Love Match

by the Crimson Kid

(All rights reserved. This story's setting is mid-September of 2002 in a college town in the United States.)

Walking next to the young woman who had just defeated him overwhelmingly at tennis, Colin Kristain was dejected and silent. His companion, an attractive athletic brunette named Bethany Tobruk, kept casting sidelong glances at the young man with the downcast expression as she addressed him quietly.

“Just so that you know,” she explained calmly, “I placed fourth in the state's girls' singles in my junior year and second in my senior year, then I received a partial scholarship for tennis from the university here; I play first singles for the women's team.”

Colin's finely-chiseled facial features continued to show resigned regret at his crushing loss and its impending consequences.

“I'm aware that you're way out of my league,” he stated bitterly, “Since you won both sets at six-love. I admit that you humiliated me, so you don't have to go on about how great you are.”

“Please listen,” Bethany objected mildly, “I'm just telling you that you shouldn't take it so badly. Other than the head pro, nobody at the raquet club can beat me; I can handle most of the regular players there pretty easily.” She paused, awaiting a response, but her despondent companion said nothing.

“You're pretty decent for a casual player,” she told him, flashing a friendly smile.

“Hmmmph!” Colin snorted in disgust. “I hardly think so—you made me look totally pathetic.”

Wincing inwardly at the obvious pain in the young man's voice, Bethany decided to change the subject.

“You do intend to honor our wager, don't you?” she asked pointedly.

“Yes, I'll pay off the bet,” he replied harshly. “Don't worry, you'll get to add injury to insult.”

Bethany sighed unhappily, thinking about how wrongly the situation was developing. She'd wanted a light, playful experience that could be the beginning of a friendship, but Colin was clearly embittered and deeply embarrassed.

“I'm not going to injure you,” she countered, “I'm just going to spank you—it will sting your bare behind, but you won't actually be harmed.” Her expression became resolute. “I was considering making it mild and teasing, but since you're acting like a whiny, self-pitying jerk I'm thinking of giving you something to really cry about.”

“Go ahead,” he muttered, “Destroy any self-respect I might still have.”

“Fine,” Bethany responded curtly, irritation in her voice, “I'll just do that then!”

Minutes later the two of them entered Bethany's otherwise-unoccupied house, pausing to set their tennis equipment in the foyer.

“We'll do this here in the living room,” she announced. “You stay put while I retrieve the implements I'll be using. You need to lower your shorts to half-mast position while I'm gone, please.”

“I'm allowed to keep my jockstrap on, I believe.” Colin's tone carried a touch of defiance.

“That's right,” the pretty twenty-year-old conceded. “I'm not planning to seduce you, I'm going to SPANK you—very soundly and for a long time.” Gazing wistfully at the handsome and trimly-muscular young man, she fervently wished that the upcoming chastisement would begin a close relationship rather than preclude one. "Just be displaying your naked asscheeks, ready for a good walloping, by the time I get back here.”

“Whatever you say.” His grudging agreement sounded rather disconsolate.

When Bethany returned from her brief trip upstairs, arriving back carrying four instruments of corporal correction, her prospective spankee was standing while nakedly displaying a tightly-rounded pair of boyish-looking, olive-sheened buttocks; his white tennis shorts were tangled around his knees, while a gray athletic supporter provided minimal masculine modesty.

“Cute buns,” she noted coolly, “They'll be quite satisfying to redden nice and brightly.” She placed three of the spanking implements on the coffee table while keeping the fourth one, then seated herself on the upholstered ottoman stool in front of the love seat.

“Time to bend yourself over my lap, young man—you're about to literally become a sore loser.” The young woman giggled at that observation and patted her thighs beckoningly. “Climb aboard, dear boy.”

Colin sighed reluctantly, then stepped to his feminine spanker's right and awkwardly lowered himself face down across her well-toned thighs.

“Let's adjust you forward a bit,” she remarked, rapidly bouncing her hips and pushing his posterior leftward with her right forearm. “That's exactly where I want you, providing a proper target.” She lightly pressed the hard, flat implement gripped in her right hand against the naked buttocks invitingly presented for her to spank.

