Bringing a Hildabeest to Heel, Part Four

I wasn't expecting a struggle and Pippa didn't disappoint me on that score. She leaned against me as we walked into the trees, still with her knickers just below her buttocks. I had my right arm around her waist and her overcoat in my left hand. Believe me, I had plans for that coat...

As we got to the fence where the trouble had started earlier I placed the coat over the top of it and then gently pushed Pippa against the rail so that she would bend over it and be in position for me. I felt her body stiffen as she realised that I planned to have her there and she looked at me pleadingly.

"Do we have to do it here? Can't we go back to my set?"

"Do you want another spanking?"

Pippa shook her head by way of reply and when I pushed her again she bent over the rail, her stomach cushioned by her own overcoat. I lifted up her skirt for the second time that evening and then without ceremony I pulled her panties right down to her ankles and left them there.

Have you ever had a woman that way? There is something incredibly erotic about having her bent over, fully clothed, but with her skirt up and panties down to her ankles. She is ready to receive whatever her man chooses to give her. I licked my right middle finger and began to stroke her pussy with it, all the while undoing my trousers with my other hand. Once they were down and my cock was free I rubbed the head against her moist, gaping pussy and when I was fully hard I mounted her from the rear and began to get a good, steady rhythm going.

She did not shriek or scream, but contenting herself with low heavy moans that seemed to come from deep within her. She reached behind her like a good girl should and took hold of my balls in one of her hands. Cupping them she stroked them with her fingers as I built up the velocity to the killing speed.

Quite a night with quite a lady. I walked her home afterwards like a good fellow should and as I made my way wearily back to my own college I remember taking a detour and wandered back down to the riverbank where the evening's entertainment had just taken place. Standing alone with only the moon to light the scene I lit a cigarette and then on impulse I pulled out my cock and had a nice long piss in the river.

And reflected that life really didn't get much sweeter.

Bringing a Hildabeest to Heel, Part Three

I need to point out at this juncture that I wasn't angry at Pippa, just irritated somewhat by her attitude. It was as if she seemed to think that I should jump to her tune, but since we hadn't had sex at that point I didn't feel any need to be overly enthusiastic about being answerable to her wishes. Not that I would feel all that enthusiastic after sex, either, but I would be more inclined to at least pay lip service to madam and her whims had my knob been nicely shined.

"Now look," she said, wagging her finger under my nose. "You must get me back to my college, safely."

"Sure, when I've finished my smoke, and after I have gone for a walk in the bushes."

"What? What are you talking about? 

"I need to go into the bushes to have a pee," I started to explain with all the patience that I could muster, but it was no good because madam was now waving her arms around and then turned her back on me. With a sigh I  toddled off into the undergrowth to make some American beer with a view to then taking her home.

"You are a thorough nuisance," I told her after my bladder had emptied.

"Am I? Says who" I could see to my great pleasure that Pippa's good humour had returned, so maybe the evening wasn't going to be such a waste after all.

"Says me," I told her. "Bringing me down here under false pretences for instance.

"Oooer," Pippa squealed deliciously. "What pretences were those, then?"

"You are all nice and moist, as I discovered when I touched your panties. Got me all hard and ready it did, and then you scampered away. Do you know what we call girls like that in Manchester?"

"No," she said gigglingly, but of course she did.

"We call 'em prick teasers, and do you know what we do with prick teasers in Manchester?"

Pippa now had a seriously bad fit of the giggles and like most girls in that situation she knew exactly what was coming next, but that didn't stop her shaking her head emphatically.

"We put them across our knees and smack their bare bottoms," I told her.

"If they can't manage it on their own do they get their grannies to help out?" Pippa was almost in hysterics at her sally, but that didn't stop her making a gallop for freedom to escape my grasp. I watched her scamper down the path but brought her to heel with a quick shout:

"Mind the rats - there are some juicy ones on the riverbank!"

Pippa halted dead in her tracks and holding her coat close to her body she began to look all around her on the ground. It really was that easy to reel her in and then all I had to do was walk over to her and grab an arm. Looking back I saw that we were only twenty feet or so away from the bench which would do nicely to sit upon for the matters disciplinary that were to come. I began to walk her back to that place of execution.

" Can't we talk about this?" Pippa enquired, a touch desperately I thought. "I can prove to you that I'm not a tease," she said, brightly. Who ever thought that Oxford women couldn't think fast when their bottoms were at stake?

"There is nothing to talk about," I said, trying and failing to hide my grin.  We had reached the bench an I quickly pushed Pippa's overcoat off her shoulders and grabbed it as it began to fall to the ground.

"Let's put it there shall we? I said, draping the coat over the back of the bench. Then I sat down and without saying another word I flipped Pippa's long corduroy skirt up and left it bunched at her waist.

