....  "I will call your parents.  I will tell them that on the very first morning that they've been away, their son is refusing to respect my authority and purposely ignoring my specific requests."

I stared at her in astonishment.  I couldn't even remember the last time I was in trouble with my parents, disappointing them in some way, or giving them any reason at all to question my ability to act like the young adult that I was.  I definitely didn't want to be responsible for ruining their vacation.  Especially on Day One.

I looked at Miss Nancy's lap, her black slacks, and plain black flats.  She was so dead-serious that I was shocked by how effective her intimidation actually was on me.  That was the one moment when I could've stood up to her, really stood up to her, and found out just what would happen if I refused to obey her.  But, for some reason, I couldn't make myself do it.

I walked over, knelt down on the floor next to her, then leaned over her lap.  My grownup ass was pointed up at the ceiling; my well-worn sweatpants suddenly feeling very thin and unprotective.  I felt terribly uncomfortable with the physical contact: my t-shirt-covered chest lying flat against this woman's thighs.  She was my adversary, the adult with a certain amount of power over me that my parents granted her.  She was still a stranger, a mostly anonymous woman, that I was actually touching with so much of my body.

It was so alien.  It felt so inappropriate. 

I could hear her breathing over me, her thighs shifting under me to position me just as she wanted.  Her chest—her breasts—were just above me.  It took the most awkward maneuvering to even lay down over her lap without bumping into them.

When I felt her palm lay flat over my ass cheek, I flinched.  It was so incredibly intimate.  Just so not right.  This stranger, this woman, was touching me.

Suddenly, I was all too aware of just how close my crotch was to this woman's thigh.  Inches.  No, centimeters.

My mind wrestled, my brain hurt, trying to get the slightest hint of a sexual thought out of my head right away.  Immediately.  My sanity demanded it.  I could not cope with the whole thing if, somehow, my teenage hormones worked their way into the situation and mingled with the outright embarrassment and total awkwardness.  And the humiliation.  No, no, no, no, no.  No!

Her hand—her female hand—slid over my ass, teasing one cheek, then the next as if she was trying to determine how to best apply this ancient form of punishment.  Did she want to hurt me?  No, I thought, it couldn't possibly hurt.  She didn't have that kind of authority, my parents wouldn't stand for it, she'd be in so much trouble.  And she was a girl after all.  She wasn't strong enough.  Or gutsy enough.  And the whole thing was just illogical.

Then, the whack came. 

I felt her hand lift, our only physical contact my chest over her thighs, and I didn't dare say a word.  I wanted to ask a million questions, stall her, make her question her own motives.  I thought none of it could actually be real, not really be happening to me.

All while my groin was pressed to the side of her thigh. 

Before I felt her hand make contact with my ass in one quick motion, nothing was as embarrassing—as nerve-wracking—as the conflict in mind between the sensuality of my pose and our physical intimacy and the fact that this woman wanted to punish me, wasn't happy with me, possibly wanted to hurt me.

Would it hurt?

Thwaack!

Yes, it did.

Miss Nancy's hand came in contact with my ass at a rate I never expected, at a moment I never expected.  I couldn't have expected anything; I'd never been spanked before in my life.

We were in total silence, aside from the thumping sound of her forceful palm meeting the thinly worn sweatpants covering my ass.  Each time, my body was shoved forward: partly due to the strength of her strokes, partly due to my body's automatic reaction to the sensation.  Each time, my groin was pressed against Miss Nancy's thigh.

Thwaack!  Pain and pleasure mingled.  A teasing of my groin, my upper thighs forced against this woman's, and the slick sting of her hand on my ass on the opposite side of my body.

I didn't know how long she was going to spank me, how many times.  I just tried, through all of my shock and surprise, to not utter one single grunt or groan admitting the pain I was in.  Or what my state of mind was.

Five spanks were issued.  Five times that woman's hand met my ass in a completely inappropriate way.  I could barely hold back the tears threatening to show my true emotions.  I was embarrassed as hell.

I started to move away, slide myself off her lap, but her arm wrapped around my back instantly, holding me in place.

She was just a small woman; I could've pulled myself away.  But there was something in the situation, in the dynamic that was occurring in that guest bedroom of my own home, that signaled me to stay.  I wondered if that was what it meant to be "submissive."

She stopped finally, after ten or so meetings between her hand and my ass.  I waited, unmoving.

"There," she said, breaking our verbal silence and in an unexpectedly calm and feminine tone.  "I don't expect to have to do that again."  She had to add, "you may stand up now."  I wasn't going to move until she told me to.

I couldn't look at her.  I stood there, waiting for her next instructions, as she stood as well and straightened her slacks.  I was shocked by her relaxed movements, of her entire impression of not really being affected by what just took place.  To her, it was just like telling me to eat all of my dinner.  Nothing more, nothing less.  That frightened me the most.

For all my former confidence and rebellious thoughts, I realized I didn't really understand that woman at all.  I couldn't know what this new female in the house would do or say or think.  I couldn't predict any of it.  ....