Chapter 1: The First Encounters

I didn’t realize what a sexually conventional marriage I had until it was over. When I came of age in the late 1970’s and early ‘80’s, porn of any kind was difficult to get. There was a general ignorance about many sexual practices among even so-called hip people. Now it’s possible to go online and see variations of every possible sexual act imaginable.

My ex-wife Sarah was a big – let’s call her heavyset – girl I had met in college. She was very smart but she could also be annoying as hell. In addition, she made some blunders with money and other issues that surpassed even my own carelessness.

Yet I imagined that I loved her, although in reality I was naïve and arguably completely intimidated by her. She knew exactly how to manipulate me, and she admitted to it. “You could be robbed through the mail,” was one of her less than flattering comments about me.

I did know that I had a few kinks, partially because I had seen some widely scattered references to those in books, magazines, and even a few mainstream movies.

Perhaps my predilections were pretty mild, although I had little to compare them to. I had no interest in “water sports,” being wrapped in cellophane or latex, or whatever other numerous activities existed out there.

There were a few times that I had experimented with a couple of unusual acts upon Sarah. Once, she agreed to a bare-bottom spanking in our apartment. I took her over my knees, lifted her nightgown, and gave her a couple of taps on her broad behind. The third slap was much harder, and she jumped up immediately. “Hey, that hurts! I really don’t like this at all.”

It was disappointing to hear that, but I respected her wishes and never brought up the issue again.

A while later she confided that, when she still lived at home, her father would physically punish her for some transgression or another. She would have to kneel on her bed, raise her bare behind, and take strokes from a wooden yardstick. She had always hated it.

I asked her, “How long did these spankings last, and I mean, when did he stop doing them?”

“Until I was twenty, just before I moved out to marry you.”

I was both a bit surprised – because I had never known that before – and also curious too. Man, I wish I could have witnessed one of those events, or even participated in one.

With her snippiness, Sarah certainly could have used a good spanking at times. Her big, round, pale rear end seemed a perfect target for some harsh discipline. Only, I wanted to be the one to do it to her, and I envied her dad for the authority he had to make her submit.

There was another time when we tried some light bondage. She was face up on our bed, and I tied her hands to the slats of the headboard. Then I knelt next to her and masturbated until I ejaculated into her face.

Sarah winced as I spurted onto her, but then I was the one who spoke first. “Oh, I’m so sorry I did that to you.” Then I retrieved a handkerchief and blotted up the sticky mess on her face. We didn’t talk about it afterwards, but I knew that little game was never going to be played by us again.

The fantasies were still within me, and I used them for masturbation fodder. Those jerk-off sessions sometimes happened when she was somewhere else and I was alone in our apartment.

I continued these imaginary scenes during our marriage and subsequently during the period of our separation. If anything, our separation and the lack of any new woman for me increased my cravings for some new experiences.

One scenario involved the summer Bible camp in Ohio she had attended during the two summers when she was sixteen and seventeen. (She had long since lost her religious beliefs.) Anyway, despite the prohibitions against pre-marital sex espoused by that cult-like group, she willingly gave up her virginity to me just as she left the organization.

(Perhaps that was part of the reason that she had lost her religious beliefs in the first place.)

I imagined that I was a counselor or someday else with authority in that camp, and she was one of the attendees or campers or whatever they were called. For some kind of naughtiness that I rarely defined, I was assigned to discipline her.

That was to happen in an office inside the camp’s headquarters building. Never having been there myself, I had to make up the appearance of the place. She came in looking contrite and asked for forgiveness. I was firm and I told her I would have none of her excuses.

She had been instructed to wear a skirt so I could have easy access to her body. Then I took her over my lap, lifted her skirt, and removed her panties.

During my hard hand-spanking of her ample bottom, she got turned on by the sensations of being whacked. The whole idea of punishing her was lost because she enjoyed it so much. The movement of her hips against my lap and especially the wetness of her very visible genitals gave away her true feelings. We ended up having cowgirl-style sex on a nearby sofa.

For variety, I sometimes imagined Sarah as the one with the authority, even though she was two years younger than I was. I was the naughty camper getting spanked by the stern church lady. I savored the thought of ejaculating into the lap of her cotton skirt, or of her noticing my erect cock and then wanking me to a climax.

