My girlfriend picked Fort Lauderdale for our yearly vacation without giving me the reason why. Maybe it was just memories of college and spring break, I’d thought. We were both only three years out from graduation, after all. Then, too, Celia had a couple of girlfriends in South Florida. Anyway, once the decision was made we had our bags packed in no time and were soon digging all the sunshine. It was quite a change from Seattle, where we live. Instead of what felt like constant drizzle and gloomy hipsters, the streets were full of young people in swimwear, partying their brains out. We checked into our hotel and immediately joined them.

After a relaxing afternoon strolling around the beachside walk and checking out the various eateries and bars, we decided we were ready for an early supper. I was OK in my shirt and shorts, but Celia wanted to change out of her swimsuit into something a bit more appropriate, so we arranged to meet at a seafood place we’d seen.

Before we parted, she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Be good,” she said. I heard the smile in her voice, but also a steely note of command.

Celia is quite lovely, tall and willowy with long blonde hair. She looks a bit like a nymph from an old painting, but her personality is a bit more … complex. As soon as we began dating, we explored different forms of kinky sex. Originally it was my idea, but Celia took to it immediately, and it became evident very quickly that she was the dominant in our relationship.

I knew her telling me to “be good” was the start of one her games.

I sauntered into the restaurant and checked out the bar. A group of 20-something girls were clustered at one end, laughing and chatting. I sat down near them and ordered a beer.

After a few minutes, my phone chirped in my pocket. Celia had sent me a text: “Remember to be good.”

A moment or two later, another came through: “You know what will happen if you’re bad.”

A snapshot followed immediately, showing — let’s not beat around the bush — a guy’s naked ass. I recognized it as my own, just as I recognized the healthy reddish blush in the cheeks as having originated from Celia’s punishing hand. The photo was from a session we’d enjoyed at home, when I had indeed been “bad.” Just to be clear, being “bad” in Celia’s mind, meant me being caught flirting.

Remembering the session brought a matching flush of red to my face and created a definite stiffness in my shorts. I hurriedly texted Celia back, assuring her I would “be good.”

I waited for her reply, sipping my beer in a state of delicious anticipation. No reply came, which I knew probably meant she was on her way to join me. After a few more minutes, one of the girls at the bar dropped her phone, and I quickly bent down to retrieve it for her. Though I — and certainly the girl — didn’t realize it, the timing was perfect. Well, perfect for getting me into trouble. Because just as I was handing the phone back to her with a smile, I heard someone behind me say in a tone of voice that could have frozen boiling water: “What’s this?”

It was, of course, Celia, resplendent in a brightly colored dress and flat sandals. She wasn’t clothed like a dominant goddess, but the way she stood — hands on hips, lips pursed and blue eyes glaring — radiated power.

“Just helping the lady with her phone, honey,” I said.

“Really?” Celia said coolly, glancing at the girls at the bar. The one who’d dropped her phone met my wife’s eyes and gave her a long, speculative look before flashing me a quick grin and turning back to her friends.

Celia turned her eyes on me and said, “I think if this is the way you’re going to behave, I’d better get you home.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and led me out the door. She had spoken just loud enough to be heard by the girls, and they giggled as I obediently followed Celia with my eyes downcast.

Once we were back on the street, Celia told me in no uncertain terms how bad I’d been and what she was going to do to me when we got back to the hotel. By now the streets were filling up with partiers, and between the loud chatter and the sounds of passing cars, no one but me could hear her. That didn’t really matter, though, because she made it very apparent what kind of relationship we had.

As we drew up to a crowded intersection, she said, “Stand there. Right there, and don’t you dare move!”

With that she raised her leg behind her and slipped off her sandal. Then — with me standing obediently still, of course — she proceeded to give me three hearty whacks with the flat of the shoe.

That kind of public play has always been a turn-on for both of us. A number of people in the crowd laughed like hell at the sight of me, a grown man, getting spanked in public. I managed to keep silent and look properly contrite, which of course only amused them more. Nearby women seemed to find it particularly amusing, and I had to wonder if their boyfriends might get a sharp surprise one day.

