Punishment and Submission

I fell into a deep depression. The epilogue of the story with Tristana so dramatic and grotesque I was deeply marked. Those nightmares that now have become very rare at that time were rather common. I began to neglect the work up to the brink of dismissal. Relationships with customers and colleagues had gradually rarefied. I constantly feel sad and annoying that I spoke from behind and laughing at me. I do not know how, but had spread to the voice of my misadventure. Of course I had very serious risk of being castrated, perhaps killed. The idiots were the situation comedy! I wanted to see them cut off with the bird! But more than the laughter of men bothered me a pitying glances of only two female colleagues of 'office. I felt drained. I was alone, I was disgusted, including myself. When the idea of ​​suicide began to appear more frequently in my head I knew to be a turning point. I had to at least try. It finally began to treat me. The Director of the Agency, who had learned to appreciate me before I became a rag man, offered me a transfer at the offices of **********. He was a downgrade, I knew, but I needed to feel comfortable, to find myself. I accepted with resignation, but all in all I was partially satisfied. The seat was not too far from the house of his uncles and then could not stand now, neither the environment nor the agency almost all my colleagues. I would have gladly smashed with fists and sticks.
It was at the new place of employment that met Clelia. In the morning, before taking office, I stopped almost every day at the corner bar with respect to the agency. It was a neat little place and well maintained. The coffee was good. I consumed my nice frothy cappuccino sitting at a table, flipping through the few national and international news pages of the local newspaper or the "pink" (nda La Gazzetta dello Sport). At the counter served two girls: Marta, about 19 to 20 years, pretty but sullen talking, or rather muttered in his northern dialect incomprehensible and indeed Clelia, a young woman of 25, 26 years, but certainly not the prettiest of the other much more sociable. Oh sure it was not very expansive and had an attitude somewhat reserved, but he was kind, attentive to customer needs, at the right spirit. Two were the qualities which had struck me on first meeting and indeed I think they hit every drinker: A radiant smile and warm for 35 seconds I reconciled with life and a nice pair of tits that were really great a great look great poorly protected they were by fitting tank top (It was now late May and that year was particularly hot).
Clelia had none of the disturbing beauty of Tristana. In his big brown eyes I could see just a hint of sweet melancholy, and nothing to do with the eerie light of madness that transpired from the beautiful eyes of Tristana. Yet even Clelia had his little secret. Oh, Women!.
It happened on a Wednesday or Thursday?, Well, it does not matter. I was at the bar and read the titles of the sports newspaper highly critical of the national football team that was preparing to compete in the World Cup in Spain, when I remembered that I had to call his aunt. I should have done the night before but I forgot I was guilty. "If I do not call me on Sunday black ass" and I smiled to myself remembering when I was a kid my aunt chasing evil and brandishing a wooden spoon. There was a little jerky phone behind the counter and decided to take advantage. As I opened the cabin door my eye fell on the floor corner. There was a book with a bookmark. The title was "The eleven thousand rods" by Guillaume Apollinaire. I had read a bit 'of time before. And 'an erotic novel of the beginning of the twentieth century containing a vast collection of "perversions" sexual. The general tone is grotesque and surreal. Here and the reading can be very unpleasant, at times the text is fun. Curiously, the bookmark was placed between two pages describing a scene of spanking. Flipping through the booklet, I noticed that all the sentences that dealt with spanking and whipping on the ass were underlined. - But, that particular tastes that have the maidens - I thought the bartenders. I said nothing and made my phone call.
The next day I was seized with curiosity to see if that text so spicy it were still there. I went to the cabin with the excuse of the call and to my surprise, the floor was no longer "The eleven thousand rods" but "Delta of Venus" by Anais Nin. As I remembered it was a collection of stories dating back to 20 -30 years of the twentieth century when it was recounted one episode of spanking. I leafed through the pages quickly and I found that story. The scene of the lost was underlined with the yellow highlighter.
Even greater was the surprise when I realized that in a nylon bag on which was placed the book there were a dozen erotic comics all from the series "Isabella".