With my left hand firmly planted in the small of Pippa's back I took a moment out to feast my eyes on the  firm rounded delight that was her bottom. As I write these words the decades fall away and in my mind's eye I can feel her weight on my thighs and the moon is shining down to illuminate her helpless buttocks, clad as they were in a black lace frothy confection that I am sure gave Pippa the illusion of total security until I peeled the garment down to leave her bottom both bare and vulnerable in the chill of that March evening so very long ago.

Pippa gasped as her knickers were lowered, and put her hand instinctively behind her, her legs moving slightly, but other than that she made no move to resist. Clearly this was a lady who had been across a man's knee before, I decided, and who knew that the way to avoid a sound spanking was not to provoke the fellow who was now going to give her a light one. With that thought in mind I raised my right hand above my head and brought it down firmly across the moonlit target below.

"I'm sorry," Pippa whispered. She didn't shout or scream or demand that I let her go. She behaved like an  essentially good girl should when she is undergoing correction and doesn't want it to leave her with a roasted rump. She apologised for her behaviour and replied on me being a decent soul.

Which dear reader I hope I am. Obviously I didn't let her go immediately, instead I spanked her soundly giving her perhaps a dozen smacks all told that left Pippa moving sensuously across my lap. She gasped each time my palm smacked her naughty bottom and about half way through the chastisement she apologised again, but other than that she made no sound. To be honest that girl was not an ounce of trouble when undergoing discipline.

With a final lingering look at the bottom that I had just spanked I let Pippa rise and she sat on my knee, brushing her long hair out of her eyes, with a look of complete embarrassment on her face. Then she looked down at the ground, so I lifted her face up to look into her eyes.

"You can rub your bottom if you want to," I told her with a smile.

"Thank you, " she said quietly, taking the opportunity to do just that.

"And are you going to be a good girl now?"

Pippa nodded. Good, I thought, as I stood her up and prepared to walk her back into the trees.

To be continued.

Bringing a Hildabeest to Heel, Part Two

As far as I was concerned everything was going swimmingly as I inserted my fingers into the elastic of Pippa's knickers with a view to sliding them down over her hips. In fact I may have actually started the peeling down process in train when Pippa froze like a statue, head cocked over to one side, with both hands clamped firmly on my wrists to prevent any further downward movement of her panties.

"Can you hear that?" Her voice was a soft, urgent whisper.

"Hear what?" That's the problem that we fellows have, isn't it? There comes a point in our arousal when the brain switches off and the chopper takes over all necessary processes - and hearing isn't one of them.

"Someone's moving through the under brush. Listen - the leaves are rustling."

"It's just a rat or something," I replied, and to be fair I had seen out of the corner of my eye a small shape moving around in our vicinity.

"A rat! A dirty big rat! Why didn't you tell me it was a squirrel?

"OK, it's a squirrel," I said, ever eager to both please and get her knickers down for action.

"Squirrels don't play out at night - it's a dirty big rat and I'm off!" With that madam pushed me away from her and darted back to the path. I shook my head at the inanity of it all and fished a cigarette out of my pocket and stood there smoking whilst a gathered my thought.

"Are you going to stand there all night? I want to go home."

Pippa's voice was petulant and sulky, the tone of a little girl who was used to getting her own way. Alas she had picked the wrong man to play such games with.

"If you want to go home, then see you around," I replied, walking slowly back to the bench where we had sat earlier. "I am quite comfortable here for the time being thank you very much."

"You mean you are going to let me walk on my own?"

"You are not on your own," I told her genially. "You have lots of big fat rats for company."

With a squeal Pippa turned on her heel and started to march off, her heels crunching on the gravel pathway. She turned a corner and was gone from sight but I knew that she had stopped because I could no long hear her footsteps. Knowing that sound travels in the night I placed my tongue into he roof of my mouth and clucked it as loudly as I could two or three times. Sure enough madam returned using high anger to hide her quite entertaining fear.

"I insist that you walk me home," she said, in that attempt at an authoritative tone of voice that women use at times like this: and they wonder why men laugh at them.

"Insist all you like, darling. I leave when I am ready - so sit down and wait," I told her. At that point all Pippa had to do was hang around for a minute until the last of my cigarette had been smoked and then I would have walked her back to the main road and dumped her there. Of course that was too much to ask so she took a deep breath and as soon as I saw that I realised that the remainder of the evening was about to take an interesting turn.

To be continued.

Bringing a Hildabeest to Heel, Part One

One of the problems with writing memoirs as opposed to stories is the tiresome need to keep alive some relationship with the truth. Thus, although I have changed most of the names, the narrative concerns  events which actually happened and I don't want to tamper with that. So tempting though it is to invent a few outdoor spankings I have actually only ever administered two such corrections, and only one involved a spot of open air sex afterwards. That's the one that I want to tell you about now, so sit back and let's take a trip down Memory Lane to the Oxford of the 1980s.

