The Unspankable in pursuit of the Unseatable



Roberta Caldwell loved the feel of the hard saddle beneath her bottom and the way the taught familiar jodhpurs felt tight on her legs. Old Sandy moved like liquid poetry between her thighs as she guided him up the chalk ridge to the very top.

At 36 and with two divorces to her name, horse-riding was one of her few remaining pleasures. She found a grin to banish the frown line that all too often tended to form above the bridge of her nose.

Nearing the top she kicked Sandy onward so that the leather seat spanked her behind and an even firmer pressure pounded her somewhere more delicate. These were sensual secret pleasures she had enjoyed since girlhood and she blushed.

From the top of the ridge she looked across the valley to the North Downs and flicked a dark strand of hair back under her riding helmet. She was frowning again, a look that coupled with her strong dark eyebrows gave her a serious look that didn’t match her mood.

Somewhere below she heard the huntsman’s horn and her frown deepened. Illegal though the hunt was, it didn’t stop those fools from their futile pursuit of their fox. What was it Oscar Wilde had said: “The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable?” Something like it, she sighed.

Her eyes scanned the line of red-clad hunters and compared them to the romantic images from all those stories she loved. In these stories the dashing hero turned plucky heroines over their knees for a damn good spanking. She eyed the jutting tight bottoms of the women below and imagined a hero giving them the spanking they so richly deserved. The women looked the part but sadly none of the men measured up.

Roberta watched wistfully as the riders passed on and then shrugged before kicking sandy off down into the valley and the woods below.

The ride down was faster and livelier than the climb and all the way down she winced with pleasure as she allowed the saddle to spank her behind as she ground into the saddle in front. Oh for the real thing, she thought with an absent groan.

As it turned out the seeking was more fun than the finding and by the time she reached the lane she was breathless but unsatisfied. It was at times like this that she needed a man after all.

Once when younger she had stripped naked and ridden nude for a while. It had been amazing and the thrill had really hit the spot, well both spots if she was honest, the hard leather on her bare arse had left her sore and satisfied for days after.

But she had been young and foolish then and these days she wouldn’t dare.

“Hey you,” someone shouted.

Roberta arched her brows in surprise and wheeled the horse around to see a large dour looking man on the track behind her. He was a young 40-something with hard chiselled features and salt and pepper hair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man yelled angrily.

Roberta’s hackles ascended and she kicked the horse forward in a challenge.

“Are you one of those damn hunters?” he snarled.

Roberta saw his mistake and softened, but she was never one for the conciliatory. “What the hell is that to you?” she snapped back.

“This is my land and your criminal hunt is not welcome,” he said sharply, unmoved by her aggressive approach on the horse. “It wasn’t welcome before then ban and now I am sick of your aggressive attitude and unbridled entitlement.”

He had a point, she thought, but how dare he round on her with his assumptions? She advanced briskly on the horse and brandished her whip at him as she had seen some hunters do when confronted by the sabs.

“You come at me with that and I’ll take it from you and give you a damn good thrashing,” he barked.

The threat was electric and Roberta gasped.

“Like you would dare,” she said, trying to hold on to her annoyance and a sense of reality.

“No?” he said in an amused voice as he crossed his arms defiantly, “Try me.”

Roberta tingled all over, he was just her type and the threats he bandied about, no matter how empty, made this an adventure. She dismounted and dropped to within arm’s length of the landowner.

“If you were half the man you pretend, then you wouldn’t have allowed the hunters this far in the first place,” she snorted. “As for giving me a thrashing, well we both know you haven’t got the balls.”

His eyes narrowed and he took half a step forward.

Roberta held her breath for a beat. “Thought so,” she sneered. “Here let me help you,” she added and flicked him on the shoulder with her whip.

He gaped at her for a moment and then glared. “I suggest you leave,” he hissed menacingly.

“Ooh I’m scared,” she teased and flicked him again harder. “Fox lover,” she accused, although she felt the same.

“Do that again and I’ll…” he began, but he would do what, he wondered.

Roberta didn’t wait and struck him again, this time harder than she meant, causing her to gasp and she almost apologised to bring the game to an end. She was still grappling with the thought that she might have pushed him too far when he moved angrily towards her.

“Right,” he said, “You have asked for it.”

“Yes but…” she blurted as he took hold of her and tossed her easily over his shoulder.

“Give me that,” he growled as he snatched the riding crop from her hand.

Unaccountably Roberta was concerned for the now unattended horse as she viewed it from upside down as he carried down the track. Not that they went far; as she watched Sandy tearing at clumps of grass her short journey ended and the man sat down on a fallen log by the edge of the path and let her half tumble and half be thrown across his lap.

“What about Sandy?” she said incongruously, as she pointed back up the rack.

“Sandy?” he said, momentarily puzzled.

“My horse… oh, silly me introducing my horse when you don’t even know my name,” she giggled into the ground by his boots seemingly unconcerned that her tight bottom was upper most in his lap. “Roberta, Roberta Caldwell,” she said with a blush awkwardly offering him her hand over her inverted left shoulder.

“You do know I am going to spank you, don’t you?” he asked in a puzzled voice, but without thinking he took her hand and gave it an awkward half shake.

