Choose Your Own Spanking
50

(****, ?/?, Edgy, Could contain anything.)

This is an interactive story where you get to choose how the story progresses. (Approximately 472 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

You go to the dresser and open it, and gasp in horror. Inside are dozens of handcuffs, leather whips and belts, and a large number of wooden paddles of various thicknesses and sizes.

"I've got to get out of here," you think, but for some reason you make no move to escape. You stare at the punishment instruments, your mind whirling despite your fear. You pick up one of the paddles, hefting it, feeling its weight, wondering what it will feel like. Glancing nervously over your shoulder, you see that you are alone. No one will know.

You gently move the paddle behind you and pat it against your rump. The feeling is a pleasant one, rather sexy. Excited, you tap yourself harder, and then give yourself a sharp spank. The paddles makes a loud splatting sound, and the amount of sting surprises you. If you were to _really_ get spanked with this, it would be unbearable.

You stare at the horse, wondering what it would feel like to be strapped onto it, helpless and unable to escape. Your ass would be high in the air, naked and utterly vulnerable for a sound paddling.

There's a sound from somewhere in the building and a shiver passes through you. You flush with embarrassment and put the paddle back in the drawer and close it hastily. Your heart is pounding. You cannot help but wonder if your captor isn't on his way to demonstrate his tools on your bare butt. Cold fear floods your belly and you retreat to the bed in terror.

There's a shout, followed by stamping feet. There are more shouts, and suddenly it is quiet. Then the door to your room is unlocked and a man in a brown overcoat enters. He is carrying a pistol.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

Frightened and embarrassed, you pull the blanket up around you protectively.

"It's okay," says the man. "I'm John McGill of the F.B.I." He whips a badge out of his pocket and flashes it at you. It gleams gold and looks official. You sigh with relief.

"We've been investigating this Bates creep for a long time," he says, nodding at the house. He stares at the horse and shakes his head. "He's a sick bastard. Gets his jollies torturing women. Good thing we got here when we did. In a few hours he'd have had you strapped to that thing and he'd be whipping your ass."

"Oh!"

"Yeah, sick, really sick, I know. Well, enough of this. I'm sure you want to get home."

Slowly you rise and follow him, but you can't help but glance backward at the room one last time, a surge of longing saddening you. It was nice to be rescued, but now you'd never know....