Tight cheeks. All the way! - The story in two parts

Story from Swish Vol.4 No.4

Tight cheeks

BONANZA! A super-double-feature begin here!

* * *

The washing-up could wait, Sandra decided. She liked to read the morning paper first and take it easy. But her father-in-law had other ideas – and how easily Sandra took those was something else.

'You haven't tidied the kitchen up yet, I see', Frank said as he came into the living room where his daughter-in-law Sandra sat reading her way through the morning paper.

Sandra's eyes flashed immediately. What a bloody cheek, she thought. It hadn't been her idea for him to come and visit them so soon in their new house and right now she wanted to be left on her own. It was a lovely morning and she felt lazy. Sod the kitchen!

'No, I haven't, not yet – so what?', she flared watching him flop into the chair opposite hers. But he was regarding her mildly and almost with amusement. 'Nothing much', he shrugged, 'but his mother always does it first thing, or one of his sisters. It's nice to see a tidy kitchen after breakfast – an hour after breakfast', Frank added carefully. There was a slight flush on her cheeks which he had expected.

'Well, I'm not...', Sandra began. She had meant to say she was not his wife or one of his daughters, but it might sound too rude. 'I'll do it in a minute', she said shortly, hating even having to say that to him. Inside her she was fuming. No gentleman would ever have said such a thing. He should have just waited for her to do it. 'Anyway, I'm going to have another coffee – you want one?', she asked, trying to take the edge off of the mood.

He nodded genially and watched her spring up – a lovely lithe young thing, small for her twenty years but perfectly curved in all the right places. Her tits bobbed firmly under her thin grey sweater. Obviously no bra on. And tiny panties, too. He could see the ridging vee of them under her skirt as she swept out. Frank leaned back and sighed. It was one bottom he hadn't unveiled and spanked yet, and he meant to. Sandra was going to be real bouncy under his palm when he got down to it. Would it be new to her? He'd wondered about that in the past year of her engagement and then marriage to Mark.

The thought stirred him more and he got up and strolled out after her. Sandra stood with her back to the door, waiting for the electric kettle to whistle. Like a train coming out of a tunnel, she always thought and gave a guilty, sideways look at the cups, saucers and plates still waiting to be washed-up on the sink top. Then with an awful start she felt a big pair of hands suddenly smooth under the tight cheeks of her bottom.

Sandra jerked out a surprised 'Oh!' and moved one step sideways, turning towards him, but was disarmed immediately by her father-in-law's grin. 'I bet it's been spanked for leaving things untidy', he said. He could still feel the round warmth of her bottom on his palms. Beneath her skirt and sweater she obviously had nothing on but her panties and nylons. Sandra stared at him and then half giggled. God, he was rude, touching her like that! 'I haven't – no I haven't', she said and moved back slightly warily while pretending to tidy the things on the sink.

Frank's eyes narrowed in surprise, 'Never? Never been spanked?', he asked and there was such surprise in his voice that she almost laughed. It wasn't true, but she wasn't going to tell him so. Bui it made her blush, and that was maddening. It was funny being alone with him like this and she was not sure whether she liked it or not. 'Ah, well', he said quizzically and gave her quite a nice smile, 'I guess I'll have to see to you some time then'. Sandra's pretty mouth opened. At five feet three herself and he nearly six feet, he seemed to tower over her. She knew that feeling. Especially when she had done something wrong.

'Oh, I s'pose you know all about it', she said sarcastically, and wished she hadn't. It seemed to invite him further remarks, and it did. 'A bit – I've had some practise', he answered, 'and don't be sarky, or...'.

Sandra spun round to face him. She wasn't going to put up with this. 'Or WHAT?', she snapped, 'listen, I don't have to take anything from you and this is my house and... NO-OOOOOH!'. The surprised screech trilled from her throat as with a single sweep of his arm he hooked her waist and lifted her clean off the floor. 'You stop IT!', she squealed, kicking madly, but he had lifted her right up and she found herself swinging crazily in his arms like a cradled doll as he carried her back into the living room.

'You're not GOING to!', Sandra yelled wildly, feeling for a moment as if the floor were collapsing. For in falling backwards into the armchair he had occupied a few minutes before, he had taken her with him and with a cry of total alarm Sandra found herself dangling over his lap, bottom up, with a steely arm encircling her twenty-one-inch waist.