“My mom calls this the Rump-Smacker, or just Smacker for short,” Bethany informed her disciplinary victim. “It's a wide wooden hairbrush with the bristles removed and its front side sanded smooth, leaving small holes which increase the sting when that striking surface smacks a bare fanny.” She encircled his waist with her left arm, pulling him tight to her body.

“This is a warmup for the strap, but it will smart more than enough to get your full attention, I'm sure. Sixty swats, naughty bare-assed boy… Are you ready?”

“Do what you're going to,” Colin replied stoically, although his starkly-upturned trim buttcheeks were trembling slightly.

“Count on it!” Bethany swiftly swung the small paddle downward…


Alternating between her spankee's exposed nether cheeks with crisp, snapping swats of the smacking hardwood, she paddled him in a rapid-fire pattern that concentrated its effects on the ‘sit spot’ at the tender base of his posterior. The sixty sharp cracks took slightly over two minutes to deliver; their recipient absorbed them bravely, with a minimum of gasping and squirming, while his dark-complected skin flushed to a bright pink under the brisk walloping.

“You took those quick ones pretty well,” Bethany admitted, grudging admiration in her voice. She wished that they were fond friends, so she could end the wager payoff at that point and kiss the gallant loser to reward his courage under fire. “However, as I said that was just the warmup.”

“Determined to make me react, aren't you?” Colin demanded rhetorically.

“I want to make you talk to me,” his lovely chastiser rejoined, “But I'll probably have to break you down totally first.” She helped him rise slowly to his feet, then stood up herself and pointed at the love seat.

“Bend way over the back of that short couch, with your rump pointing at the ceiling,” Bethany instructed calmly. “Feel free to rub your blushing buns a little first, if you desire.” Setting the Smacker on the coffee table, she picked up a highly-flexible leather razor strap to replace it.

“No point to that,” the young man stated bluntly, “You're just going to make them hurt a whole lot more anyway.”

“That's true, but I was trying to allow you a brief bit of comfort.” She frowned in frustration. “Get into position then, so I can give your bare behind a good taste of licking-hot leather.”

“Your wish is my command.” There was an apprehensive undercurrent to Colin's sarcasm, but he obeyed promptly and assumed a vulnerably-exposed, bottom-upthrust position over the forty-inch-high back of the love seat.

Assuming a wide stance to the left of her boyish spankee, Bethany stood perpendicular to the well-pinkened male buttcheeks which she was targeting, adjusting to the distance needed to deliver a full arm's-length swing with her 26-inch-long instrument of corporal correction. With a sudden flick of her wrist, she snapped the wickedly-supple strap in midair—CRACK!! She was smugly gratified to observe her victim's body flinch sharply in response.

“Sounds pretty sinister, doesn't it?” The young woman smirked. “Mom calls this her Seat-Striper, or Striper for short, and that's a totally accurate description of its effects.” She ran her fingers along the two-inch-wide band of smooth, pliable black leather, which was attached to a six-inch handle featuring a corrugated rubber grip.

“Keep your bare rump sticking up high in the air,” Bethany directed. “I'm going to administer four dozen strokes, but you'll get extra penalty swats if you break position. After I'm finished, we're going to discuss your behavior toward me.”

“I haven't done anything to you,” Colin stated tersely.

“My point exactly, dear boy.” His disciplinarian raised the razor strap in her right hand, taking careful aim at his quivering, highly-elevated naked buttocks—then she brought the Striper flashing downward with speed and accuracy…


The blistering-hard, bare-assed strapping began with a bridging stroke across the base of both solid buns, which was followed by two equally-emphatic swats that connected to each separate buttock in turn—left, then right. Bethany continued that same punitive pattern throughout the vigorous leathering of her target's optimally-presented bare seat, once again focusing her disciplinary attentions on his wide-open ‘spank spot.’ She stepped forward into each energetic swing of the Striper, snapping her wrist to provide extra force to every flaming-hot kiss of thick leather.

The intensive chastisement took about four minutes to complete, and it produced a clearcut reaction from its recipient. Although he manfully managed to retain his upended position bent over the love seat's back, his feet were soon desperately drumming on the carpet while his hips wriggled almost continually under the sizzling strap-strokes that were painting his bare behind with crisscrossing bright red stripes, especially on his tender undercheeks. Colin attempted to restrain his outcries, but as the punishment progressed his gasps became pained yelps while he ended up blinking back tears and vainly struggling to contain soft sobs.