She would say as her hands worked on my cock, “You’re been a very bad boy, but you took your punishment very well. It wouldn’t be fair to not give you the sexual release that you need.” Sometimes I would give her a release too, as I imagined that dominating a man would make her as eager to have sex as being dominated did for me.

In reality, I was making myself come in my own bed.

I imagined various outfits for her, some of which she actually owned. It was fun to picture her with her blue denim skirt pulled up around her waist and her panties on the floor as she received my whacks and waved her sandaled feet around in the air.

Another variation was that I would spank her on her clothed behind. I imagined her wearing her tight blue office trousers (she had worked as a bank teller), blue and white striped pants that I had seen in some photograph, or the green bottoms of her bathing suit. In that fantasy, we had made a trip out to Jones Beach that day, and her day clothes were on top of her bathing outfit.

I would utilize spanking items that I mostly didn’t really own. The thin cloth over her backside would offer little protection from my flailing belt, paddle, cane, or trusty yardstick. Afterwards, she would have to lower her clothes and have corner time so that I could examine my handiwork on her poor ass.

There was dialogue I made up to go along with these visions. I would say, “The pleasure in your pussy is being replaced by pain in your behind.” Yet, as her panties lay on the floor or were around her ankles, I couldn’t help but notice the frothy stuff coming out of her cunt and the moans she was making each time I struck her.

I would add more dialogue that I would say out loud as I jerked myself. Just before I came, I would whisper, “Sarah, you’re such a bad girl. You so deserve this hard spanking so that you can be a good girl again.” Total nonsense, of course, but it worked.

As I suggested before, she could get very bossy at times and I developed grudges against her. Yet my very anger at her also fueled my lust. I wanted to see Sarah’s pale rear end become dark pink as I beat her. And I envisioned that she enjoyed those sessions anyway.

At the end of those little dramas, she would often have an orgasm right on my lap. (I wondered if a woman could really do that from a spanking only.)

All right, I admit I have an overactive imagination. I would then find myself in my usual post-jerk-off haze. It could be a lonely place to be in.

Whoever my imaginary partner had been, she had only been there in my head. If only half that stuff had really happened, I might have been a happier man.

Yet those daydream sex acts got me through a sometimes frustrating marriage and then the sexless separation period afterwards. There was a certain passion or kinkiness lacking in our relationship that I tried to make up for in my mind.

I thought of other women I would punish and then sometimes fuck, some of whom I truly disliked. During my college years, there was my school newspaper editor, an unpleasant dark-haired girl named Lilith. I so wanted to take her jeans down and put her over my lap.

Then I would imagine her getting on top of me on the big table in the middle of the office and vigorously screwing me. She seemed to think I was somebody inconsequential, including sexually, and I wanted very much to prove her wrong.

Yet I also had a good time picturing Lilith as she restrained me on a spanking bench and then belted me on my bare ass. That was my punishment for not handing in a news story on time. The kerfuffle about the late story was true, but the plot with the belting was purely my own thoughts.

Somehow, I increased the weirdness of the whole thing by imagining two of the other female staffers photographing my pain as I lay there tied down. To really top of it, one of them later took pity on me and gave me a blow job as she knelt in front of me while I was still restrained.

That was a very strange scene to make up, I knew, but it still intensely aroused me. Martha; that was the name of the quiet, short girl who pleasured me with her mouth.

When I was older and employed at a publishing company, some of my imaginary spanked ladies were my co-workers and I was the stern boss teaching them a lesson.

One of them I actually liked personally, a cute young blonde wife named Megan. Her tight skirt would be pushed up and her pantyhose would be pulled down as she was over my knees. After that, she would either bang me or blow me, depending on what was appealing to me on that day.

I sometimes worried that I was a bit twisted, even deviant until eventually I found out that almost everybody has kinks of some sort, although they might not admit it even to themselves.

My interests were actually rather mild compared to some of the desires I discovered people commonly held. Fetishes like scat or incest baffled or disgusted me. It’s always some other person’s wishes that seem strange, not one’s own. But there were some hard-core sadists out there that far outdid whatever I had cooked up for myself

I admit to having a weird love/hate obsession with my ex, which went on long beyond when I was living with her. Probably that was because she was the first and only woman I had ever been with.

After Sarah and I got married, we moved to New Jersey (at her insistence; she was afraid of New York City crime). After our breakup occurred, I rented my own small apartment. I was still at the publishing company job I had held for several years.