Frank held her tight, feeling a little breathless that he had acted so quickly and on impulse and stirred already by the bulbous brushing of her breasts as they had passed over his thighs. She would quieten in a moment. They always did. 'You don't want your new neighbours to hear?', he managed to get in among her outraged shrieks. For a moment it made no difference to a wildly head-shaking Sandra, but then the realisation broke in on her of how her screams might sound and for long seconds she lay there protesting more quietly while Frank's hand rested casually on the upcurve of her bottom.

'You're not going to', she gritted, her heels kicking up in vain. 'I'll tell Mark!'. Frank grinned down at the long golden hair which lay tousled now about her face, the strands all parted at the back. 'You won't – not after I've finished with you', he said and began sliding the back of her skirt up. 'NA-AAAH!' she screeched again then and vainly tried to reach a hand back to stop him, but her skirt was short and already her stocking tops were exposed. 'Please no... please no... please no, no!', Sandra spluttered wildly.

'All right', his voice came to her, fingers splayed across the bare flesh of the back of one of her thighs. 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do. We'll make a bargain if you like. I'm going to give you six smacks through your panties – not taking them off. That's if you agree – for being untidy and sarcastic, too. If you don't, I swear I'll rip them down and give you a hard dozen – and you'll feel it. Well?'.

Sandra's palms rested on the new carpet which her nose almost touched. He was going to – she knew he was going to, whatever happened now. 'But no – look – please – I don't want – six is too many', she blathered, scarcely knowing what she was saying now. And worse, he accepted it as agreement, his big hand immediately sweeping her skirt right up until her knickered bottom was completely exposed to him while Sandra endeavoured to choke down another would-be scream. 'Right! Five, then, and not six – I'll go along with you', she heard him say, his eyes searching the exqusite half-bared cheeks which mounded up so pertly to him.

Delicious. That was the only word. Tight and small and beautiful – and he could see almost all of it. Her panties were next to transparent and the curve of her groove where the chubby cheeks inrolled made a dark but clear shadow beneath. 'D.. d.. d...!', Sandra stuttered and grabbed with one hand at the short leg of the armchair as she somehow felt the rising of his hand. Oh God, she hadn't had this for well over a year now! Then... SMACK! came his palm, bouncing off of her bottom and bringing a long howl from Sandra whose eyes tightened up just as her nether cheeks did under the sudden stinging.

Her bottom jerked up, giving Frank an even better view. Her legs were in perfect proportion to her body and looked as pretty as in a stocking advertisement. Sheer and gleaming, her dark nylons ended halfway up her thighs, the sides and fronts drawn up in tight peaks where the suspender clips held them. Then a long wail broke from Sandra again as his palm met her already smarting cheeks in a second and louder SMACK! that made her head jerk up.

'St... st... stop it – please – oh!' she howled, but the arm clamp around her waist was as tight as ever. There was no way she could escape now as Frank well knew. It was the best position to start them off when you had a really strong arm. Later, when their bottoms got more used to the stings and absorbed them with petulant but more passionate wriggling, it was different. That was when you peeled their panties down without too much of a struggle and got them kneeling on the bed maybe. And later... but no, he would have to think about that, with Sandra.

The rosy hue on the exposed parts of her cheeks was a delight to see. So was the way her already tight checks squeezed upon one another. 'All right, all right', he soothed in response to her increased sobbings, and Sandra thought he had actually relented and stopped, but instead he began to stroke and soothe her bottom, working his fingers a little beneath the backstrap while she squirmed, her back arching. Then again it came, SMACK! and oh! the pearls of tears rolled from her eyes and down her face.

'No! oh no!', she squealed yet again, but Frank was firm with her as he knew from experience that he had to be. Sandra no longer seemed to care that he was actually now caressing the silky backs of her thighs – something which only a few minutes before would have seemed impossible. 'I... I d... don't w... want!', she sobbed, only to be answered by his hand moving comfortingly over the hot globe of her botty and gently squeezing the cheeks as she winced. But the wincing was as nothing to the deep-burning sting she next received as her father-in-law's broad palm bounced off her resilient derriere for the fourth time.

'NA... NA... NA... NAAAH!', Sandra sobbed, her knees bending upwards as if in that way, too, she could help squeeze out the hot pain. 'There, there!', she dimly heard him saying and felt herself swung up again. This time her scorched cheeks bumped full down in to his lap and the sudden contact make her jerk and clutch at his neck for fear of falling backwards. Her eyes were sheened with tears, her petal mouth half open. It was a mouth beyond resistance and before Frank knew what he was doing he leaned her face back and kissed it.

