A Walk in the Park

Spanking Briefs #1: The thrill of the chase

It is a beautiful Sunday morning, and I’m walking quickly past a strand of magnolia bushes.

Five minutes have passed since my phone last buzzed, now it vibrates again.

A map of our local park appears, I see his location, but he can not see mine. He is north of me, behind a low slope and a copse of beech trees, on the opposite side of a canal.

The rules of the game dictate I now reveal my relative position. I turn on my heels immediately, heading away from the bridge I know he’ll soon be crossing. I type the word South and send my message.

The rules of the game dictate that we both walk. When he started at the opposite side of the park, I had dandered complacently, giggling at his hapless meandering. But as he’s gotten closer, my pace has quickened. Now my t-shirt is damp and clammy with my own sweat.

Now I feel like a prey animal, my scent in his nostrils. I feel adrenaline fizzing through my body, a frisson of fear and anticipation, dread mixed with exhilaration. My mind has been elevated to a heightened state of awareness, twitching at every nearby noise and rustle.

The rules of the game dictate that if he catches up with me, he will grasp me by the wrist, and lead me home to smack my bottom. For a body on edge, primed by the primal rush of pursuit, it is is quite exquisite to be pinned down and spanked.

But even better, if I can avoid him for a full hour, the rules say the pleasure will be of my own choosing. Twenty-five minutes remain.

My phone buzzes, and the map appears once more. He is now shockingly close. He has crossed the canal, having already pre-empted my escape. He’s homing in on me, as if drawn towards me by some strange innate magnetism.

West, I’m forced to confess, spinning around again, urgently making a beeline for the flower garden. I must be careful here, lest I be pinned into a corner of the park. But I must also avoid being seen. I know if he ever catches sight of me, I’ll never escape his hungry loping stride.

I realise I could stop here, slow to a dawdle and tamely surrender to the inevitable. A sore bottom is a pleasant enough forfeit. But that would be to misunderstand the nature of our unique little game.

I double-back into the woods, my heart thumping, all the more desperate to escape, ignoring the twanging twigs that slap and scratch my skin. I have a spring in my step, in this moment I feel almost weightlessly free, I’ve never felt more vibrantly alive.

We play for the thrill of the chase.

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About this story

This is the first in a new series of short spanking stories, told in 500 words or less. Some call this format micro-fiction, or flash-fiction, the idea being to create a self-contained story with characters, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

If you’ve read through my archive you’ll know how much I love longform stories, but I also think it’s intriguing to deliberately limit what’s described, and succinctly explore a single idea. After all, the art of the short story has always been to create a premise so gripping, our imaginations can’t wait to fill in the rest.

What do you think? Is 500 words enough to arouse, or merely enough to make you tingle, or pique your curiosity? How long does a story have to be to be immersive? Even just the first part of this story is over 8000 words - do you always read long erotic stories to the end, or find yourself being “distracted” after the first few thousand words anyway?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.