A Spanking Good Life

The following is all true - but I still can't believe it.

About four years ago I noticed an advert on this site on behalf of a young woman who had no internet access but did possess a raging need to be spanked. She was apparently residing in the same area I was visiting so, near Wakefield and, being no shrinking violet I phoned her. My first mistake was to suggest she was submissive. She assured me this was not the case and nearly put the phone down. I trod a little more carefully after that, after all it was a fairly odd assumption; why should someone who has a need to be spanked necessarily be submissive? In fact it's the spankee who really should be in control.

No matter. We arranged to meet near her home so we could go to a tea shop and see what might occur. Madly, crazily, stupidly; she opened my car door, jumped in and said "That place is crap, let's go down the road." I did as I was told and, with serendipity stepping in, we got on very well. There was something very bohemian about her attitude and, indeed her clothing, a carefree attitude and a worry-less face un-lined by any form of stress. She was, she told me, just finishing her first book which had taken half of her thirty four years on the planet to write.
"What's it about?" I asked.
"Hmm" she mused "not too sure."
I'm a writer so we naturally needed to exchange more than bit of slap and tickle. I was also intrigued; she was unusual and, as I was later to discover there was more to her than met the eye so, after a biscuit or two and a brew we headed back to her house to see what might further occur.

This was where it moved from interesting to downright odd. The line-free, worry-less expression was so easily explained. It was a squat. There was no water or electricity, no gas, no heating, no bills and she occupied two rooms, the 'front room' and the kitchen. She was without cares. The garden was a total ruin with weeds up to my chest, old beds and sofa's upended and dumped, the fence smashed and broken but we struggled through in order to sit on the one spot that received the sun.
"I'm normally naked here but the guy who lives over there" she pointed to the back-to-back behind "is out now so there's no point it's too cold."
"So, were he in? What then?"
"Oh, I don't mind being cold if someone's going to toss themselves off watching me masturbate."

The bailiffs were due to forcibly remove her 'in a weeks' time' but she would, she said move out the night before. It had taken the owner of the property a year to get this far. She laughed as she told me how she would move into another house she already knew had been vacated by the previous tenant and was just being done up. It was on the other side of town and should be completed just about in time. This would mean that - joy of joys - she could finally take a bath without going to the public swimming pool.

"But how do you live?" I foolishly asked.
"Roadkill, stinging nettles and sex" she replied - this partially explained the garden. Then she produced a list of the stages of roadkill, the signs that tell one how long the thing's been dead. It started with the obvious, 'is it warm' and finished with a 'raven ravaged skeleton'. The points in between were just as bizarre but I won't repeat them here.

I'd made my decision that this was not going to be fruitful in a spanking sense as soon as we'd arrived at 'her' house but it became a totally food-chucking prospect when she told me that her last encounter with a man was a tramp she'd found in the doorway of a betting shop who moved in with her but had left a couple of days before because he was feeling trapped.

My excuse was that it was now too late for any spanking to take place as I had a meeting at my hotel.
"Oh I could join you there" she said "two baths in the same year." I wriggled and squirmed a bit, then explained that I was having dinner with someone - pretty lame excuse; but no matter It was enough.