A cold oven leads to a toasty-hot bottom when this careless caterer is taught a lesson in proper preparation.

It was the worst possible thing to have happen. I reached in my hand to make sure the oven was heating up, only to discover that the interior was stone-cold. I’d never cooked in this kitchen before, and panic settled over me in an icy wave. Five apple pies sat innocently on the countertop, waiting to be baked for the rehearsal dinner. Now, I had no oven to cook in. I didn’t want to freak out the bride. I’d offered to cater the event as a gift. The hall supposedly had come with a working oven — and now I was out of luck. When Mark — a local artist who I’d known for years — walked through the kitchen, he must have seen the look of horror on my face. His first words were, “How can I help?”

I told him the problem. The rest of the food was fine. Salads all prepared, salmon grilling on the barbecue.

“We’ve got time,” he said. “Let’s just bring the pies to my house.” I looked at him with relief. He lived right across the road from the hall where the event was being held.

Once I’d given instructions to the rest of my staff, Mark and I carried the pies to his place. While the oven preheated, Mark reached for a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet and poured us each a shot. “You’re doing fabulous, Maya,” he said. “Nobody will know. Your staff can handle serving the food. You can relax.”

The whiskey helped. As soon as the oven reached the proper temperature, I slid in the pies. Then Mark said something unexpected. “You probably ought to have checked the oven ahead of time.”

I looked at him, surprised. He sounded almost as if he were scolding me. “I usually do,” I said, trying to keep my tone of voice even. “But I forgot today.”

“Maybe you need a lesson over my lap so you’ll remember in the future.”

I went totally still. Mark and I were friends, but we’d never fucked. And now, if I had heard him correctly, he was offering me a spanking. I felt my cheeks go hot and my pussy go wet. All thoughts of the catering gig disappeared from my head. I wanted to look at the floor, out the window, anywhere other than at Mark. But somehow I found myself captivated. I worried my lower lip between my teeth and stared straight into his deep green eyes.

Mark stroked his thumb against his ginger goatee. “How long has it been since a man’s put you over his knee?”

I wondered what sign I’d given off that Mark had read. Because I am definitely a spanking enthusiast, and it had been a long time since I’d been draped over a man’s lap.

“Too long,” I said, watching as Mark pushed back his chair and patted his thighs. My pussy clenched at the motion. He was wearing dark gray slacks. I knew what the fabric would feel like against me. I knew how I’d look, bent over with my black skirt bunched at the waist. I also understood that if I came forward, if I did what he was suggesting, we’d be opening a new door in our relationship. Taking a breath, I walked toward him.

In seconds, I was over his thighs with my hands flat on the polished wood floor. Nothing happened for several dramatic seconds. I had time to close my eyes, to breathe in — taking the scent of the cinnamon-rich apple pies that were baking only feet away, and drinking in the aroma of my own heightened excitement, as well. If Mark were to touch the gusset of my panties, he would have felt for himself how turned on I was. His cock pressed up at me from below — so I knew we were definitely well matched in the arousal department.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to spank you,” Mark said. He seemed to be perfectly satisfied to sit there and admire me. I, on the other hand, was getting antsy. That’s how it always is with me before I get a spanking. I war with myself over wanting the first blow to land and worrying about how much the sting will hurt. Mark adjusted me slightly, so that one of his knees was pressing against the split of my body. I felt my pussy quake against him. I was so turned on I could hardly think.

“Have you had the same types of urges?” Mark asked.

Damn. All I wanted was to feel his hand meet my ass. “Spank me!” I wanted to yell at him. “Come on, Mark. Spank me!” Instead, I meekly admitted, “Yes, I’ve fantasized about this.” And I had. Mark is a quiet man with a great depth of reserve. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him lose his cool. In fact, the only reason I had never hit on him was because I thought he’d consider me too frivolous.

But look at how far we’d come. Mark was a commanding presence in any situation. Now, he really took charge the way I’d always dreamed. He started spanking me with his hand on my skirt so that the blows were muffled by two layers of fabric. I held my breath at first, all the familiar feelings of being punished coming back to me in a rush. I stared at the antique planks and thought, I’m at Mark’s house. I’d been here numerous times for cookouts and potlucks, but I’d never been in a situation like this. Then the voice in my head shifted, because Mark pulled up my skirt in order to land his palm against my bikini briefs.

I’m at Mark’s house, and he is spanking me on my panties.

Thank goodness I’d worn pretty panties beneath the skirt. For some reason, I’d chosen a pair of scarlet silk ones. The fabric was soft, and I wondered what Mark thought of the sensation when his hand met the briefs. I quickly had to switch my way of thinking because Mark was no longer spanking me on my panties; he was pulling my panties down and off in order to spank my bare skin.

His palm smacked against my naked ass, and I moaned.

“So you like that even better,” he said, clearly recognizing the sound of pleasure when he heard it.

“Oh, yes,” I sighed.