The Hildabeest has now passed into legend since St. Hilda's College, her natural terrain, has started admitting men. However back in the day standing on Magdalen Bridge and watching the perfumed herd pass by on its way to the grazing grounds and watering holes of Oxford - or expensive restaurants and equally costly bars if you prefer - was a sight to gladden the heart of the most jaded male. After the Oxford Cowgirl the Hildabeest was the commonest prey in Oxford, because like the cowgirl she was relatively easy to catch. Once either or both had been suitably lubricated with cocktails, then the rest of the evening was relatively easy to predict. God knows why St. Hilda's was jocularly referred to as The Virgin Megastore because the idea that any member of the college hadn't wrapped her legs around any number of lusty males was, well, virgin on the ridiculous.

So it came to pass that one evening myself and a certain Hildabeest named Pippa were walking unsteadily along a road late one evening after the bar where we had spent the previous couple of hours had closed. This is England in the 1980s, people, and hostelries closed at 10.30pm except Friday and Saturday when they stayed open an extra 30 minutes. It was March, if memory serves me correctly, and the lady wore a long black overcoat over her undergraduate uniform of wool skirt and blue crew necked sweater. She was also one of the few women who wore glasses, large black-framed things that surprisingly complemented her pretty face which was framed with bubbly blonde hair to perfection.

We were strolling in the general direction of Christ Church, although why we should have done that has long since faced from memory. I do remember suggesting a walk over the bridge and down onto the bank of the River Isis, and that we did before strolling along for a while and then turning off to the left to follow a path that led to a rather nice bench where we sat down to smoke cigarettes.

We started to kiss and Pippa wrapped her arms around my neck and ran her tongue just inside my mouth. I opened her coat and gently stroked one of her breasts and was pleased to see that she arched her back so as to push more of her luscious mound into my hand. Without speaking we got up and as if by telepathic impulse we moved into the trees so that we were sheltered from the path. Not that anyone was around at that time of night but one can never be too careful.

We came to a wooden fence and I leaned Pippa against it and put my arms around her, and I found to my delight that madam was only too pleased to put her arms around my neck and gently nibble my right ear as a good Hildabeest should. She did not object as I put my arms around her rump and lifted her skirt to reveal to my delight that she wasn't wearing thick woollen tights as I had believed but long  dark blue socks that reached up to her thighs. Almost as nice as stockings and a damn sight warmer in the chill of an Oxford March. I placed the back of my hand over the magical zone that was still covered by her panties and was delighted to find that her heat pulsated onto my hand. That night was going to be easy-peasy I decided. On reflection I should have known even then not to count my chickens until they start going cluckety-cluck.

Click to continue.

Poking in a Punt Part Two

Part One

As I polled the punt back towards its mooring station underneath Folly Bridge I cursed all nosy children, especially those who liked kicking balls around near me. I remember dreaming that maybe the little bastards who had so ruined my day would end up dead and in the clutches of His Satanic Majesty, and I fervently wished that he would hand them over to one of his more enthusiastic demons for a few millennia of torture. I said something along those lines to Caroline and was pleased to see her take up the refrain:

"Maybe I should phone their headmaster? And get them caned," she ruminated, rolling the final word around her tongue with great glee.

"You wouldn't do that - would you?"

"Wouldn't I just! I remember when my brother came home one day nursing six of the best. You should have seen him walking straight legged, it was so funny!" Caroline lay back against her seat and purred like a cat at the memory of happy days of yore.

"Have you ever had to bend over?" I asked, ever the curious soul.

"Nooooo, I'm a good girl."

"So nobody has upended you, yet?"

"What do you mean, yet? I told you that I'm a good girl."

We carried on with that teasing chatter all the way back to Caroline's college. I must be honest and say that I was relived that my fears of having another Charlotte on my hands were proving groundless. That said, it did give me a chance to dig around in her past and get some spanking tales. Caroline had been spanked by daddy, of course, and her bottom had felt the hands of two boyfriends, so that was not a bad tally for a 21 year old girl, and the thought of her luscious rump undergoing treatment at my hands fair put a stiffness into my middle leg.

I got my chance soon after we arrived at her set of rooms. I remember sitting down in a comfortable armchair that stood beside the old fireplace and pulling Caroline onto my knee. I idly stroked her bottom as she made herself comfortable on my lap, and as luck would have it madam then decided to climb on her high horse and be a provocative little minx, which was just what I was hoping for.

"I shouldn't have let you in here," she said, scratching her chin and pursing her lips in in mock indignation. "You said we were in a private spot and look what you allowed to happen to me. I was so embarrassed... What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Look on the bright side, " I replied. "At least the little scrotes got a free anatomy lesson - ever thought about becoming a teacher?"