I leafed through them and found that even in the midst of the adventure genre "swashbuckling" Sapphic scenes were inserted and lost. - Three clues are a test "I thought, one of the maidens was a kindred soul. For a long time not thinking about my desire and inclination. With the awakening of the senses after a long winter of my heart and my mind was waking up this aspect of my sexuality. I hoped so much that it was Clelia. Then I fear not like it, that was not really interested in trying, in the end we did not know ... and a whole series of conjectures me affastellarono in the brain. - It 'my stuff, that is my brother ... - Clelia had appeared suddenly. I abruptly took the envelope with a embarrassed expression. Her cheeks as red as cherries. I apologized and smiled - Still, I understand more than pictures - From the moment we entered gradually into confidence. We began to see us outside of office hours. We talked about everything and of course the "what". Clelia had discovered this particular angle a little 'time. He had not had direct experiences in the family, but she realized that the scenes of the movie where there were spanking or flogging in general, but especially the first very impressed. The disturbed and attracted at the same time. Fourteen years on the view of the cover of a book of Isabella had excited. The picture represented the protagonist of the comic heroine wielding a rod with the arm raised. Bent over a four-poster bed with a young girl raised her skirt showed a round ass whole traversed by red stripes. The 'expression of fear and pain was punished. Clelia hurried home and masturbated in the bathroom. Had not had real experiences of spanking. With the ex-boyfriend had sex only "normal". After a month we were dating we made love. The vision of her ass like a mandolin so rosy and tempting heightened my desire to groom you must but I resisted. I limited myself to kiss him and he felt that Clelia mordicchiarlo.Volevo ready. Then it happened. It was the 'July 11, 1982. I was at her house. Cousin Martha was out with friends. We decided to watch the final World Cup of soccer together. - I propose a bet - he said with a mischievous air by putting a tantalizing pause, the girl - That? - I came - If Italy wins give me a good spanking. It 'so much as you like. But if Germany wins I'll give them to you. But thou taper sculaccerai only hands but I'll use the belt - I agree - I said - But get ready to take lots and bare ass. I'll decide how many you take. Mind you, I will be deaf to all entreaty. - Then began the historic game. We looked at each other's arms like a cool couple who were on the other hand, but with decidedly opposite expectations. When Cabrini missed a penalty in the first time I feared for my ass. I accepted the bet, but are funda mentally a spanker. So I like to bang their asses, but others are much less enthusiastic about taking them. Fortunately, as we know, the second time the race took a favorable trend in the Italian colors ... and the color of my ass. At the first goal of Clelia Rossi cominiciò agitated and biting his nails. At the second goal Tardelli Clelia swallowed with a funny expression of concern was that the contract the cheeks. At the third goal of Altobelli looked at me pleadingly. At the final whistle and all the houses nearby were shouting with joy and poured into the street, Clelia was lying on my knees and begged softly to floor, and pulled down her pants to the knees. - Please, please, do ... ah, ah, alas, alas! The sculacciai vigorously, slowly, alternating soft pats on the hills. My handful had the effect of an earthquake on the beautiful roundness rear of Clelia. Then accellerai. A barrage of spanks and then a slow but steady cadence of new, robust slaps. The ass was red and hot. The girl was kicking in a delightful sliding her panties to her ankles. "Enough, please, sob! Sob!, You do that thing with your mouth that you enjoy so much but do not spank me anymore! - You're a slut! Have her pussy all wet! Are you a lake! But now I make you black ass to the sound of spanking. Take it, take it and take it! And down on the butt spanked for the truth already well proven. I went on a couple of minutes. After the spanking Clelia looked at me with his mouth slightly open and moist, rosy cheeks crossed by a few tears. Snza many compliments I undid his pants and without giving her time to rub a little of the poor made her sit on my ass already turgid cock and launch position. We came quickly, almost in unison. Later Clelia confessed that he had always thought that 'Italy would have won, In the end we had hoped, but ... who knows what would happen if the outcome of the final was another.
I will never forget that night and that game. We could not have better to celebrate the victory.
A year later became my wife Clelia.