The Naked Lady, an F/M Story by Pete

I’ve featured stories by Pete before and I really like his approach to F/M spanking erotica. This one is no exception. Here is part 1.

The Naked Lady By Pete


One of the most compelling memories of my life occurred when I was about 13. I was at my friend Paul’s house, along with three or four other kids from the neighborhood. It was a dark, rainy fall day. We decided to play Hide ‘n Seek. Paul was “it,” and began to count aloud “1 – 2 – ” I fled from the living room and scampered upstairs.

. I looked frantically about, then burst through a closed door at the end of the upstairs hallway. I was struck dumb when I almost collided with Paul’s stepmother, Antonia! A former ballerina, she had a compact but surprisingly lush body. Her light blonde hair hung straight, gently caressing her soft shoulders. Her eyes were an odd, brown-flecked green. Her breasts were full and firm, pert and snowy mounds topped by saucy, strawberry colored nipples. Her legs were long, with shapely thighs and starkly muscled calves. I should know! She was naked! She’d been sitting at her vanity, brushing her long blonde hair. My prepubescent eyes feasted on those feminine charms the older boys snickered about after Boy Scout meetings.

“Mark!” she said sharply, twisting on her bench to face me. I remember hearing an odd little “squeak” as her bare flesh skidded on the polished wood of the bench. She seemed totally unconcerned over her nudity. “What are you doing here?” She smiled then, at my obvious discomfiture, at my obvious interest. She took my cheeks between her palms and tilted my face so I was staring into the greenish depths of her eyes. “Such a naughty thing to do,” she crooned, “such a naughty boy!” Still fixing me with her enthralling stare, her hands left my face, and I could feel them begin to fumble with my belt. She continued to scold me, but her tone was soft, almost hypnotic. Slack jawed and dumbfounded, I stood rooted on the spot, my eyes guiltily wandering downward from the rosy nipples of her pert, apple-round breasts to the bushy patch of pale blonde hair nestling between her lissome thighs. “I think I had better teach you some things, Mark,” she said as she freed my belt, unzipped my fly and coolly slid down my corduroy knickers. I suspected that she meant to spank me, but vainly hoped she had some other lessons in mind. “I think you need a good, sound spanking!” She continued, hoisting me, too stunned to protest, up and over the flinty lushness of her naked thighs. Even with my worst fears confirmed, there was no place in the world that I, at that moment, would rather have been.


Still tongue-tied, and overcome with the ecstasy of our intimate intertwining, I could only mutter incoherently as she ever so s l o w l y peeled down my briefs. In no hurry, she gently stroked my naked flanks, murmuring comfortingly about how cute and chubby they were, and how hotly she would warm them. She twisted back to retrieve her ornate, ivory-backed, but sturdy looking, hairbrush. I began to wriggle and squirm voluptuously, awed by the unique feel of her bare flesh on my bare flesh. I discovered the whole incredible scene was reflected in the antique pier glass that stood, in its shabbily elegant stand, just a few feet away. I felt myself develop an unfamiliar, albeit puny, erection as her left arm circled my naked waist and she pressed me even more closely to her firm, yet softly warm body. Then, SMACK! WHACK! CRACK! She began to spank me! But even though each and every spank smarted dreadfully, and I was soon howling and wailing in a most appropriate manner, one part of me remained entranced and thrilled by the experience. The harder and longer she spanked me, the longer I could pore over the reflection of her adorable and energetically naked body, the longer I could squirm and wriggle erotically against her “forbidden” flesh! I know I cried like a baby!

Real tears of honest pain streamed down my face, blurring my entranced view of the proceedings. I know that each of my chubby cheeks got as red as an overripe tomato, even blistered, but still I felt aroused, and I still felt excited! When she finally stopped, she twisted around and replaced the hairbrush on her dresser. Her slender hand lightly pinched and patted my blazing bottom as she throatily told me, “I hope I didn’t spank you too hard, Mark, but you were such a naughty boy. I hope this was a good lesson for you.”

Still ogling her lasciviously in the pier glass, I was forced to agree. She stood me between her bare and muscular thighs, and slowly tugged up my underpants and knickers, her fingers brushing erotically against my twitching groin like firebrands. Then she coolly walked over to her bed and shrugged on a long, diaphanous robe – but not before I was treated to a somewhat tear-blurred view of her delectably dimpled and truly magnificent derriere. I hopped about for a while, furiously scrubbing and rubbing my own blazing and blistered bottom, then tearfully stumbled out of the room, pressing one grubby fist against a still teary eye.

Attracted by the unmistakable din — and the sound of a spanking is unique — the rest of the gang was waiting for me. Some smirking, some commiserating, but all somehow involved. Paul was doleful, rightly guessing he was “in for it” later, and needlessly advising me that his stepmom was “a damned good spanker.” That much I knew! I guess I re-lived that scene literally thousands of times, all through adolescence and even into adulthood. It was my most erotic fantasy. Whenever I saw Antonia, even when swaddled in furs, I’d see her strong and muscular, starkly naked body. Whenever I saw a picture of a seated nude woman, these recollections would flood back sensually. But there seemed to be nothing much I could do about it.



