Most of those who knew Cheyenne would have described her as something akin to an angel.  Long blonde hair curling around an oval face with translucent skin and the deepest of blue eyes.  She was the quiet type — sweet and gentle, but introspective, the kind of woman who kept her deepest thoughts hidden behind a playful smile.  Her fellow teachers thought she was wonderful.  They were amazed at how easily she could control a class­room full of rowdy fourth graders without ever raising her voice.  Even her family mem­bers — parents, siblings, aunts and uncles — thought of Cheyenne as the most unassertive member of the clan; she was the one who took everything in stride, always the voice of reason.

      It would have been incomprehensible for any of these people to be­lieve that every weekend, the seemingly conservative, almost timid Cheyenne they knew, could be found dressed in the skimpiest of leather outfits surrounded by a group of her closest women friends, who came together to enact spanking scenarios for their mutual ful­fillment and pleasure. 

      What would have been most surprising to Cheyenne's family, friends, and co-workers however, was that in this roomful of mostly switchable and submissive ladies, Cheyenne was the dominant-in-charge.  All or­ders were given by her and followed by the others; when a bottom was bared, it was Mistress Chey who decided the methodology and degree of punishment given.  It was she who always served up the first punish­ing blows, and usually the last as well.

      Cheyenne had determined at an early age she would keep her two worlds separate and apart.  It was her sophomore year at college when she fell in love with a boy only slightly older.  Their relationship seemed to be developing nicely, but Cheyenne, inexperienced as she was, knew something was not quite right.  On the anniversary of their first month to­gether, she planned a romantic evening; dinner, a movie, and back to Tommy's apartment for what she hoped would be a rousing finale to the evening.

      Unfortunately, when they got back to his apartment, Tommy's moves were a little half­hearted.  Worried she might have done something to put Tommy off, Chey asked him to tell her what she had done wrong.  Taking both her hands in his, Tommy began the expla­nation that was to change Chey's life.  He told her she hadn't done anything wrong, that she was, in fact, the most special person he'd ever met.  The problem was, he had a secret that filled his every waking thought.  It was a passion that permeated and defined his sexual being.  He was afraid to share it with her however, for fear of how she might react.

      "Well," she responded, "how will we know unless you tell me?"

      Cheyenne had never seen Tommy look at her as cautiously, yet hope­fully as he did at that minute.  Ever so slowly, he began to tell her of his lifelong obsession with spanking.  He recounted childhood memo­ries of over-the-knee spankings by his parents and the effect they'd had on him.  He told her of his first disastrous attempt to engage a high school girl­friend in a spanking scenario and the quick demise thereafter of that relationship.

      He then surprised her by reaching under his bed, bringing out a box filled with maga­zines, each one dealing with spanking and related topics.  He showed her pictures of women in various states of undress, their backsides perched high over the knees of stern-looking men.  In picture after picture, hands, paddles and hairbrushes crashed down on the helpless rear ends of a bevy of women and young girls.  Beautifully rounded tushies, eroti­cally angled, turned beet red while the men in the pic­tures spanked on with determination.

      Tommy waited expectantly for Cheyenne's reaction.  Chey herself didn't know what to do or think.  This was absolutely out of her league.  She had always believed spanking was a form of brutality, something untrained and unthinking adults did to assert their superiority over helpless children.  It was abusive.  There was nothing exciting or sexual about a spanking.  There must be something seriously wrong with Tommy. 

      And yet.

      She loved him.  And he had demonstrated time and again over the past month what a kind, devoted and thoughtful person he was.  If this was what Tommy wanted, maybe she should try.  Slowly, never taking her eyes off him, Cheyenne stood up, raised her skirt, and placed herself over her boyfriend's lap.  Tommy was clearly taken aback.  With hands trembling, he tentatively reached under the waistband of Chey's skimpy panties bringing them to her knees.  For a moment he just stared at the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen; the long smoothly muscled legs giving way to a most inviting rounded target.  His first spank was light, more like a caress.  But as Tommy gave in to his desires, the spanks be­came harder and harder.

      It didn't take long for Chey to feel the heat rising on her quickly reddening flesh.  Although the pain wasn't overwhelming, it triggered memories of brutal whippings she had received as a child.  Quickly Cheyenne demanded that Tommy stop and let her up.  Just as she had thought at the start, this wasn't about excitement or pleasure, but pain.

      Tommy, at first suffused with passion, was now dev­astated.  Quietly and without looking at each other they removed their clothes, tumbling into bed and a troubled sleep.