"That's a horrible thing to say to me! No, no, take that back at once, those hideous wretches - they saw me!"

I didn't say a word by way of reply, but I did grin widely and nodded my head very, very slowly.

Caroline began the finger pointing routine which is always a good sign from a woman as it means that she is close to having to be being taken down a peg or two. Then Caroline decided to slap me and verily my cup did runneth over.

"Give me your hand," she said, before grabbing my right paw and holding it up for a smack. "I'm going to smack this hand."

"If you do then I will put your across my knee, lift up your dress, take down your knickers and then smack you somewhere else," I told her, trying hard to keep the smile off my lips.

"You just try it," she replied, giving me a glare as she slapped my hand.

Well, a fellow cannot refuse such an invitation, can he? Without further ado I tipped madam across my knee and lifted her dress up to leave it bunched around her waist. I must say that she had looked lovely undressed in the punt, but there is no finer sight to a spanking man that that of a saucy young female helpless across his knee with her panties stretched to bursting point with the weight of the delightful orbs within. There is really only one thing to do at such a moment, and that is peel the panties right down and leave them hanging around their owner's thighs. Just so!

Of course Caroline protested loudly at this treatment but I ignored her protests. What I couldn't ignore was the sight of her lush buttocks that were just waiting for my hand to crack down on them, so as an aperitif as it were I leaned over an gently bit each one in turn.

"Hey," said a female voice from somewhere around the level of my shin, "I didn't know that was how your spanked someone!"

Crack! My palm smacked down across her bottom.

"Is that how they do it?" I asked her in my best innocent tone.

"Er, yes, I think so," she replied, failing to contain her giggles.

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

"How about that? Three or so in quick succession. Is that a better way of doing it?"

"No, actually I think I prefer the teeth."

"Do you indeed," I said, landing another firm half dozen on her delightful bottom that was now turning a delicious shade of pink.

"Yes, I definitely prefer the teeth, come to think about it."

"Really? But you are a bad girl and bad girls get the palm, don't they?"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Yes, they most certainly do and that is what I have just had. But I'm back to being a good girl now, so could you please go back to the teeth?"

You can't win with some women. If she had been a real minx then she would have provoked me into spanking her soundly as Charlotte had recently done, but Caroline knew the weight of a man's balls just by looking at them and she knew just how far to go. I gave her another half dozen to grow on and let go of her. She sat up on my knee and rubbed her bottom ruefully, lips pursed, and face flushed.

"Right, madam," I told her. "It's time for bed!"

So off we went and for the second time that day I got to make love to the lovely Caroline.

Poking in a Punt Part One

Have you ever poked in a punt? I can't remember the exact date when I joined that particular club but it was during a delightful Trinity Term when the sun never stopped shining and the girls of Oxford never looked lovelier nor more available in their summer finery. I may be getting old, now, but in my mind's eye it is the early 1980s and I was making my way along Cornmarket in the general direction of Folly Bridge with a blanket and a bottle of wine in one hand and a lovely girl named Caroline in the other.

We reached the bridge and I took delivery of one of  my college's punts that were moored there. Once bird, booze and blanket were stored away to my satisfaction I took a deep breath and punted us away to one of the tributaries that run off the main river and rammed the punt against a steep bank. The one that I chose had trees running along its top with branches that hung low over the water, in fact some of them actually touched it and I remember having to duck down to get the punt hard against the bank. That done I jammed the punting pole in the mud  to leave the craft firmly wedged in place between the pole and the bank and then I turned my attention to other matters.

We drank the wine, and kissed and touched each other, and everything was all very languid and just as you would expect an Oxford summer's day to be. Madam was wearing a light cream dress with roses printed on it and I can remember that it had five large buttons running from top to bottom and a belt that went around her waist. The latter I pulled free and then spent a happy few minutes undoing all the buttons to reveal the prize that lay within.

I suppose that you are expecting to hear a report of her expensive lingerie, so I am sorry to disappoint any underwear fetishist when I state that she was wearing a rather simple but sweet ensemble of matching white bra and panties. The former undid at the front which made my task a lot easier, and the latter frothy confection of lace and cotton was then pealed down slowly - these things must never ever be rushed - to reveal a sweet pussy, neatly trimmed but not shaven, just as I like them to be.

As I spread the blanket out properly Caroline took the opportunity to sit up and glanced around nervously, holding her long blond hair in a ball atop her head and biting her lip anxiously.

"Are you sure that nobody can see us?" The voice that asked the question was small and uncertain, it's owner needing urgent reassurance that everything was well.

"We can't get more private that this," I told her, that being the simple truth. "The trees cover us on the river side and the bank is so high that you would have to stand right on top of it and almost fall in the water to see us. Besides, there's a playing field or something on the other side, and it looks deserted." That last bit was a bit of an invention, very well, actually it was pure tosh, but I didn't think that it would do any harm especially if it calmed the girl down. More fool me, but Caroline sighed and with a final glance around she lay back on the blanket and quietly waited until I had undressed myself and joined her.

