Joe acknowledged that with a toothy grin. Needless to say that I wasn't the only girl wearing those shorts to have a deep blush.
While he divided us into two teams, Ingrid whispered. "He's quite dishy. I wouldn't mind sitting on his knees."
Anne-Marie, one of the French girl discreetly giggled. "Dans tes rêves!"
I understood that she meant, in your dreams, and whispered back. "Have you seen the size of his hands? With such hands, it won't take more than a dozen smacks to tan your bum!"
Ingrid's eyes sparkled.
The whistle was blown, and the game started. We all wanted to make the team of the coming competitions and we fought as wildcats. I had played before and scored the first goal. I did a cartwheel to celebrate.
G.I. Jane, who was helping our coach umpire the game, blew her whistle and waved a yellow card for Ingrid. He told her to deal with her, but she answered that he should practice with his first naughty girl. "Grab her shorts and knickers, pull her up till she no longer touches the ground, then spank her!"
He did a great job of that. Ingrid was blushing as red as her bottom when she pulled her shorts out of her crack.
The game continued, and she scored. Then I ran out of luck. I over dribbled a girl who took a tumble. G.I. Joe waved a red card. "Yoh! La petite anglaise viens ici!"
I was all too soon pitifully standing in front of our coach by the umpire's bench. "A red card, a penalty, c'est la fessée cul nu."
Knowing that Josh would never allow me to run away from my just dessert, and I also didn't want to quit the team. I love playing soccer, and I am quite good at it. For a final argument, it wasn't my first spanking at the gym. With all that in mind and blushing crimson, I stood in front of our soccer coach. He told me to have my hands atop my head and grabbed both my shorts and knickers and swiftly pulled them down. I didn't have time to hide my curls, he grabbed one of my wrists and bent me other his knees.
Then he gave me la fessée at they say in French. His big hands would have felt great for caressing my quivering nates, but they vigorously smacked them one after the other. They ignited them. I bawled. He also smacked my upper thighs, and they burned. I bawled the more. I couldn't help pedaling my legs. I heard Anne-Marie giggling. "C'est une vraie rousse!" I knew that I had showed my red tuft. Then I sang the song of the well punished naughty girl.
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| Drawing from Kalidwen - her blog is listed in the links |
"OW OWWWW! AIE! OUCH! I'll be a good girl! OWWWW! I promise!"
Monsieur coach helped me up and my hands flew to rub my fiery butt and thighs. I danced la dance de la fille bien fessée, and didn't care what I was showing.
"Pull up your knickers and shorts and pray that she doesn't score."
While rubbing my intensely burning bum, the captain of the opposing team prepared to take the shot. I prayed that she misses as we were tied. She scored! I shouted a very French, "Merde!" They were now leading, and we only had 20 minutes left.
As the best shooter of the team, I was passed the ball and ran with it while my teammates encouraged me. "If you don't score, each of us will tan your butt till it glows!"
I dribbled the last defender and shot, and it was in! We hadn't won, but we hadn't lost. "Hurrah!" I didn't get my bum tanned by my teammates.
On the way back home I had a dilemma: ride high above the saddle, take a chance to have my skirt flying, and show the whole world that I was spanked at the gym or endure the hard leather saddle massage my tenderized derriere.
Ingrid teased. "When I have showed my foufoune at the gym for a déculottée, I get the martinet at home." She giggled as she added. "Hans told me that Josh will be applying the same rule to you."
Foufoune was a new word for me, but I didn't need to have it translated. The promise of the martinet reminded me of how she told me of her shagging bent over the dining room table after having tested it. I had a naughty day dream...
Debbie and Josh
To be continued...
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