      Cheyenne woke early the next morning, having slept fitfully.  Leaving Tommy asleep in bed, she made her way to the kitchen where she pre­pared the morning coffee she could­n't function without.  Sipping slowly, she thought about all that had occurred the previous night.  While there was no question she had not enjoyed the pain of being spanked, Chey had to admit to herself a curiosity had been awakened.  Quietly she pulled the box of mag­azines out of the bedroom, placing it in front of the living room sofa.  Reaching in, she pulled a magazine from the bottom of the box.

      As she looked at the picture on the cover, something in Cheyenne snapped.  She felt herself start to flush, her breath came in short gasps, and unconsciously she began to rub her panty-covered mound.  As she sank into the sofa, Chey stared transfixed at the pic­ture on the cover.  Unlike the magazines Tommy had shown her last night, this magazine cover featured a determined looking woman, seated on a stool.  Laying over the one knee she had propped out dangled the form of a young male.  In her hand, which was poised high over the male's already ripe ass, was a large wooden hairbrush.

      Cheyenne thought she might pass out as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.  This was like nothing she'd ever experienced.  When she finally calmed down she tore through the magazine in her hands.  She read story after story, each one dealing with a form of fe­male domination.  Woman spanked men; women spanked other women.  But always, in every story, there was a woman who took command, who exercised her will, which others meekly obeyed.

      When Tommy woke, he was surprised to see Cheyenne seated across the room, eyeing him carefully.  She had showered and was dressed in a pair of high-cut bikini panties and a cut-off t-shirt.  The intensity of the look on her face was filled with something Tommy had never seen in Cheyenne before; dressed as skimpily as she was, there was something commanding and powerful about her. 

      Chey greeted him curtly and without preamble, asked him why the magazines he had shown her the previous evening, only featured stories and artwork which depicted women receiving discipline at the hands of males.  Tommy stam­mered out a lame explanation but Chey wasn't having it.  "Thomas," she said to him slowly but steadily, "last night you spanked me.  Now I'm going to return the favor.  You're going to do exactly as I tell you, now and in the future.  I want you to get out of that bed immediately and place yourself over my knees.  I'm going to spank you long and hard.  I will use my hand and whatever else I feel like using.  If you find it hurts, too bad, I'm in charge.  If you disobey me in any way, I will tie you face down on the bed, and whip your ass raw with your own belt.  Do you understand?"

      Numb with shock, Tommy nodded.  Zombie-like he got out of bed, walked over to Chey and placed his naked body over her shapely legs.  "I'm so glad we understand each other," she purred smoothly.  With that, she raised her hand high, and brought it down re­soundingly over the meatiest part of his firm buns.  He jumped as Chey's hand print quickly appeared.  The feeling of raw power and control sent a wave of elec­tricity through Cheyenne's body.  As her hand once more crashed on Tommy's cheeks, she realized she'd tapped into a part of herself she hadn't known existed. 

      Again and again her hand rained down on Tommy's now slightly puffy globes.  Not feeling the least tired, Cheyenne reached for the dresser, situated next to the chair.  Grabbing Tommy's plastic hair brush, she re­sumed her attack, sending a steady stream of spanks on his already well-punished cheeks, only this time with the brush.  When she fin­ished, she ordered Tommy to remain across her lap.  She asked him if he had deserved his chastisement to which he assented.  She then asked if he would continue to obey her every command.  Caving completely, Tommy said he would. 

      At that moment Cheyenne realized she had come to a crossroads in her life, one from   which she would never turn back.

Part Two

      Three years later, Tommy was a treasured memory.  Cheyenne, now in her first year as an elementary school teacher, was careful to keep her private life just that.  She went about her business with quiet con­fidence, winning friends and quickly gaining the respect of her fellow staff members.  While there hadn't been a lot of men since Tommy, each relation­ship Chey had entered into was one in which she was the domi­nant partner. 

      To maintain the figure she was justly proud of, Cheyenne had begun to take a women's dance class on Saturday mornings.  The classes were taught by a beautiful young woman named Samantha.  Two years Cheyenne's junior, Samantha was already an accomplished professional dancer.  Tall, thin and graceful, with a mane of frizzy light brown hair, she had an open smile and a playful streak.  One day she decided to teach the class a more complicated routine than usual.  It was based on the choreography of the late Bob Fosse, who, Sam told the class, was the most sexual choreographer the Broadway stage had ever produced.

      Waiting her turn to dance, Chey found herself intently watching the girls in the first group perform the complicated moves.  Sam had not exaggerated her comments about Fosse's choreography.  Chey found herself desperately trying to appear as if she was con­cen­trating on the technique instead of the sight of seven women's backsides rotating slowly back and forth within mere inches of her trembling body.  For the first time, she pon­dered what it might be like to spank another woman.  At first she was troubled by the thought.  She had always believed herself to be com­pletely heterosexual, interested only in men.  But the sight of these tightly-rounded dancer's rears, undulating in the most suggestive of man­ners, was too much for her.  Cheyenne began to imagine what each of them might look like naked and stretched across her thighs, their rounded and well-muscled buttocks at just the right angle.  She could almost hear the sound of her hand crashing over and over against these shapely femi­nine cheeks.  Squeezing her legs together, she was attempting to prevent herself from groaning out loud, when Samantha's call startled her back to reality.