So we kissed and touched and she sucked my cock and I stroked her breasts and flanks and we prepared each other as my cock became hard and her pussy grew moist. And everything was just so very right on that long ago day when the sun hung heavy over Oxford and the river waters lapped lazily against the punt as I lay atop Caroline and her hand closed around my cock and guided it into her body.

What more can be said? Caroline was an achingly lovely spring morning of a girl, and ion all her twenty years I doubt if she could ever have looked as wonderful. as she did that day. I looked down at her heavy breasts as they swayed with the rhythm of our lovemaking, and her eyes caught mine and she smiled languidly both with pleasure at the joining of our bodies and delight at the knowledge that I found her so very desirable.

Caroline placed both hands on my face and held it a few inches away from hers, staring deeply onto my eyes the whole time. She clenched her pussy muscles and arched her pelvis downwards in time with my thrusts. I tried to pull away but she clung to me fiercely, looking all the while into my eyes as if she could read my passion for her in them.

I began to build up the speed of my thrusts. As I did so Caroline reached down, twisted somehow to one side and then I felt the fingers of her right hand gently splay across my bottom. I though that she would rest her hand there to feel my buttock muscles as I thrust deeper and deeper into her body but incredibly she didn't. Instead she inserted her middle finger inside me, not to deep that was impossible, but up to the first joint. Then she moved it in and out in time with my thrusts into her. It was as if I was fucking Caroline as she fucked me and the sensation was exquisite.

"I can't hold it for much longer," I told her, urgency clearly audible in my tone.

Caroline just smiled that lazy smile of hers and slowly nodded her head, her eyes closing as she did so. It was time for both of us.

My muscles relaxed as the great hot surge bubbled up from deep within my balls to spill into Caroline's eager body. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I came and threw back her head to let out a great glorious howl of joy as she felt my cream begin to lap around the entrance to her womb. As I said earlier, everything was just so right on that day...

We collapsed into each others arms and lay there sated for I can't remember how long. Caroline stroked my hair, a curiously maternal gesture that I found relaxed me even more than I was already. We could have remained like that  for an eternity more, but there was sudden splash in the water around the punt. At first I thought that a large fish had jumped out of the water and splashed back into the depths, but then from on top of the bank a small voice piped up:

"May  we have out ball back, please sir?"

It just had to happen, didn't it? The playing field was now occupied with small boys all in their bright running around the playing field uniform and they should not have seen us but some budding football star had kicked a ball too hard and it had sailed over everyone's heads to land in the water by our punt. Looking up I saw about half a dozen eager young fellows, all eyes that feasted upon Caroline. With a sigh I got up and madam hastily pulled her dress around her, but not before the gang or 11 year olds had finished their impromptu anatomy lesson.

Still buck naked I managed to grab the ball out of the water and somehow tossed it up the six feet of bank where it was taken by one of the spectators. Alas for Caroline they then made no attempt to leave, instead they continued to feast their eyes on her distress and I noticed that grins were beginning to form around several lips.

So did Caroline who clearly was made out of stern stuff. Far from being fazed by this she sat up, holding her dress around her and harangued the merry throng above our heads:

"Haven't you got better things to do with yourselves?" she asked, a silly question if you want my opinion. The fellows obviously felt that same way as none of them moved.

"Want me to come up there and smack bottoms?" I'll do it, you know! You see if I don't! Shorts down for all of you!" That did it - the gang made itself collectively scarce and madam turned her baleful gaze up me.

"You said that nobody could see us didn't you?" Well, what the bloody hell were they? Scotch mist?"

With a weary sense of what was to happen I knew at once that our lovely afternoon was over and a tough evening was about to begin.

To be continued

Dealing with an Oxford Cowgirl, Part Four

To say I gave Charlotte the spanking of her life is putting it mildly. Within a minute of my fist slap landing it had been followed by about fifty more, each one laid on with all the force of my arm behind it. I can dimly remember that I did smack the wretched girl on alternate cheeks, but that was more instinct and experience than a deliberate act on my part. Frankly I was just to angry to think about niceties which is probably why so many of my smacks landed as high as Charlotte's hip bone or as low as her thighs.

To be fair the girl was wriggling like an eel and that always makes perfectly accurate targeting next to impossible, but my anger was such that I didn't even try to land  smacks in the traditional seat of learning as it were and contented myself with bringing my hand down in a great powerful arc that cracked like a whiplash somewhere near Charlotte's bottom.

Needless to say the recalcitrant young madam was screaming like a scalded cat, in fact she was howling at such a decibel level that I remember thinking that she would waken the dead - or at least the members of my college which probably amounted to the same thing.