Roberta coughed pointedly and when he didn’t take the hint she said, “I think it is only polite that if I am about to get my bottom smacked then I ought to know by whom, don’t you think?”

“James Garamond,” he said woodenly. Then after he frowned he asked, “Are you… mentally challenged at all?”

Roberta pulled a face and coloured some more. “Probably,” she said and shrugged. Then feeling ridiculous and thinking the moment had passed she added, “Look I am sorry about whacking you with the crop I was just…”

He gave her a warning look that suggested that the game might still be afoot.

“…I was just outraged that you would be so… eh… anti hunt… and… and you’re an ineffectual oaf,” she added for good measure trying for a tone of superior haughtiness.

James shook his head in disbelief and brought his hand firmly down across her bottom.

“Ouch that hurt,” she squealed.

He spanked her again even harder.

“Okay, okay, go easy will… ow, ahh, oouch, I… ah, guess not then,” she yelped under the onslaught.

The tingle in her bottom was just this side of comfortably but James certainly had a way about him and her tail was beginning to burn.

“Has anyone ever given you a really, really good spanking,” he chuckled, “You know, one that really cleans away the bats in the attic and imparts a real attitude adjustment?”

Roberta was breathing heavily now and had begun to squirm under the continued spanking.

“No,” she lied, a sullen edge creeping into her voice. “And if you call this a really good spanking then you’re a wimp.”

The spanking paused and he looked down warningly until she was forced to look away with a lip-biting incredulity at what she had said. It didn’t take long and a beat later his hand went mental on her backside.

“You are really asking for this,” he snarled taking the spanking to a new level of sting.

“Okay, okay,” she gasped, now scarcely able to draw breath.

“I want an apology,” he said pausing.

Roberta pondered this for a moment and then asked, “what for?”

“What…where do I begin?” he asked in exasperation.

“Look, I’m not with the hunt, okay? I am… I’m just out riding, I hate fox hunting,” she panted as she squirmed.

“Then why did you…? What did you hit me for?” he asked.

“Oh that,” she winced, “Well I guess I am sorry for that,” she replied keeping her voice small and slightly timid. “Are you gonna spank me for it?” she added teasingly.

“I think I just did,” he said, letting her up.

“Oh?” she smirked, her tongue bulging at the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t notice.”

If looks could spank she would eat standing up for a year and even the bravado laden Roberta backed away. “I mean… um… a spanking doesn’t even count unless it is on the bare…” she added hastily.

James snorted in amusement and nodded. “Anyone would think…”

“Yes?” Roberta cut in challengingly.

They were both breathing heavily and time hung on its end as they weighed each other up.

“I could use the crop and really teach you a lesson,” he suggested.

“Seems fair, but…” she looked around, “But not here?” The question was a nervous one.

“Scene of the crime,” he shrugged, grinning.

“I can be a tough nut to crack… but I need it, really need it,” she said huskily, “Break me if you can, but…” she looked around at the trees and up the track.

“Tell you what, I’ll spank you again here, sans culottes of course,” he suggested in voice that had suddenly dropped a tone or two, “And then if you still need more attention we can go on to my place,” he added pointing through the trees.

“But why can’t we…?” she blustered.

“This is not how this works,” he scolded, “I do the suggestions and you… you can take your pants and trousers down.”

Just up the way Sandy whinnied and gave a snort making Roberta jump. Just 20 minutes ago Roberta would have given anything for such an encounter. She nodded.

“Okay, but if you aren’t man enough to make me cry properly with your hand then all bets are off,” she challenged as she shucked down her jodhpurs and knickers in one go.

“Oh, I can manage that I think,” he chuckled as he again took her across his knee, this time with her bottom thoroughly bared.

“I doubt it,” she teased him again in a sing-song voice.

But the first blast stole her breath and her audible gasp sounded pained. The impact too was louder and sharper as was the next; each spank being greeted by a sharp and shrill womanish yelp.

“My, my, aren’t we red,” he chuckled, “Both ends too.”

“Just get on with it,” she groaned.

“Oh I am,” he told her, “But there is no rush, we have all day…”

9 Responses to “The Unspankable in pursuit of the Unseatable”

  1. Delightful story.

  2. I too liked the story and picture.

  3. HOT!!! She reminds me of me. Only I haven’t had anyone spank me out of the blue like this. It sounds thrilling. At least until it happens.;)

  4. 4 Richard

    Equine events intreage me they fullfill a place in fantasy for me sense national velvet i have longed to touch a proper ladies bum not lovingly but with an apreation for the womanly flesh within sadly elizebeth taylor and olivia newton john are gone but there is always a fresh crop of buttom needing attention Thanks for a wonderfull story to illistrate the fact

  5. What a fun and lighthearted story! I used to ride quite a lot but this never happened to me, sadly. LOVE the play on the. Oscar Wilde quote.

  6. 6 DJ

    Thanks everyone for the kind words – just a bit of fun as Scarlet says. Oh and Richard – I think Olivia is still with us but what is the horsey reference to her?

  7. 7 VegasGary


  8. 8 Raffe

    Wow, I love a woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t stop until she gets it.

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