      Wiping the sweat from her brow, Chey almost unconsciously found herself in line, performing the moves, which only seconds ago had brought her to a fevered pitch.  So deeply on automatic pilot was she, Chey completely missed Sam's appraising glance and quick smile as she turned forward to lead the group.

      Afterward, Chey found herself deep in thought about the meaning of the past few min­utes as she dressed for the street.  She was still oblivious to anything beyond her immediate thoughts when Sam ambled over, dance bag jauntily over her shoulder, and mentioned that she and several other members of the class were going for coffee and would Chey like to come.  Still in a haze, she followed the perky dancer, glad for the interruption.  Dazed as she was, Chey couldn't help but notice Sam's ass, clad as it was in nothing more than a very short skirt over her tight dancer's attire, swaying back and forth even more than nor­mal.  From her vantage point, she couldn't see the knowing smile playing across the lovely dancer's face.

      Over coffee, the talk turned, as it often did, to sex — each woman taking their turn em­bellishing horror tales about various boyfriends and husbands.  Chey remained quietly on the sidelines, smiling softly at each tale.  Samantha, seated across from Chey, also re­mained mostly quiet, breaking out with a hearty laugh whenever she found a particular de­tail amusing.

      As the afternoon wore on and the group began to break up, Sam casually leaned over and asked Chey if she'd like to come up to her apartment, which was nearby.  Some in­stinct that had lain dormant in Chey most of her life snapped to attention at the invitation.  Her brain was doing double time trying to assess the situation as she distantly heard herself ac­cepting. 

      A scant five minutes later, they were sitting on Sam's living room sofa, wine glasses in hand, talking like girlfriends who'd known each other for years.  They discussed their ca­reers, childhoods, the class.  When it came to things of a more personal and intimate na­ture, however, Chey held back more than the most cursory of details.  Samantha, on the other hand, was an open book.  With great good humor she detailed a world of sexual ex­ploits with men and women, which, had it not been for the lightness of her delivery, would have intimidated the obviously less-experienced Cheyenne.

      Instead, Chey found herself intrigued by the seeming contradictions of this beauty.  A boisterous and adventurous spirit encased in a flawless body who, at the same time, also came across as the epitome of gentle femininity.  Seizing the moment, Sam asked if Chey had enjoyed the Fosse choreography in class that day.  She laughed as Chey almost stam­mered out a positive response.

      "I thought you might have," she giggled as she made her way to a cabinet under the television.  "If you liked what we did in class, tell me what you think of this."  Removing a video from its sleeve, she slipped it in the VCR and fast forwarded.  "This is from the film version of Cabaret.  Fosse won every award imaginable that year.  It's my favorite piece of his choreography.  Tell me what you think."

      As the song began, a line of garishly-made-up dancers in skimpy apparel were lying across a series of straight-backed chairs.  Their oval butts perched high in the air, they slowly bounced up and down over the center of the chairs.  Each time their backsides went down, their flat hands slapped the floors in front of them.  The mixed look of pain and pleasure on their faces was hypnotic.  Chey sat mesmerized as she watched the perfectly chore­ographed, simulated spanking.  She felt the heat rising to her face with every slap to the floor.  It was with great effort that she turned toward Sam, only to find the dancer al­ready watching her intently.

      "I want you to do that to me," Sam said huskily.  "Would you like that?"

      No longer in control of herself, Chey simply nodded in the affirmative.  Sam reached toward Cheyenne and, almost shyly, gently kissed her mouth.  Chey found herself re­sponding with a passion and fervor that overwhelmed and surprised her.  Slowly, Sam rose, took Chey by the hand, and led her back to the bedroom.  As Chey sat on the queen-size bed, Sam opened her closet and removed several items which she handed her seated lover.

      "I think they'll fit," she said.  "If you want, try them on in the bathroom while I find something for myself."  Chey took the outfit from the outstretched hands, and made her way, as best she could, to the bathroom.  Five minutes later, she found herself staring at a stranger in the mirror who was very much herself.  Her light skin and blonde curls stood out against the black leather bustiere that fitted tightly around her waist and pushed her breasts to their firmest and fullest potential.  Chey enjoyed the feel of the leather g-string.  Something about the outfit made her feel a sense of power within herself she had not achieved in her years of prior dominance.  She was the goddess, powerful and in control. 