But back at the hotel, I got a surprise of my own. The lights were on in our suite, and a tall, attractive Asian woman had made herself comfortable on the mattress and was pecking away at her smart phone. She climbed off the bed to greet Celia with hug.

I knew who she was, of course. It was Celia’s friend — and fellow dominant — Darla. Like Celia, she was dressed more for dinner out than a dungeon. But like my girlfriend, she exuded confidence and cool female strength.

“And how’s this one been doing?” Darla asked, nodding briefly at me.

Celia rolled her eyes.

“Need you ask? He’s been bad again. Caught him flirting with girls at the bar.”

Darla frowned and said, “That’ll never do. Have you disciplined him?”

Celia slipped a foot from her sandal and patted it meaningfully with her toes as she answered, “Right there on the street. But I doubt it made any impact. I’m starting to think he enjoys it.”

“Give him to me,” Darla urged. “You know I know how to handle piggy subs.”

And that was all there was to it. Celia had granted spanking rights to her friend with no more than a smile and nod. She sat down in a corner to relax while Darla started “handling” me.

“Strip,” Darla said with her hands on her hips. She watched with a critical eye as I removed my clothes.

“You’ve let him put on weight since the last time I saw you guys,” she told Celia. I blushed while she circled me, occasionally reaching out to run an appraising hand over my balls and ass. My dick got hard fairly quickly under her touch; I couldn’t help it. Of all Celia’s friends, Darla was the one I’d not-so-secretly lusted after. I felt Celia’s eyes on me, gloating as my arousal became evident. For these women, a hard cock was nothing but a signal of male pride and vanity. I was their property — at least in this fantasy we were enacting.

Finally, Darla seated herself on the bed, patting her lap.

“Get over here, bad boy. You should know the drill by now.”

I did. I went over with hands clasped at the small of my back and arranged myself over Darla’s lap — or tried to. My erection made it a little difficult. I was trying to obey her while keeping a respectful distance between her person and my junk, but it wasn’t happening. I got my first swat from her hand, a loud crack against my buttocks that made me flinch noticeably.

“Don’t worry about that little thing,” she said of my dick. “I barely noticed it.”

Three sharp blows followed, each one an open-handed smack. It wasn’t the kind of play-spanking some dommes engage in; her swats really hurt. The glow of hot pain in my ass cheeks, combined with the friction of my hard dick against Darla’s silky skirt also raised my arousal to a near fever pitch. I was terrified I might shoot off by accident.

“Men are such babies,” Darla purred, caressing my hurting butt. Then, without warning, the spanking began again.

“Be good!” Darla cried. Her hand was powering into my ass like it was motorized, slapping again and again.

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yes!”

“Are you going to chat up sluts in bars?”

“Y — I mean, no! No, Mistress!” My head was spinning with excitement. I felt my reddened cheeks twitching, not just with pain, but with the need to thrust — to bury my cock somewhere warm and wet.

“Damned straight, you’re not,” Darla growled. With that she stood up, unceremoniously dumping my nakedness to the floor. Then she picked up her purse and left, lifting a hand to Celia in a “call me” gesture. A moment later she was gone, and Celia’s bare feet were inches away from my face.

“Come on,” Celia said, prodding me with her toes. “If you think you’re going to sneak off into the john and jack off that hard cock without giving me any, you’ve got another thing coming.”

And that was that. Pretty soon I was on top of Celia in bed, grinding my hard dick into her hungry pussy. She had been as much affected by my spanking as I had, apparently. Every now and then as we fucked, when she thought I was slowing down, she would reach up and grab my ass, digging her long nails into my abused cheeks. The resulting shock of pain would drive me into a fresh round of thrusts, and Celia received my cock with growls of satisfaction.

It was quite an evening — and that was only the first night of our vacation! The next morning I overheard Celia on the phone with Darla, arranging another get-together that evening. Suffice it to say I knew my obedience to Celia and her fellow mistresses was going to be put to a severe test. But I slipped away before Celia started in on the really nasty details. Because if she caught me spying on her … well, I might get a spanking.