“Well, it looks like you definitely felt those forty-eight licks,” Bethany noted clinically. “You actually can show an enthusiastic response to some sort of stimulation, can't you?”

“Whuh-What d-do yuh-you m-mean?” The young man was clearly puzzled, even as he fought to regain his composure.

“Stand up, please, and turn around,” his lovely chastiser instructed, “So we can discuss your treatment of me—which might distract you from the way your smartly-striped seat must feel like it's burning up.”

“What di-did I ever duh-do to y-you?” Colin asked doubtfully, rising and facing his attractive accuser. “Nothing ah-at all…”

“True,” Bethany agreed, “Absolutely true.” She set the razor strap back on the coffee table, then turned her unwavering gaze on him.

“Whenever I see you jogging past my house when I'm out front, I always wave and smile at you then call out something friendly. You barely glance at me and you never reply, do you?”

The young man looked downward, then replied hesitantly. “I do wave back sometimes.”

“It's hardly noticeable.” She frowned, recalling his cool, distant responses to her warm, cheery greetings. “You've lived half a block away from me for… How long?”

“About five months,” he stated quietly. “Six houses down from you, actually.”

“In a small college town,” his girlish inquisitor pointed out. “So why aren't we friends by now, Colin? It's not because I've been unfriendly to you, is it?”

“Maybe our personalities just aren't compatible,” Colin suggested, his gaze still focused on the carpet.

“How would we know about being compatible,” she countered, “Since we've never had a real conversation?” She snorted softly. “You'll exchange pleasantries with other people around town, although you're kind of quiet, but if I try to talk to you in a store or on the sidewalk I just get mumbled one-word responses.”

Gently grasping her unwilling guest's chin, Bethany lifted up his face to look into his eyes; she saw his stubborn resistance to the teardrops slowly forming in them.

“How do you think it makes me feel, dear neighbor, when you're friendly with other people but act like a stuck-up snob toward me? What exactly is it that's wrong with me, Colin?”

“Nuh-Nothing.” He choked back a sob, looking truly miserable. “I d-don't think there's any-anything wrong wuh-with you…”

“Bethany,” she interjected firmly, “That's my name—Beth to my friends, a group which you apparently wish to avoid joining.” Still holding Colin's chin uplifted, she continued to look deeply into his dark brown eyes. “You haven't explained yet about your aloof attitude toward me.”

“I d-don't want to discuss it now,” he stated disconsolately, averting his gaze from hers.

The young woman sighed in frustration, wondering why men were so intimidated by their own feelings.

“Then I'll continue to address the seat of your problem, Colin—get your butt-naked backside right back over the top of that couch, right now.” She leaned over the coffee table and picked up a good-sized, half-inch-thick wooden paddle with holes drilled through its smooth striking surface.

“If you insist, ma'am.” The young man's sardonic bravado wasn't entirely convincing, for his buttcheeks were trembling noticeably as he bent far over the love seat's back; his already well-punished posterior glowed brightly crimson while presented at an accutely upthrust angle.

“No, it's you who's insisting, dear boy.” Bethany returned to her earlier stance, facing her victim's elevated bare bottom standing next to his left hip; she pressed her implement's elongated rectangular striking surface against the prominently-exposed ‘sit spot’ crisscrossed by vivid scarlet stripes. “I'd prefer honest dialogue to further spanking, but you've chosen otherwise.” She reluctantly drew the paddle back, then paused momentarily.

“This is my mom's Spencer spanking paddle, which she refers to as her Fanny-Whacker—”

“Whacker for short, I'm sure,” Colin interrupted wryly.

“It won't seem so amusing once you experience my powerful forehand delivery with it,” the lovely avenging angel warned. “Sixty strokes for you, across those stinging strap-stripes.” After pronouncing sentence, she briskly stepped forward and unleashed a wickedly-effective forehand swing with the Whacker…


With forced resolve, Bethany delivered five dozen deliberate, resounding paddywhacks, most of them bridging strokes, across Colin's nakedly-upturned buttocks, a chastisement that had him broken down totally by the thirtieth teeth-rattling impact of the Spencer paddle. He desperately twisted his hips and kicked frantically, blubbering childishly with freely-flowing tears, as the blistering paddling continued unabated to its lengthy conclusion. By the sixtieth pistol-shot crack of the Whacker, the buttcheeks it was plastering were shining a dark crimson hue.