      With a confidence she couldn't have imagined feeling only moments before, she opened the door and walked back into the bedroom.  Standing before her was a vision that almost made her catch her breath.  For her coming chastisement, Sam had chosen an outfit that consisted of a black leather halter, matching micro mini skirt, black pantyhose and thigh-high boots.  On the bed, Sam had placed an assortment of implements including a paddle, hairbrush, cat 'o nine tails, and a latex vibrator. 

      Whatever inhibitions had remained in Chey deserted her forever.  Now ready to take charge, she gently took Sam by the hand, and pulled her to the edge of the bed.  Sitting, she slowly pulled Sam down over her lap.  Chey took her time adjusting the muscular beauty to just the right position.  She wanted to savor every moment of this experience.  In final preparation, she began rubbing the leather material that covered the perfect mounds which would soon be exposed for both their pleasure.

      Slowly Cheyenne raised her right hand high, and brought it down with a resounding crash on Sam's rock hard buttocks.  Sam's legs bucked and her back arched, as again Chey's hand descended sharply against her rear.  Then they came without warning, spank after spank slapping against her leather-covered flesh.  Light groans began to escape Sam's lips as Chey spanked on without letup.  After what seemed an hour, but was probably closer to five minutes, Chey stopped her blistering attack.  Slowly she pulled Sam's skirt up, reveal­ing to her eyes for the first time, the most magnificent cheeks she'd ever had the pleasure to spank, now protected by nothing more than the almost opaque pantyhose. 

      As Sam uttered a less than half-hearted "no," Chey reached under the band of the pantyhose, pulling them down the dancer's solid legs, past her knees.  Chey's breath caught as she looked at the smooth white skin, now turned red.  She rubbed and grabbed at the burning cheeks, only to find the evidence of her victim's level of excitement running down her inner thighs.  In response to her own mounting excitement, Chey began another stream of blistering spanks, only this time to Sam's completely naked bottom.  The sound of each smack echoed like a rifle shot.  Chey interrupted the action only momentarily as she picked up the paddle.  Resuming the attack, she blistered Sam's bright red cheeks. 

      With every crack of the paddle, Sam leapt forward on Chey's lap, only to be pulled back into position for the next.  Arching her back even further, Sam raised her hips, plac­ing her ass closer, inviting more from the punishing implement.  As her excitement mounted, Sam began to rock herself on Chey's knees.  Totally aware of what Sam was feeling, Chey stopped suddenly and pushed Sam off her lap.  Picking her off the floor, Chey ordered Sam to kneel on the bed, with her head down and her flaming tush held high.  As the submissive girl did as she was told, Chey picked up the cat 'o nine, snapping it in the air several times.  She stood for a moment, transfixed by the sight of Sam's perfect globes, now bright red and stretched to their roundest and most inviting position.  Chey could see the effect her punishment had had on Sam's petal-like lips, swollen and lubricat­ing freely. 

      Her own excitement mounting to a level she'd never before felt, Chey brought the cat snapping down onto Sam's waiting cheeks.  Again and again the cat bit into the dancer's tender flesh.  The moans now escaping Sam's lips left no question as to what she was feeling.  Reaching down, Chey picked the vibrator off the bed, turned it on, and began to work it into the now bucking Samantha.  Leaving the vibrator tightly in place, Chey once more brought the cat slashing against Sam's outstretched target.  When she sensed Sam was about to explode, Chey stopped her punishment and removed the vibrator from Sam's sopping wet lips.  The tortured groan which escaped Sam's lips was music to Chey's ears.  She was in control and Sam wouldn't come without her permission.

      Sitting on the edge of the bed again, Chey pulled Sam across her lap, although this time in a reverse position.  With Sam's butt once more perched high, Chey grabbed the hair brush and began pummeling the poor girl's swollen and purpling tush.  As Sam bucked with each new blow, she almost flew off her mistress's lap.  Chey, holding on to her with a grip of iron, now began to work first two, then four fingers into Sam's sopping wet  hole.  As her fingers plunged in and out, her right hand brought the brush crashing time after time against Sam's well-beaten cheeks.  As Sam furiously ground herself into Chey's mound, the beautiful dominatrix found her own excitement building to its own inevitable climax. 

      With a final searing blow, both women came, simultaneously, wave after wave of plea­sure washing over and through them.  Ever so slowly they crawled onto the bed and re­moved the rest of their clothing.  Lying together, they kissed with a tender and gentle pas­sion.  Chey, putting her arms around Sam, cupped her cheeks, feeling the burning heat she was responsible for.  As Sam nuzzled her neck, Chey knew that once again she had come to a crossroads, and once more there would be no turning back.      

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

© 2006 Jonathan Marten