I became aware at some point that my arm was aching so I paused my labours for a moment and that was when I realised just how exhausted  I was. My heart was pounding in my rib cage and my mouth was open to take in great gulps of air into my lungs.

Charlotte took the opportunity that the respite gave her to try to break free from my grasp. She managed to free her arms from the skirt that had pretty much enveloped them and threw her right hand behind her to cover her bottom.

"No you bloody well don't," I told her as I took the wrist in my left hand and folded it into the small of her back. "I haven't finished with you yet." Weary though I was, the spanking was not over yet as far as I was concerned.

Charlotte turned to her left so that she could look at me with  wide tear filled eyes that begged for pity. Alas pity was all used up that day and with a deep breath I looked down at those buttocks that I had been correcting for the previous few minutes and without another thought I hooked my fingers into the waistband and peeled that last line of defence down. Charlotte's bottom was now very red and very bare and the act of lowering her knickers gave her the nudge she needed to open her mouth and let rip another banshee howl of outrage and pain.

My hand was raised again and again it fell in its retributive arc to land on Charlotte's helpless buttock. Now I spanked her methodically, aiming my slaps to cover the buttock cheeks that I had now bared and I smacked on and on until the colour changed from a bright to an angry shade of red.

As the spanking progressed Charlotte's behaviour went from the anger that had displayed earlier in the correction to to the hysteria that had then characterised her screams to a kind of sullen acceptance. Her struggles didn't cease exactly but they were reduced in intensity and instead of wriggling her hips to escape the force of my retribution she then began to do nothing more than simply twitch her buttock cheeks as each smack landed, and I noticed that the arm that I held in my iron grip was not being pulled one way and the other as its owner tried to break it free. The ending of that was proof that all the sauce  had been smacked out of Charlotte as all she did was lie across my knee, submissively awaiting my will.

With a final flurry of smacks I dumped her onto the floor where she lay in a foetal huddle, her hands behind her as she nursed her well smacked bottom. I sat quietly for a moment as my breathing returned to normal, and then I got to my feet.

"Listen to me you nasty little bitch," I told her between clenched teeth. "I am off to have a nice long piss and when I get back you will no doubt have fucked off somewhere far away from me."

I actually did more than that. I stood on the roof and smoked a cigarette to give Charlotte all the time she needed to collect her thoughts, pull up her knickers and clear off. However, when I went back to my room after my five minute absence it was to find Charlotte standing by my table. She had obviously pulled up her panties and was leaning against the table as her legs were clearly unsteady. She looked at me with eyes that were damp with her tears and filled with uncertainty. That said, there was no insolence left in them, so I was moved to be generous.

"I didn't expect to see you again," I said quietly.

"Just about to leave," Charlotte said, with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Do you want a cuddle before you go?"

Charlotte didn't reply; she just held out her arms and as I stepped forward she wrapped them around my neck and began to sob heavily with her face buried in my chest. I held her and waited until the sobs slowly died down and then Charlotte looked up at me. She struggled to find the words, her lips moving silently as she struggled to form them.

"I am sorry," she said eventually, with a quiet sincerity.

There was really nothing more to say so I just took her in my arms and eventually we went back to bed.

Charlotte and I had a fling that lasted for some time after the events that I have just described but to be honest I just couldn't afford to keep her. She wanted to go skiing during the Christmas vacation and I could not afford two weeks in Switzerland, so we drifted apart. Many years later I bumped into her in London as the sleek, well cared for mother of two rather cute children. We had a coffee and chatted about what had happened during the previous decade or so since our Oxford days. At one point Charlotte complained about something that her husband had done so I teased her saying that she should slap him.

"I can't do that," the lovely lady replied. Look what happened to me last time!"

Dealing with an Oxford Cowgirl, Part Three

"You lied to me, didn't you, you shit? Go on, admit it," she spat at me.

I must admit that there is something incredibly erotic about a woman on her high horse. It's the way she breathes in deeply so as to shout more makes her puppies moves sensuously under her clothes. The way that the eyes glitter always reminds me of how they shine when a woman is on her back being fucked, and the mouth that has been opened to complain also opens wide like that to take in a nice juicy cock. Yes, there is something very potent about an angry woman.

Not that a fellow must allow her to go too far out of control, but sometimes it happens and then the filly needs to feel the bit as she is reigned in, but I never expected to have to do that to Charlotte on that day - more fool me for trying to analyse what passes for the thought processes in the female mind.

Charlotte stood in front of me with hands on hips, tapping a foot as she impatiently waited for my answer.

"What do you want me to say?" I was trying as hard as I could to think of anything that could have done that would have set her off in that way, but my mind was a complete blank. For once I was not guilty of the charge, members of the jury.

You said that you belonged to Ruskin College, didn't you? And you lied, didn't you? You're a complete shit!"