He began to spank me in earnest then, harder and faster, the sounds like applause in his warm kitchen. As he was spanking me, I pressed my pussy as hard as I could against his knee and rocked back and forth, trying to gain the connection I needed to come. Mark understood exactly what I was doing and chided me for my tricky behavior.

“I don’t think you’ve earned your reward quite yet,” he said, and I found myself being pushed off his lap. I stared up at him from the floor, surprised when he joined me there, pushing me onto my back and pressing his groin against me. Even through his slacks, I could feel how hard his cock was.

I closed my eyes as Mark parted his slacks and began to rub his dick up and down my pussy. “You’re so sweet and juicy,” he said, and I felt myself getting closer and closer to climax. Then he spread my pussy lips apart with his fingers and entered me with one firm thrust. My groan reverberated in the kitchen. I was transported from that first moment — that initial sensation of his cock enveloped by my pussy.

I didn’t think I could feel any sexier than that.

Then Mark said, “After this, I’m going to spank you with my favorite wooden spoon. I love the way the spoon feels in my hand, and I think you’ll appreciate the marks it will leave on your skin.”

Bam. I came like a powerhouse. There was no warning. I simply began contracting on his cock, my whole body electrified by his words. My cunt tightened over and over, and I felt limp and demolished as the climax subsided. When I opened my eyes, Mark was looking at me knowingly. He hadn’t come, and he hadn’t stopped fucking me. He simply began moving at a slower, even pace.

“I can remember the first time I thought of spanking you,” he said in a husky whisper. He pushed up on his arms and continued to thrust, meeting my eyes the whole time. “That picnic, when you wore the tie-dyed number. The one that was just a little too short, so that when you bent over to get a beer, I could see you only had that lacy lemon thong beneath.”

I remembered that dress and the thong. But I’d had no idea Mark had thought of me in this way. We’d been friends for so long. Who’d ever have guessed we’d have such a raw connection?

He was still working me, his cock hitting all those special places inside me, lighting me up. “And then there was the barbecue at the community center,” he said. And he brought his hand between us and began to very softly pat my clit. “Do you remember that?”

I couldn’t think much less talk. But Mark didn’t seem put off by my silence.

“I remember,” he said. “You had on a pleated skirt. Black-and-white edged in fringe. When you danced, the skirt fluttered all around you in a circle. All I wanted to do was take you behind one of the hay bales and spank that perky ass of yours.”

I was poised to come again. Mark pinched my clit firmly between his thumb and his pointer finger, and I climaxed with such force it was like I hadn’t come in months, much less minutes. He still hadn’t reached his finish line yet, but he pulled out, and immediately my pussy clenched around nothing. I wanted more, and I reached for him, but he had other ideas. In a flash, I realized he was ready to put the second part of his promise into action. I was less ready. The rush of endorphins from the orgasm made me a bit fuzzy thought-wise. Mark was on a mission, pulling me to my feet and then bending me over once more, except this time he folded me over his tile countertop.

As I settled myself into this new position, I really noticed how beautiful his kitchen was. He had all the highest-end accessories. I found myself admiring his taste for a moment, which allowed him to catch me by surprise when he suddenly smacked my naked ass with a wooden spoon.

I cried out, and he hesitated and then let his fingers trail between my legs. He turned my head to face him, and he spread my own juices over my lips. Then he kissed me. “So sweet,” he said. “So succulent.”

His words made my honey absolutely flow. I thought maybe we would start fucking again, but Mark had other plans. He bent me back over, and he began to use the wooden spoon to heat my ass with firm, steady strokes. I felt each one as if it were branded into my skin.

“That’s for teasing me at the picnic,” he said, and I squealed as he landed four blows in rapid succession. “And that’s for wearing that insanely short skirt when you came over for my thirtieth birthday dinner.” Again, he landed a flurry of strokes, and I closed my eyes and began to fantasize about what it would feel like when he screwed me again.

Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait. He spanked me four more times, and then he was in me once again. It was as if he couldn’t actually wait to be fucking me. What he said next let me know that I was right.

“Your next spanking is going to be extra hard,” he said. “Because you’re making it impossible for me to concentrate.”

That gave me a glorious little shiver. He was so obviously my spanking match. I could tell that he loved spanking me as much as I loved being spanked by him. He fucked me fiercely, and I found myself coming in a series of rapid, small orgasms. My pussy gripped and released his rod over and over, and Mark pulled out and shot his load all over my smarting asscheeks. He paused to rub in the semen, using the liquid like lotion to soothe my hot buns.

Then he said, “How are those pies?”

For a moment, I thought this was some sort of sex talk I hadn’t heard before. Was “pies” a code for something? Then I smelled the apple in the air once more, and I realized he was talking baking with me. I checked the pies and made an adjustment to the temperature. “We have about twenty more minutes until they’re done,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “I want to take you to the bedroom and stand you in front of the mirror so you can admire your blushing bottom.” My legs went weak at his words. I was grateful when he took me firmly by the hand and brought me down the hall with him.

