken out! Go for it!

CRACK!!!

Yes, dear reader. Eventually, screwing my courage
to the sticking point, I did go for it. I slapped
Rachel's bottom, and I slapped it hard. As the slap
hit home a crisp high-pitched crack rang out and re-
echoed around the room. I felt a sharp, delicious
sting across my fingers and palm, followed by a
delightful shuddering and wobbling under my
flattened hand. I saw Rachel's buttocks quiver, and,
through the slot between her bum cheeks, I noted
how the fanny hairs on and around her vulva were
scattered and blown by the breeze from my
descending right hand. I then left my hand in
position against its target, pressing it into the hot and
tingling bum meat. Next, after several seconds,
although I scarcely dared to do it, I rubbed my
fingers around and into Rachel's hairy vulva, and,
for a brief nanosecond, between her pink, pouting
pussy lips.

"Ouch," yelled the victim, temporarily nonplussed at
the unexpectedly sharp initial sting and, over the
next 4 or 5 seconds, at the escalating tingling. "Hey,
that hurt!" "Yes, my dear! I know. It's supposed to,"
I explained patronisingly.

I left my hand in position for about ten seconds, and
then I resumed my interrogation.

"Did you deserve that, Rachel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you been punished enough now, or do you
deserve another one?"

"I deserve another one, sir."

"O.K. Are you ready for it?"

"Yes, sir."

CRACK!!!

And so it went on. It was a long, leisurely spanking,
firm but not excessive, sexy and amusing rather than
severe. After every smack I gave Rachel the chance
to call the proceedings to a halt with my "Have you
been punished enough" question. I thought that, after
about a dozen firm swats, I would have broken her
and it would all be over. But no! She was a game
girl, and she kept asking for more.  As the spanking
progressed, I got bolder and bolder with my indecent
probing and groping between her legs, and I noticed,
after a while, that the victim started to gasp and
moan at my saucy and indecent touch-ups. By now I
was trying to go easy on the culprit by spreading my
slaps all over her bottom, but I always returned to
the plump, protuberant buttock meat at the back of
her cunt, the plump, nubile undercarriage that was
the epicentre of my sexy assault.

Then, after about 2-dozen wallops, I noticed
something else. As I probed between Rachel's legs
and into her unshaven haven, her vulva got wet, and
my fingers became sticky from her lubricating
juices. At the same time she started flexing her hips
and raising her buttocks high in eager anticipation of
the next stinging but arousing smack from my
descending hand. As a result, Rachel's buttocks
were pushed apart, her dark inviting vagina was
shoved up into the air, and her cunt lips opened
wider and wider to display 2 increasingly thick and
prominent strips of coral pink inner pussy flesh, ripe,
pouting, and vulnerable to further probing attacks
from my eager fingers. Then Rachel started moaning
ecstatically and writhing with pleasure, grinding her
pubic mound against my rock hard cock as it stood
engorged and erect in my tight-fitting underpants
and trousers.

By now I could see that Rachel was very close to
orgasm, and the last thing in the world that she
wanted me to do was to stop my saucy trip
hammering. But, unfortunately for her immediate
gratification, I had other plans. Nevertheless, I
started with the by now familiar mantra.

CRACK!!!

"Did you deserve that, Rachel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you been punished enough now, or do you
deserve another one?"

"Please, please, sir. I deserve another one. Give it to
me, please!" And she sounded very eager and very
determined. Meanwhile I paused for a few seconds
before delivering my punch line.

"Well you are not going to get another one, young
lady. That was number 39, the maximum penalty
prescribed in the Pentateuch. What was good enough
for Leviticus is good enough for you. You have been
punished enough, and now it is over.

Well, that put the cat among the pigeons!

"No, sir, no! Please! Don't leave me like this,"
yelled Rachel helplessly, as she writhed and
squirmed helplessly in her sharp frustration and
unrequited passion. Then, when she realised that she
would not get what she wanted by temper tantrums
and kicking her legs, she abruptly changed tack. She
got up from across my knees, turned over, and sat
with her legs akimbo, facing and astride me.

"O.K., sir, you win. But that was only the
punishment. What about the restitution? What price
to I have to pay you to recompense you for the
damage I have inflicted?"

Hey, I thought, this is an interesting turn to the
conversation. Let's go along with it.

"What recompense do you suggest, Rachel?"

"Well, Ken is one of your most important customers,
isn't he?"

"Yes."

"And, as a result of my foul up, you might have lost
him?"

"That's right."

"Oh, wow! So I have been a very naughty girl,
haven't I?"

"Yes."

At this point Rachel smiled at me sweetly and
innocently. What she did next, however, was
anything but innocent. She reached her hands down
to my crotch, zipped open my flies, groped inside
my tight-fitting trousers and underpants, and
skilfully eased and manoeuvred out my hard,
engorged cock shaft.

"I think that this calls for condign and exemplary
restitution, sir," she grinned archly. "The price for
the atonement of sin is the maidenhead of a nubile
East African virgin." At which point, Rachel raised
herself up, held open her pouting pussy lips, and
tucked my throbbing cock head in between the
entrance to them.

"Don't you agree?" she asked ingenuously. Well, by
now I was so excited that all I could do was grunt
helplessly; I was well out of control. Rachel was
now calling the shots, and all I could do was to
surrender and go along with whatever she decided to
do.

"Bill," she said tenderly.

"Yes, love."

"I'm frightened. I think that this is going to hurt.
Please pray for me." Well, it was one of the
strangest prayers I have ever offered up, but pray for
her I did, and I begged God that Rachel's
deflowering would not be too traumatic and painful.