Exhaling in relief, Bethany regarded her male spankee's thoroughly-walloped trim gluteal globes, feeling a mixture of compassion and reluctant respect for the young man who was raggedly sobbing and shuddering while remaining jacknifed over the top of the small couch. After setting the Whacker back on the coffee table, she mused silently for several minutes while Colin's self-control slowly returned.

“Stand up and face me again,” she told him finally, an undercurrent of tenderness in her voice. Still sniffling slightly, his eyes red from weeping and his face tearstained, he rose and turned; his pretty punisher could read the humiliation etched on his features. “Colin, PLEASE talk to me now, so this ‘woodshed session’ can be finished.”

He somehow managed a rueful half-smile. “Shouldn't I buh-be the one d-doing the begging f-for it to stop?”

Bethany couldn't help appreciating his wry sense of irony, but she also felt a deep pang of regret that Colin probably would never speak to her again once their bet-payoff business was completed. It was, she decided, all the more reason for her to push for the answers she wanted—it would almost certainly be her only opportunity to probe his feelings.

“Just tell me why you're so unwilling to be friendly to me,” she demanded pointedly. “Have I done something to offend you that I'm not aware of?”

“No, of course not.” Colin shook his head. “Maybe I'm just… well, shy…”

“You can't be shy,” Bethany protested in disbelief, “You're too good-looking for that. Skinny, geeky guys are usually introverted, but someone who's as attractive as you are… I mean if you act like that, you're just… kind of a…”

“The term you want is ‘stuck-up snob,’ I believe,” he informed her cuttingly. “That is what you called me earlier, isn't it?” His gaze, decidedly hot, met his interrogator's. “I've heard it all before… Bethany.”

She swallowed hard, taking a step backward.

“But… well, even if you are… sort of shy… although I don't see why you would be… I've always been nice to you… Why be so standoffish toward me?”

“For a guy, being physically attractive can be a double-edged sword,” Colin explained, “Since girls can be… manipulative… at times.”

“Manipulative?” Bethany edged forward, looking genuinely puzzled.

“They just like to show that they can attract a good-looking guy,” he elaborated, “Or they want to flirt with someone who'll make their boyfriends jealous, so they'll get more attention from them.”

“That's ridiculous, no woman would…” Her voice tailed off as she realized that she'd observed that type of female behavior on occasion—sometimes even by friends of hers. “Well, I'd never do anything like that.”

The young woman's eyes flashed darkly. “You have no right to assume that I'm such a shallow person, based only on a few bad experiences that you had in the past.” Recent instances of her visitor's hurtful, dismissive behavior flooded her memory at that point. “The fact is that I treated you sweetly but you snubbed me repeatedly, didn't you?”

He chewed his lower lip, feeling remorseful over the effects of his behavior.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Bethany—I'm just shy, especially around pretty young ladies.”

“That explains part of it, but there's still something you're not telling me,” Bethany surmised accurately. “I gave you plenty of encouragement to be friendly toward me, and even your being shy doesn't explain your constant aloofness.”

She turned and momentarily squatted to pick up the final unused instrument of corporal correction from the coffee table by its wooden handle. An over-the-knee paddle made of a strong-yet-resilient clear plastic polymer, it was slightly less than a half-inch thick with a smooth rounded-rectangular striking surface dotted by uniformly-spaced quarter-inch beveled holes.

“This, dear boy, is Mom's most fearsome weapon in her disciplinary arsenal,” she smugly informed Colin. “It's a lexan paddle, but she calls it her Glow-Gazer… Can you guess why?”

“It's transparent, so the coloration produced is visible as soon as it strikes its target.” The visitor's perceptive reply was stated coolly, but the spanking implement in his disciplinarian's hand made his flushed face turn suddenly pale.

“Very good, Colin.” Bethany moderately patted the paddle against her left palm. “The more important characteristic of this lexan paddle is that it hurts and burns like blazing hellfire when applied to a bare bottom. I've felt it only once, a dozen hard swats, and trust me that I NEVER want to feel it again.”

“But I'm going to get to feel it,” he surmised, “Aren't I?”