"This is Ruskin College," told her patiently.

"No, it isn't!" Charlotte stamped her foot in frustration. "This is somewhere else, somewhere horrid. If this is the Ruskin, where's all the art work?"

Lights suddenly began to come on inside my head. The silly bitch had confused institutions.

"You are not in The Ruskin, the Ruskin School of Fine Art, but you are in Ruskin College. Same man, different aspects of him," I explained, grinning from ear to ear at Charlotte's silliness.

"What? Well, it's still all your fault for not telling me..." Charlotte's voice trailed off as even she realised the idiocy of what she was saying. Not that logic and reason is something that women trouble themselves with over much, especially when they are feeling embarrassed by their latest bout of female silliness.

"Listen, you barmy bitch," I said, sweet reason evident in my tone. "It isn't my fault that you have a bra size larger than you IQ and can't tell the difference between..."

That was as far as I got because Charlotte's hand flashed out of nowhere and cracked across my face! Trust me when I say I couldn't believe what had just happened. Nor could I believe it when I looked up and saw Charlotte's back retreating towards the door at the end of the corridor.

There are times when I am retarded, I really am, and that was one of those times. I stood  open mouthed  and nursing my smarting cheek as Charlotte exited stiffly towards that door. As she yanked it open my brain kicked into gear and I sprinted down the corridor and grabbed her by a handful of hair and then I just dragged her back to the door to my room. Mine was the last door on the corridor and as we reached it I just pushed Charlotte with all my strength against the wall that ended to corridor and fished my key out of a pocket and quickly opened the door. Then it was a simple matter to almost throw Charlotte inside and slam the door shut behind us. Hands on hips I faced the wretched girl who took a step back a look of pretty total terror on her face as she realised that shit was most definitely about the happen to her.

"Please," she began, lifting her hands in a gesture of supplication. "Please let's talk and..."

That was as far as she got. I just walked the two paces over to her, grabbed her by the hair again and sat down on the bed, pulling Charlotte over my knee as I did so. She was wearing a blue corduroy A-line skirt that came down to her knees and I gathered the hem in both hands and pulled it right over her waist and left it dangling over her head. I encircled her waist with my left arm and looked down at the target area that was encased in white cotton panties.

No, I cannot remember exactly what they were like as I was beyond normal anger and had entered a world of utter fury, one where only retribution mattered. Without pausing to lower the panties I raised my right arm and brought it down in the first retributive smack of what was going to be a highly memorable spanking.

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Dealing with an Oxford Cowgirl, Part Two

As my cock slid easily into Charlotte's body she raised her legs instinctively to take me inside her and wrapped her arms around my neck. She exhaled slowly, her hot breath flowing over my neck and then she sank her teeth into my shoulder. I groaned at the pain but I hoped that she wouldn't stop as it hurt so good. She thrust her hips down in time with each of my strokes, clenching her pussy muscles as she did so. Slowly but surely she increased the speed of her thrusts forcing me to increase my tempo to keep up with her. She stopped biting me and I could look into her face to see an expression of pure joy there, she pursed her lips, and her face took on an intensity that I found delightful.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder," she whispered in my ear, urging me on.

My balls began to get heavy and I could feel that the lock gates that control the canal that runs from them up to the outside were about to open. I had to take control of this girl and the lovemaking otherwise that wonderful evening was going to end before it had properly begun. I grabbed Charlotte's wrists and put them above her head on the pillow, to hold them firmly in my hands. Once she was controlled then I lifted myself up on my arms to give myself a deeper penetration but also so that I could slow down the speed of my thrusts. 

"No, no, I want it faster. Can't you go any faster?"

"I do the fucking," I told her with a grin on my face. "You get fucked in my time."

"I hate you!"

She rather spoiled the effect of her words by grinning from ear to ear as my cock opened her body up every time it drove deep inside her. She tried to free herself from my grip, first one wrist and then the other, and when that failed she lay back and looked at me with a lascivious intensity. Then she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to let out little cries of the pleasure-pain that woman make when they are being fucked to their intense and total satisfaction.

I increased my speed and at some point I let go of Charlotte's wrists whereupon she immediately threw her arms around my neck and hauled me back on top of her, both our torsos becoming glued together and her arms held me in position. I used my hips the thrust into her and Charlotte used hers to increase the pace of the lovemaking until I lost all sense of anything other than her cries in my ear and the incredible sensation that comes from being between the legs of a lovely teenage girl and having her completely.

It was no use, the pace just had to pick up as urged on by Charlotte I increased the velocity to a killing level. Her head rocked insanely from side to side and she let out a scream that came from deep within her as I felt my balls grow heavy and  right at the base of my cock the first lock gate opened to allow the heavy juice that my balls had contained to begin its journey to freedom.