"O.K., Bill. I think I'm ready. Are you?"

"Whatever you say, love."

"O.K., then. Here we go. On the count of three!
One... Two... THREE!!!" At which Rachel emitted
a loud, high pitched scream pulled her legs from off
the floor and brought her pouting vagina down, with
the full force and weight of her body, onto my stiff,
eager, receptive truncheon: "AAAAAAGH!!!" she
yelled. My engorged, tenderised cock head felt the
thin skin flap of my lover's hymen snap and tear
apart. Soon my stiffened shaft had sunk several
inches into Rachel's moist vaginal channel.
Meanwhile, I could contain myself no longer. No
sooner had my wedding tackle entered Nirvana than
I ejaculated, pumping wedge after wedge of sperm
into my lover's newly breached love tunnel. Not that
either of us was suitably dressed, or rather
undressed, for Aphroditic antics. Rachel still had her
skirt on, and her tights and panties halfway down her
thighs, and I was still wearing all of my clothes,
including my trousers and underpants.

"Oh, Bill! That hurt! That really, really hurt!" wailed
Rachel in agony, and for the next ten minutes or so
we lay clasped together while I did my best to
comfort her. Meanwhile, the blood for her
deflowering flowed down from Rachel's vulva and
stained the crotch of my trousers a deep, dark red.

Soon, however, my trousers were to be stained with
something else. My ejaculation had made my
erection rather floppy, but my cock was still stiff
enough to keep possession of Rachel's cunt. Then,
slowly, it recovered its hardness, and resumed its
amatory predations. It was a deliciously tight fit
between cock and cunt for two main reasons. Firstly,
Rachel was a newly deflowered virgin with a
stunningly tight vagina; secondly, her tights and
underpants constricted her thighs and stopped her
from opening he legs very wide. Thus, even while
my cock was semi-flaccid, it was held firmly and
delightfully in place, well inside my paramour's
unshaven haven.

Well, I had had my pleasure, and I now concentrated
on pleasing Rachel. I stayed in her as long as I could
while she, still sitting on my lap, thrust her vulva at
me and cavorted around in gay abandon. Our
lovemaking went on for another half an hour or
more, during which time Rachel enjoyed 3 orgasms.
Then and only then, and taking my lead from my
lover, I came inside her for a second time and we
both subsided into exhausted ecstasy. By now my
trouser crotch was spattered with vaginal juices, as
well as with blood.

That night I took Rachel home with me, and she has
stayed there ever since. That night we had a meal
delivered, and we ate it in bed. Then we lay together
naked between the sheets making long, slow,
luxurious, passionate love. Over that Christmas and
New Year period we spent a lot of time in bed, and I
was shocked at the intensity of my bodily
enjoyment. Oh, wow! It stunned and nonplussed me.
I had no idea that carnal pleasure could be so sharp
and addictive. I was completely bowled over, and I
was certain that Rachel was the lady with whom I
wanted to spend the rest of my life.

After that things moved quickly. The following
spring we discovered that Rachel was three months
pregnant. In early summer we were married, and in
mid-September our first child, our daughter
Catherine, was born. Meanwhile we had moved into
a bigger house, to accommodate the growing family
that we had planned.

Well, there you have it. That is the story of how my
wife was bedded and wedded. But was I the predator
or the prey? Well, dear reader, you have probably
worked out the answer to that one already. But you
see, you are more worldly wise than I am. I saw only
the generous, honest, openhearted African girl in
whose mouth, I thought, butter would not melt.
Ingenuous fool that I was, I did not realise that no
one is craftier, more devious or more resourceful
than a lady in love, even an honest and openhearted
one. Despite her tender years Rachel had decided
that I was the one for her; she firmly set her cap at
me, and after that my number was up.

Let me, dear reader, explain. For as long as I can
remember, from my earliest childhood, spanking has
turned me on. I am usually too embarrassed to talk
about my kink, and before we got married I certainly
never mentioned it to Rachel. But I subscribe to, and
post stories on, the soc.sexuality.spanking
newsgroup, my email gets Google news alerts under
the search terms "spank" and "spanking," and I have
a number of spanking sites saved in my Internet
favourites. Rachel now admits that she had got wind
of this, and that her "you can spank me if you like"
line was not spontaneous, but part of a carefully
hatched plan. She refuses to divulge to me the
details of her preconceived sting, but one or two
things strike me as odd. For example, Rachel's best
friend in the United Kingdom is Ken's daughter,
Sarah, whom she met at our Church youth group. So
were Sarah and Ken implicated in the plot? Was the
letter to Ken premeditated, and sent on purpose
rather than in error? Was there even a letter at all,
other than the copy that Rachel filed in our office? I
am not sure, but that telephone comment of Ken's
was strange. Do you remember? He said that he
would not mind correcting Rachel himself. Well,
that was way out of character. It was far too saucy
for Ken, who is always the proper and perfect
gentleman, the soul of understated discretion. In
short, it makes me smell a rat. The more I think
about it the more I am convinced that a charming
Machiavellian minx, ably assisted by interfering if
well-meaning friends, stitched me up beautifully.
Not that I am complaining, of course.  Now, instead
of lying alone at night I share my bed with a
stunning, youthful trophy wife; and after the
loneliness and isolation of my bachelor days I am
now the happy father to a beautiful family. But, you
know, I still feel miffed and annoyed at how easily
and effortlessly I was manipulated and gulled. When
I complain, however, my wife makes her standard
reply.

"I'm sorry, darling! You can spank me if you like!"

"On the bare?"

"Of course!"

And I do too!

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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