“Unless you come clean to me right now,” she affirmed, “You'll be going across my lap for thirty sizzling smackers with the Glow-Gazer—then maybe you'll feel more like being open with me.”

Although he was clearly apprehensive and his crimson buttcheeks were already smarting fiercely, Colin sullenly met his chastiser's gaze. “Then you'd better take your seat, Bethany.”

“As you wish, Colin dear.” The young woman did exactly as she'd been advised, promptly sitting on the padded ottoman while gripping the lexan paddle's handle in her right hand. “All right, you obstinate child, get yourself back across my lap.” She somberly shook her head. “You'll be sorry about this, but since you insist…”

“You're the one who's insisting,” he countered, shuffling over to face his disciplinarian's lap from her right side. After a moment's hesitation, the young man lowered himself onto Bethany's strong-yet-sexy thighs, grudgingly appreciating them first visually and then tactilely.

“Slight change in approach,” she announced abruptly, swinging her right leg outward and backward until it slipped entirely out from under Colin's body. “Slide forward,” she commanded curtly, pushing his sore, striped seat leftward with her right forearm while her right leg clamped down across both his thighs. Forced forward, her punishment recipient found himself starkly upended over her left leg only as the determined young woman locked her right foot behind her left ankle.

“Good spanking angle,” she remarked, viewing the sensitive ‘sit spot’ left vulnerably wide open as Colin's naked buttocks jutted upward. “Put your right hand on your back, palm up,” the pert paddler instructed, then she used her left hand to pin his wrist against the small of his back.

“You're stuck there, Colin,” Bethany informed him rather unnecessarily; he was ruefully cognizant of her ability to restrict his movements while holding him in that classic restraint position. She playfully patted the polymer paddle's unyielding striking surface against her spankee's redly-glowing ‘spank spot,’ making his exposed asscheeks jiggle slightly, then raised the awesome disciplinary implement over her right shoulder.

“Last chance for you to resume our conversation,” the lovely twenty-year-old stated coolly, “Before the Gazer does all my communicating for me—something you'll truly regret.” She paused, wistfully hopeful, for several seconds. “Well, Colin?”

“No, thank you,” he responded, shivering slightly.

“So be it, then—your decision.” After increasing the pressure with her left arm and right leg, she swung the clear plastic paddle in a swiftly-descending arc…


Spanking steadily, Bethany steeled herself emotionally and administered a scorching-hot chastisement with the devastatingly-effective lexan paddle. Even with her restraint holds, she was barely able to control Colin's frenzied, desperate thrashing atop her thigh as his upthrust derriere darkened to a shade of deep maroon.

By the tenth swat the masculine spankee had broken down completely and was bawling shamelessly, but his resolute feminine paddler maintained her strict focus and delivered the full thirty sizzling strokes despite his tearful wailing.

Finally Bethany stopped swinging the unyielding plastic implement, but she then had to wait for several minutes for Colin to gradually achieve a measure of regular breathing. She lightly rubbed his back with her left hand while his ragged weeping slowly subsided. “There, there… Okay, deep breaths… I know that it stings like a bitch, honey… Your poor bottom, it's just radiating waves of heat… Go ahead and cry it out, sweetheart…”

After his pitiful sobbing eventually became soft sniffling, Bethany pressed the lexan paddle against his ravaged bare behind and insistently questioned her chastised guest.

“Will you please explain yourself to me now?” she demanded.

“Wh-What do yuh-you want to know?” His body was still shuddering intermittently.

“Why you've refused to even try to be friends with me, Colin,” she reiterated patiently, “Just enlighten me on that.”

“Wh-What if I duh-desired something th-that's… well, m-more than fr-friendship?” His voice quavered quietly.

“That could eventually happen,” Bethany postulated, “But it would have to start out with us getting to know each other. If you felt a kind of… personal attraction… then why the hell wouldn't you want to be nice to me?”

Colin's whole body trembled as the truth burst out…

“Because you're extremely attractive, and personable, and sweet, and intelligent…”

“That makes you NOT want to associate with me?” Puzzlement filled the young woman's expression as her brows knitted together.

“That puts you out of my league,” he stated bitterly, “Way out of it.”

Realization burst onto her awareness, making Bethany feel sympathy and regret—but also annoyance at unnecessary pain and wasted time.