Nearly a year after our separation the divorce hadn’t yet been finalized. By then, when I was twenty-seven in that spring of 1989, I experienced loneliness because I was clueless about adult dating. There were no dating sites or apps back then, and I wasn’t interested in meeting women in bars or clubs.

There were plenty of women at my company in Englewood Cliffs, just north of the George Washington Bridge. However, I was reluctant to ask out anybody who worked at my company.

That was long before the Me-Too Movement and the Mike Pence rule, but it seemed better to be wary of female co-workers. It was not like the more relaxed atmosphere at college, where new semesters brought new faces. At an office, any breakup or other problem could have long-term consequences for an indefinite period into the future. We’d be stuck together for much of our waking lives until one of us quit or was fired.

In any case, none of my co-workers even hinted that she was interested in me.

That spring a new woman was hired, and she was the one who made a play for me. In my state of mind, I quickly folded. To top it off, she had a few sexual kinks that my ex definitely did not have.

This new lady, Alisa Balint, was two years younger than I was. She was assigned to a cubicle on the other side of my partition.

When I met a woman, I didn’t immediately scope her out as a potential sexual partner, but I’d invariably make a brief assessment of her looks and personality. Alisa was a bit unconventional, even quirky in her appearance.

She was about five-seven, a couple of inches shorter than I was. Her body was slender; her breasts were small but she had a nice little curve to her behind. Her nose was a bit large by the standard definitions of beauty. She cut her dark brown hair fairly short, and she usually had one or two tufts of it in the back tied with ribbons. I rarely if ever saw her with makeup.

Yet we took a shine to each other from the very beginning. I found her to be lively and witty. What she saw in me, I don’t know, but I was old enough to realize that it wasn’t important for me to understand that.

At first, she would just ask me procedural questions about the job and the company. Soon she would sit in the extra chair in my cubicle and chat with me. We would only make brief references to our ex-spouses. I was mature enough to know that old girlfriends and spouses were not worthy topics of conversation.

One of the few personal items I knew about Alisa is that she had been in her own brief marriage that had ended about eight months earlier.

Yet I never considered her as a dating partner, and I didn’t imagine that she thought that of me either. That situation went on for the first two months that she was there.

Sometimes, to get away from the pressures of work for a while, I would go into the file room and sit on a desk in there. I would have no particular thoughts in my mind; I just wanted to relax for fifteen minutes or so and clear my head of everything.

One day, while I sat there, Alisa came into the room and said hello to me. Then she proceeded to open a drawer of a filing cabinet to look for something.

She was facing away from me, and I idly noted what she was wearing although I had already seen her earlier. She had left her blazer at her desk, and she had a white long-sleeved blouse, olive-green trousers, and dark low-heeled shoes. I got a glimpse of her nylon stockings, although couldn’t tell if those were knee-highs or pantyhose.

Perhaps she was distracted by whatever her task was and she seemed to have not noticed that I was still there. I was simply looking at her because she was right in front of me, about six feet away.

Alisa then opened a second drawer at the very bottom of the cabinet. Instead of squatting down, she bent over to search for something at the lowest level.

Now I took more interest in her. Her trousers were tight, and her round little bottom pressed against the stretched green cloth. That set off a small fantasy for me. I imagined walking over to her and pressing my crotch against her rear end. Then I’d rub my hips around, likely getting an erection in the process. That was as far as I got with my story plot.

A moment later, she turned her head and looked back at me. Probably she had just remembered that I was still there. I felt a bit embarrassed at having gotten caught gazing at her, but some instinct told me to not avert my eyes and to just keep looking. I said nothing.

She stood up straight and turned to face me. I wondered if she would get offended by what I had been doing but she smiled at me instead. She put her arms akimbo and said, “So, are you imagining giving me a few pats on my fanny?”

Rather than apologize, I decided to take a chance and escalate with my reply. “Actually, I’d like to give you something harder than some pats.” That was unlike anything I had said to a woman before.

I wondered what she would say in return, but she knew exactly what I had meant. “I guess you think I’m a very bad girl then and I need some discipline, is that it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” That would give her the chance to either back down or to continue.

“I’ve indeed been a very bad girl. In fact, I need to be shown the error of my ways; I need to be firmly corrected.” At that moment I didn’t know if she was kidding me, flirting with me, or if she was perhaps serious. She didn’t seem to be mincing her words.