On my Wedding Day, the fantasy resurfaced when Paul, who was an usher, remarked at how much my bride-to-be, Cindy, reminded him of his stepmom. I did a double take at that, because I’d never consciously been aware of it. But he was right! The same ash blonde hair, the same sort of compact but nicely rounded figure, the same “dancer’s legs” – with sleekly muscled thigh and the characteristic exaggerated arch of her calf. Only the eyes were different. Cindy’s were smoky blue. The “coincidence” grew even stranger that night. Cindy and I had retired to an old country inn for our honeymoon. I was in the bathroom cleaning up. When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Cindy sitting at the vanity brushing her long, blonde hair! She was naked! I gasped, and when Cindy turned around and called, “Mark!” in a voice sharp with concern, I could hear her bare flesh “squeak” on the polished wood. I stood there, struck dumb and mouth agape for what seemed an eternity. Cindy was, of course, quite curious as well as concerned. To alleviate both, she compelled me to tell her the whole story, probing for every detail. While reluctant at first, for I had felt guilty about my bizarre obsession, she soon had extracted the whole sordid mess. Far from being upset about it, I recall noting that night her expression seemed to resemble that of a hungry cat confronted with a plump, tender canary! In the sometimes frenzied process of becoming acquainted that a honeymoon represents, however, the incident was discarded and forgotten. Or so I thought.

I guess it was about a week or so after we got back, that my personal Armageddon occurred. We’d finally settled into our cozy little nest in the suburbs, and I got home from work one night to discover Cindy was nowhere to be found. Unconcerned, I scampered upstairs, burst into our bedroom and almost collided with Cindy! She was sitting at the vanity, brushing her long, blonde hair. She was naked! “Mark!” She said sharply, swiveling on her bench with that now familiar squeak, “What are you doing here?” She smiled then, and took my face in her hands. Her cool blue eyes bored into mine. “What a naughty thing to do! What a naughty boy!”


“I-I . . .” I stammered, unable to speak.

“It’s all right,” she comforted, her hands sliding off my face and down to my waist. “I know just what you need,” she said as she deftly undid my belt and stripped down my trousers. I was transfixed, babbling incoherent nonsense as my boxer shorts followed and I felt myself being swung almost effortlessly over those long, luscious thighs. My throbbing erection was clamped between them. I looked around and saw that the whole incredible tableau was being captured by the floor-length mirror on our closet door. I saw myself over her knee. Saw her bare breasts bob pertly as she twisted around to fetch her black, wooden hairbrush. I was only peripherally aware of her scolding words . . . “naughty . . . good lesson . . . good spanking.” I felt myself transported back to that memorable rainy Fall game of Hide ‘n Seek, and Antonia, the naked stepmother! Then the fantasy exploded into grim reality! Cindy began to spank me! Soundly spank me! Smacks from the brush impacted my bottom, stinging like crazy.


What I hadn’t remembered is how much it hurt! I squalled, I squirmed, I writhed, I wriggled. I wailed at the pain, I gloried at the erotic stirrings rising in my loins. I stared at the mirror, blinking to clear my tear-filled eyes, relishing the vision of Cindy’s body jiggling merrily as she swung her hairbrush up and down, up and down, up and down … landing sharp loud spanks on my blazing fanny. But it hurt so much, I had to plead, begging her to stop.

“OOWW Stop, Ouch! PLEASE Cindy, Please! No more!”

She paused, “You don’t understand, Mark. It’s not for you to tell me what to do any more.” She scolded. “YOU must learn to obey me. (SMACK!), to do everything I say! (WHACK!), do you understand me?” (WHAP!)

“OUch! Y-yes, I do!”

“Will (CRACK! ) you obey me?” (SMACK!)

“YES,” yes Cindy, I will!

“Will you submit to my discipline? Let me spank you whenever you need it?”

“OWWW! Yes, yes I will Dear. But please, no more.”

“Well,” She said, “perhaps just a few, Darling, just to make sure!” She let loose a barrage of stingers that peppered my bottom, making me squeal. Then this amazing woman turned me around so my thighs rested on her smoothly muscled right thigh and, cuddling my teary face to her breast and gently stroking my crimsoned derriere, crooned softly about how much I needed her discipline and how much she was going to enjoy giving her naughty husband all he deserved, and wasn’t it wonderful that in this big country with 240 million people we had found each other and how much she loved to see my cute buns quiver and quake when she spanked them with her hairbrush and how she was so glad I liked it, too.

“Wait a minute!” I wailed, “How’d you figure all that out?”

She sat up straight, pulled my chin up with her hand and fixed my eyes with her steely blue ones. “Admit it, Mark. Admit that you loved each and every moment you were over my knee having your butter soft, tender little botty paddy-whacked!” She reached down and seized my erect and throbbing penis firmly, squeezing it painfully to emphasize each of her points, “What do you think this is! Don’t go Macho on me all of a sudden. Do you think I was surprised about all that True Confessions nonsense on our Wedding Night? Wrong! Antonia came to my kitchen shower, and we had a long talk afterward. She told me how strongly you had reacted to that spanking, and the funny way you have looked at her for all these years. She confessed that she often has to be quite severe with Paul’s father, and how her discipline has enlivened their marriage. She thought the same sort of thing might be appropriate for us. So it’s fate, Darling. And, whether you choose to like it or not, you will obey me. And you will be spanked every time you fail to do so, every time you misbehave. Is that understood? Answer me!”

Cowed, humiliated, my mind reeling from these undreamed of revelations – and with a sneaking suspicion both she and Antonia were probably right I cast down my eyes and meekly replied, “Yes, Dear.”

She turned my face up again, and warmly kissed me. “Very well, then. That’s better. Now you just come with me!” Still clutching my penis, she used it as a handle to drag me, totally unprotesting, to our bed. Whereupon our compact was consummated and confirmed in an even more delightful manner.

To be continued


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