I’d been in Mark’s house many times, but I’d never had a reason to enter this room before. I was surprised by the luxuriousness of the furnishings. He had a large bed against one wall, an oval rug in a rich, cornflower blue, and an ornate mirror hanging on one wall. But what most surprised me were the five paddles displayed over the headboard. Each one was hung from a bit of colored string. At first glance, the glossy painted paddles looked like some modern art display. But I knew what they were designed for.

“I figure that by the time a woman enters my bedroom, she’ll have become acquainted with my kinky side,” Mark said, and he winked at me and then pulled me in front of the mirror with my back to the glass. He raised my skirt, and I looked over my shoulder at my reflection, and my heart hammered as I saw my rosy-red behind.

“Your ass looks beautiful,” Mark said, and he stroked one hand over my hot skin. Then, as if he realized I was distracted, he let me go.

I went right to the paddles, climbing up on his mattress and reaching out to fondle the one that caught my eye. The simple, sleek design was painted a blue that matched Mark’s rug. I ran my fingertips over the shiny surface. Mark was right behind me. He grabbed the paddle off the hook and said, “You were drawn to this one right away.”

I nodded.

“So let’s see how you like it.”

My breath came faster. I wanted to feel the wood against my ass. Mark had me strip, and he positioned me on all fours on his bed. Then he undressed, as well, peeling down to his black boxers. He hefted the paddle once more, and he said, “Hold yourself still.”

I lowered my head and waited. Mark let the first blow land. The paddle made a terrifically solid sound as it connected with my derriere. I shivered with pleasure at the sensation, and Mark took my motion for what it was — acceptance. He landed a second blow, and this time, I couldn’t help myself. I said, “Oh, God. Oh, fuck.”

Mark gripped a handful of my hair and turned my face so that he could kiss me. His mouth on mine ramped my pleasure factor up another notch. When he moved behind me and kissed my smarting asscheeks, I got greedy. I brought one hand between my legs and started to touch my clit. Mark grabbed my hand away and chided me. “Not yet,” he said. “You come when I give you permission.”

I let my hand fall back to the mattress, and I raised my hips up high, letting Mark know that I was ready for another spank. He didn’t fail me. He read my body language easily, and now he began to spank me steadily. The paddle made a hiss in the air each time before it landed on my skin. I made an echoing hiss of air rushing between my teeth as I processed every blow.

I felt as if he was giving me a smack for every time he’d wanted to spank me over the past five years. My bottom was so hot when he set the paddle down. He kissed me there again, covering my asscheeks with his smooches. Then he lost his boxers, got behind me, and pressed his erection to my dripping pussy. “Look at that,” he observed in a wry tone. “Spanking you makes me as hard as it gets you wet.”

He entered me, and I pressed back against him. Then he started to fuck me, and as he did, he told me to look up at the paddles still hanging on the wall in front of me. “After the party, you can choose your next favorite color,” he said.

I gazed at the row of disciplinary devices on display. Each one was wickedly beautiful in its own way. There was a frat-style paddle painted a shiny emerald. Next to that was a black paddle drilled with holes. After that was one that had been painted silver. I tried to imagine what each implement would feel like as it connected with my ass. Then Mark said, “I want us to come together this time.” To make that wish come true, he let one hand wander between my legs to stimulate my clit as he continued to fuck me. With his free hand, he rained light blows on my still smarting asscheeks, simply reawakening the pleasurable sensation with his fingers on my feverish skin.

“Come with me, Maya,” Mark demanded, and he stroked my clit with his thumb and rammed his cock in hard. I felt myself spiral into pure bliss, the orgasm overwhelming me and robbing me of thought and speech. Mark climaxed on the tail end of my shattering orgasm, filling me up with his come and leaning forward to bite my shoulder as the tremors worked through him. I was shaking from the intensity of the ride when Mark made my whole world explode in color as he said, “I’ll give you a taste of each paddle after the party. Then you can rate them for the future.”

Oh, the future! We were going to have a happily ever spanking story. Or a happily spanking after story. I couldn’t decide. What I did know was that I couldn’t wait.

And that’s when we heard the smoke alarm.

“Oh, fuck, the pies!”

Mark pulled out at the first beep of the alarm. I was out of the bed like a rocket, streaking back to his kitchen. Thankfully, the smoke detector must have reacted to the very first hint of burning crust, because the pies were only the tiniest bit overcooked. I pulled them out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As I did, I thought of my own hot flanks — heated to perfection by my new lover.

Once we’d put our clothes back on, Mark helped me transport the pies to the rehearsal dinner. He assisted me in the kitchen as we added French vanilla ice cream to the slices of pie, and nobody in the wedding party seemed to even notice.

But I knew I was in for another spanking from Mark after the dinner — and that was the sweetest dessert I could imagine.