At the Top of the Stairs

In any case, there was nothing to be done about it. Chelsea stood and waited for David's next command, expecting to be told to remove her brassiere, then her panties and then -- or possibly not, depending on his mood -- her stockings.

Instead, he took her wrist in his hand and walked past her, turning her as he went. He led her over to the balustrade, the old-fashioned wooden railing that enclosed the stairwell on three sides and descended along the stairs to the bottom. Without a word he bent her over the handrail, giving her a somewhat dizzying view down the stairwell. He reached over the railing to draw her left hand down and wrapped her fingers around one of the wooden posts. Then he did the same with the other hand before stepping back. This left Chelsea with her head down, her wet hair falling around her face and her breasts practically spilling out of their cups, on the far side of the railing, and her ass high in the air on the other.

It was all so strange and had happened so suddenly that Chelsea hadn't had a moment to consider what David's purpose might be...

SMACK!

The sound of David's hand striking Chelsea's behind -- made even sharper by the wet fabric of her panties -- echoed through the stairwell, followed closely by a yelp of pain from Chelsea. Shocked, she instinctively released her hold on the railings and began to straighten, turning toward David and saying, "David, what the hell do you..." But she got no further because David placed his hand on the back of her head and shoved her back into position so hard that she had to grasp the railings again just to keep from tumbling over. He held her there with his free hand while he unleashed another flurry of blows on her behind.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK...

The first slap forced a muffled sob from Chelsea. Then she bit her lip to try to keep from making any more noise than she could help. She truly did not want to be discovered in this position and state of undress by any of her neighbors if she could avoid it - and if the sound of her behind being slapped, which sounded as loud as gunfire to her, didn't bring them out anyway. So she bit down hard, trying to hold in the grunts of pain as each blow landed and the whimpering that tried to force its way past her lips in between. There was nothing she could do, however, about the tears that leaked into her eyebrows and fell away like raindrops down the stairwell.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK...

A door opened.

They both heard it. David stopped spanking Chelsea. But he continued to hold her head down so she was unable to move from her position. Chelsea thought the sound had come from the floor below, and sure enough a moment later she saw someone look out over the railing. She held her breath and prayed. But in vain -- the person turned his face to look up in her direction. It was old Mr. Lund, who had the apartment directly below theirs. He squinted up at her, and Chelsea saw that he wasn't wearing his usual coke-bottle thick glasses. He must have been able to see at least something, however, maybe her blonde hair hanging down, because he quavered, "Is that you, Chelsea?"

Not knowing what else to do, she replied, "Yes. Hi, Mr. Lund."

He deepened his squint as though something looked strange to him although he couldn't tell what. "I thought I heard some kinda noise out here. I guess you did too, huh?"

Chelsea thought fast. "It's probably that cranky old elevator again. It's a wonder it still works at all."

That set Mr. Lund off and he rambled on for a while about the penny-pinching landlord and how nothing in the building ever got fixed. Meanwhile, Chelsea continued to hang there in her ridiculous position, nodding occasionally even though she knew Mr. Lund couldn't see it. At the same time she was more than a little distracted, first by the sudden realization that her panties were being lowered until they puddled around her ankles, then by David's free hand, idly caressing the burning skin of her behind.

Oooooooo...

Eventually, Mr. Lund wandered back into his apartment, still muttering to himself, and shut the door. David must have been listening for the sound because an instant later he began swatting Chelsea's behind again. He gave her ten more smacks, each harder than the last, before he finally released her.

When Chelsea managed to pull herself upright she was dizzy, stiff, sore...and really, really horny. She looked at David, who was, to his credit, looking slightly apprehensive, wondering if he'd gone too far, no doubt. She smoothed her wildly disarrayed hair into place as best she could. She smiled at him, even though she was still gasping for breath. She reached behind herself, unhooked her bra and let it slide off her shoulders and down into her hands. She stepped out of her panties, reached down to pick them up and handed them, along with her bra, to David. She left her stockings as they were.

Then she wrapped her arms around David's neck and kissed him hungrily. When, after a moment, he dropped her lingerie to the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist in return, she reached back, took his hands and guided them down onto the still-burning skin of her behind. She pulled back to look into his eyes and said softly, "Thank you. That's the loveliest anniversary present I could have ever imagined."

She jumped up lightly and wrapped her legs around his waist, nearly causing him to stagger before he caught himself. Then she kissed him again and said, "Now let's go inside so I can give you yours."

Their anniversary dinner was very, very cold by the time they got around to it, but they didn't care.