Turning Eighteen, Part Five

I kept my eyes closed even as Mr. Mendes placed a hand on my ass, giving my boxers a pat. “Silk-knit,” he said. There was surprise and approval in his voice.I blushed. Yeah, I had spent good money on all my boxer-briefs. I didn’t like to splurge on clothes, but I always made sure my underwear was the best I could afford. I don’t know what that says about me.The boxers-briefs didn’t stay up for long. I felt Mr. Mendes tug them down. They ended up around my ankles with my jeans.I swallowed hard--this was it. This was my fantasy come to life. I was bent over a counter with my ass hanging out and Mr. Mendes looming over me, ready to spank me. Was he going to take off his belt? Or was he just going to use his hand? One part of me wanted to feel the cool leather of his belt doubled up against my skin, but the other part wanted to feel the warmth of his palm.Either way, though, I wanted him to get on with it. This waiting was killing me. Why was he taking so much time? I think he was enjoying his view of my ass--not to mention my package. Well, let him look as much as he wanted. I had nothing to be ashamed of.Suddenly I heard him open up a kitchen drawer. I opened my eyes just in time to see him pull something wooden out--fuck! It was a wooden spoon. I gasped as he brought it down hard on my butt.“Jesus!” I yelled. It stung like a bitch. I could imagine a deep red line right where my ass met my thighs.There was another chuckle in his voice as he answered my shout. “You don’t have to take your reward--I can stop if you’d like.”“Don’t you dare!” I told him, gritting my teeth. “I want more.”He went straight back to business. I can imagine him grinning as he pressed down on my back with one hand while he used the other to lick me with the spoon again and again, crisscrossing my ass with scarlet lines. Christ, how would I ever sit down again? Just the thought of trying to sit brought a smile to my lips. I even started squirming.Mr. Mendes wasn’t content with my ass--the bastard went after my thighs too. I had never imagined that in my fantasies, but I liked it. It hurt like hell but it felt good at the same time--even when he caught a piece of my balls with his stroke.It was over way too soon. He only gave me fifteen strokes in all. I could’ve handled more than that.“That’s it?” I demanded. I didn’t hide my disappointment.He leaned over me and kissed the back of my head. “If you want more, you’ll have to earn them,” he murmured. “Just keep behaving.”He pulled me up then so that I was leaning back against him. My ass was burning up, but I could still feel his hard-on through his trousers. I smiled--he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him.He held me to him for a long moment. I sighed and closed my eyes again, feeling like everything in the world was perfect. But then he pushed me back down over the counter. I started breathing faster, hoping for more strokes.That’s not what he had planned, though. He told me to stay put and then I heard him leave the kitchen. I think he was still holding the spoon. Maybe he meant to put that somewhere else. I doubt we’d ever use it for cooking again. Except to cook my ass, that is.He came back to the kitchen a couple of minutes later. Before I knew it he was massaging something cool and soothing onto my butt and thighs. It was some kind of cream. Oh God, it felt good--my ass still stung but his hand was like rough velvet. I could get used to this.When he was done he ordered me to pull up my boxers and my jeans. I frowned at that, but I obeyed him. Once I was decent I turned around to face him.“Didn’t you--didn’t you want to do anything else?” I asked. God, I hope that didn’t sound pathetic.He reached out and tousled my hair. “All in good time,” he promised. “But right now I owe Tybalt a walk. He’s been running around the yard, but he likes to go up to the reservation. Want to come along?”I stared at him stupidly for a moment and then nodded. It’s weird, but whenever I fantasized about Mr. Mendes I always pictured myself bent over his knee or bent over a table in front of him. He’d spank me and then I’d imagine our hot sex afterward. I never thought about us doing ordinary stuff like walking the dog together. But that would be kind of nice.“I’ll take you out to dinner tonight in honor of your birthday,” he was saying as his words broke into my thoughts. “We could try that new Thai place up on the Avenue.”I nodded again. “Yeah, that’d be fine,” I said. And then I gave him a hopeful smile. “There’s a tradition about birthdays, you know.”He paused to raise his eyebrows at me. “Oh yeah?”“Yeah,” I said. “Some people believe in spanking the birthday kid.”“Is that so?” he asked.“Yup. If you want to do it the right way, you’ll have to give me eighteen strokes--plus one for good luck,” I told him.“And one to grow on,” he reminded me with a wink. “Let’s see how the birthday boy behaves himself over dinner. Deal?”I grinned at that. “Deal.”