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” she said bluntly, “But don't I get any input on this, Colin? Are you assuming that I'm so conceited and stuck on myself that I wouldn't have an open mind about you? What have I done to give you that impression of me?”

“You can have any guy you want,” her still-upended captive asserted flatly.

“Not if I might want you, apparently.” She lifted the punitive plastic Glow-Gazer while encircling her victim's trim waist with her left arm. “I'm going to give your bare buns another dozen swats with this nasty buttwhacker, to remind you not to make unfounded assumptions.” Colin shivered convulsively, closing his eyes tightly, and his chastiser relented somewhat. “Well, another half-dozen stingers—then I'll ask you a serious question, and if you give me an honest answer I'll stop at those six.”

“I'll try, Bethany.” He inhaled sharply, feeling her body tensing to strike.

“You'd better, young man.” Bethany once again forcefully swung the lexan paddle at his quivering naked buttcheeks, targeting each in turn—CRACK!! SMACK!!—left followed by right…

The half-dozen strokes were rapidly applied to his exposed asscheeks over a fifteen-second period, yet they were fiercely fiery enough to bring Colin to blubbering tears once more; his girlish punisher allowed him half a minute to regain a semblance of self-control before posing her query.

“Here's my question, Colin…” She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. “Why is it that every obnoxious, peabrained Neanderthal I've ever met thinks that he's God's gift to womankind, but a smart, sensitive guy like you is too intimidated to even smile at me?”

“Uhhhh…” He fruitlessly searched his mind for a logical answer. “I honestly just don't know, Bethany.”

“Thank you, Colin.” She tossed the transparent paddle onto the coffee table. “That was a truthful answer.”

“Now let's get up.” Bethany helped him rise, then stood up herself and motioned toward the full-sized couch. “Lie down on your stomach, please; I have a couple more items to apply to those glowing glutes.”

Colin's eyes were imploring. “No more, Bethany…”

“A little ice and some lotion, silly.” She playfully touseled his curly black hair. “Just relax, okay?”

Shortly following, lying prone on the couch, he gasped sharply as the slick frigidity kissed his flaming-hot posterior.

“Kind of a shock, huh?” Nurse Bethany grinned at her patient's reaction as she gently slid the rapidly-melting ice cube all over his soundly-spanked bottom. “But I'll bet it's feeling pretty good now, and it should help reduce any swelling.”

“It feels nice and cool…” He sighed in relief, refraining from mentioning that he also appreciated the touch of her compassionate hand.

Gingerly rubbing aloe cream onto Colin's sore seat shortly afterward, she teasingly addressed that issue herself. “I know you're enjoying this—and it's more than the lotion.” His caring comforter made a suggestion. “Why don't we walk back to the club for lunch, my treat?”

He snorted. “Return to the scene of my love-match disgrace?”

“You weren't disgraced,” she insisted, “Plus if we're seen eating together it will look like no big deal, just a friendly match—and our bet was private.” She smiled slyly. “Besides, the clubhouse has soft padded chairs.”

Colin hesitated. “I'm not sure…”

Bethany rose from her seated position. “Make up your mind, then you can get cleaned up.” She watched him slide to his feet and pull up his tennis shorts, then addressed him solemnly. “This can be our opportunity to become friends, Colin, or you can go back to snubbing me—but now I'll also be ignoring you.”

He nodded pensively. “Actually, getting my butt walloped, both figuratively and literally, seems to have stimulated my appetite.”

“Assuming that's an oblique male way of saying yes, there's one condition.” The pretty brunette pointed at Colin. “You have to talk to me and smile occasionally, at least pretend that you like me.”

“I won't have to pretend,” he told her earnestly.

Her face brightened, eyes sparkling at the compliment. “That's sweet of you to say, Colin; it deserves a reward.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, leaving him pleasantly startled. “See what can happen when you're nice to a girl?”

Minutes later, walking down the sidewalk, Colin touched his right hand to Bethany's left. “May I hold your hand?”

“I was hoping you'd ask.” She slipped her hand into his. “If we do become personally close, I hope that I won't have to discipline you that severely very often, Colin.”

He grasped her implication but voiced no objection. “I'd always try to behave for you, Bethany.” She responded by giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

“You can call me Beth…”