"I can't hold it," I said between gritted teeth.

"Don't hold it, give it to me! Give it to me now! Fill me up with it!"

All my muscles relaxed as if to order. The hot foaming juice shot up and I felt that incredible sensation that is part pain and part release as my juice shot out of me and into Charlotte's gaping, eager body. 

We collapsed into each other's arms. The was nothing else to do and nothing that needed to be said. Charlotte wrapped an arm lazily around my neck and we fell asleep like two babes, totally sated by the pleasure that we had given to each other.

Charlotte was the first to wake up as dawn light was filtering into my room. I remember that she kissed me lightly and started to get up.

"I have to go," she said, "we start at nine."

I knew that the Oxford Cowgirls started classes as that unearthly hour so I just nodded. Charlotte got dressed, kissed me goodbye and promised to return later that day. I turned over and went back to sleep as she left the room.

Once the streets had got thoroughly aired I left college and wandered into the Oxford Union for morning coffee and a leisurely read of the newspapers. I stayed there until the bar opened at 11.00am and when it closed again at 3.00pm as all bars did in those days, it seemed a shame to go back to college, so I hung around waiting for afternoon tea to begin. At some point in the late afternoon I finally decided to go back to college to check my pigeon-hole for mail, and I remember wandering through Oxford wondering if I could put off the essay that I had to write until the following morning. I decided that I could as my tutorial wasn't until the afternoon, and with that in mind I decided to go up to my room and read a couple of chapters of one of the books, just to show willing as it were.

I climbed the stairs and opend the door at the top that led to my very short corridor. There, waiting outside my door, was Charlotte, with a face like thunder.

"You shit! You utter and complete shit! You duped me!

"No I didn't," I replied. "What I did was fuck you!" At times like this a laugh and a joke can often diffuse a bad situation, but my little bon mot fell on deaf ears as Charlotte descended upon me, eyes flashing and boobs heaving. 

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Dealing with an Oxford Cowgirl, Part One

The Oxford and County Secretarial College, to give it the full name that nobody ever used, was always known as the Ox and Cow and it provided generations of Oxford men with easy pokes. In theory it was all about turning home counties gels into secretaries, but in practise it was a glorified marriage agency for the terminally thick. As a student in the early 1980s I did my bit to ensure that any Oxford Cowgirl who came within reach of my paws was given a thorough training in the horizontal arts - not that many of them needed all that much training since they could perform tricks that a Liverpool whore would blush at, but I am sure that you take my point.

Charlotte was one such cowgirl. Just eighteen years old when I knew her, she had long brown hair that fell in delicious waves to the middle of her back, breasts that were eye-poppers and one A-level in English. That latter achievement was the reason why her father agreed to pay the Ox & Cow's ludicrously high fees because in those days nobody ever thought that the likes of Charlotte even needed to go into higher education so off they went to become secretaries and husband hunt an executive.

You are not really interested in knowing how we met are you? I thought not - as you can tell I am starting to get to know you - so I will just tell you that it was at a party and the next day we met up for afternoon tea in Browns, of course, and one thing led to another and we ended up in the Bird and Baby in the early evening.

Charlotte kept going on about the Pre-Raphaelites, and at first I just assumed that she had done a half hour art appreciation course at the Ox & Cow, but then I realised that the little darling had dropped a serious clanger as far as I was concerned. She thought that I was a student at the John Ruskin School of Art, whereas in fact I was a member of Ruskin College.

Obviously I didn't want to overtax her poor little mind by trying to explain why Oxford has two colleges named after the same fellow, besides I was more interested in getting her knickers down. That I duly did once I had got her back to my room in college with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of squealing. Charlotte's dress soon followed her frillies as did her matching bra - in case you are wondering the set was cream with light blue polka dots, what a good memory I have that I can remember these things after so many years.

Having completed the preliminaries I grabbed a good handful of bouncer and proceeded on my merry way down below. The moment my tongue had parted her labia the little darling let out a yell that I was sure had woken the dead or at least the members of my college which probably amounted to the same thing. Not being a man easily put off his stride I turned my head to the right so that my lips ran parallel with hers, as it were, and then I just let my tongue enter her body before moving it up and down in a side to side motion. I will never forget that she bucked like a bronco and grabbed my hair as if she wanted to prevent me from leaving her pussy lips - as if I wanted to.

Eventually I moved back up above and Charlotte took the opportunity to grab hold of my cock and began to give it a vigorous pulling.

"Careful you don't fire it by accident," I told her.

"What do you mean? I told you that these girls were not very bright, didn't I? Anyway I explained it all to her and she began to giggle. 

"Gosh - me doing that with my hand. Sounds wonderful!"

Clearly the only way to shut Charlotte up was to fuck her, or so I thought, so I climbed into the saddle and began to ride my chosen filly.

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A smacker on the Turl

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