'D... d... d...', Sandra stuttered against his mouth. She had meant to say don't, but the word lost itself in the unexpected kiss and her bottom was wriggling so madly that she scarcely knew what was happening. Her skirt was up and her thighs showed. Then Frank leaned her back swiftly so that the back of her head came between the corner of the chair and his shoulder. Moving his lips from hers he kissed away the tear streaks than had run down her pretty face and slipped his hand higher up her thigh until his thumb felt a soft burr of curls beneath the vee of her panties.

Then, as quickly as he had fondled her, his hand slid down again and stayed over one rounded knee even as Sandra seemed to come to her senses. Struggling and pushing with her arms she managed to squirm up and push her skirt down. 'Oh YOU! how COULD YOU!', she burst and, escaping his quickly-extended arm, ran into the kitchen where she leaned for a long moment against a worktop, wondering how on earth it could have all happened. No, he couldn't have touched her afterwards, not really, not between her thighs. She must have dreamed that. Her eyes closed and she swayed. Oh hell, her bottom stung still. The fire was spreading, as it always did after she had been spanked, but if he ever found out about THAT...

Then suddenly he was there, coming in so quietly that she scarcely had time to jump before he placed his arm around her shoulders. 'Sorry', he said thickly and with such apparent sincerity that a half smile actually came to her lips and she looked up at him. 'I mean it', Frank said, 'I really am'.

It was crazy to even talk to him now, Sandra thought, but the words came floating from her mouth before she knew it. Often when she tried to get really angry she only managed a silly-grin. For a brief moment she looked up at him and then her eyes dropped. 'I should think so', she said, trying to make her voice sound outraged. His arm was firm and strong around her shoulders. 'Spanking me like that and... well... spanking me', she finished lamely. But he had had his hand up her skirt afterwards – she knew it. 'You're horrible', she said, 'and you're...'.

Frank turned her and spun her against him so that her juicy tits bounced into his shirtfront. This time his hand took the nape of her neck and held her. After the first spanking you had to show them who was master.

'You'll get it again', he said quietly and watched all the conflicting expressions in her eyes. A bubling of protesting words began to come from her mouth, but as suddenly as he had gripped her so he released her. 'Now tidy the kitchen', he said and walked out, closing the door.

'OH!', Sandra screamed after him. She reached for the chrome doorhandle and then let her hand fall back. It was no good and she knew it. He bloody well knew she had to wash up sometime and her bottom cheeks were throbbing. Only four, but he had smacked real hard. Harder than she had used to have. She turned to the sink, stiffening her legs slightly and stretching her back against the sensations that moved in her now. I wanted that, she thought crazily and then tore into herself – as people do – for ever thinking such a stupid thing. Then to her relief she heard the distant sound of the front door closing and realised that he had gone out.

Leaning against the sink she breathed a sigh of relief, then reached her hand up beneath the back of her skirt to feel the hot silkiness of her bottom cheeks. If he had stayed she wouldn't have known how to behave or what to say or do. Then she heard his car start and began to cry to herself a little hysterically. I don't want to, I don't want to, she thought in self-induced hysteria even while Frank – driving off – was smiling to himself. First round won. Now he had given her time to think about it. Staying in the house would have been too awkward. He would give her until after lunch. A lot of it would have hazed over then. The first time it was always best this way. If it were her first time. He doubted it even more now. When he had lifted her up into his lap her nipples had been peaking through her sweater, but he had deliberately not fondled her tits. That would come next time. Then gradually...

A little flushed and quiet, Sandra served supper that evening to Frank and Mark. Her father-in-law had returned at four thirty that afternoon and both of them had acted slightly stiltedly as if nothing had happened. But there was a feeling in her that kept welling up and wouldn't go away. It would happen again, she knew it would. The breath seemed to leave her body at the thought. When she dressed the next morning and put on self-supporting stockings and her wispiest panties, she told herself that she only wanted to feel good.

Almost unseeing she made breakfast and kissed Mark goodbye. When Mark had begun to make love with her in the night she had slid her mouth down his body and for the first time with him settled her mouth warmly and softly over his knob, rearing her naked bottom up beneath the sheet while he groaned his pleasure. Oh, do it to me! she had thought madly – the way she used to have it, her bottom made so hot that she never knew what she was doing, then her mouth pulled down until she had begun to suck, sobbing and gulping still and telling herself she mustn't. Sometimes the come had rushed and gobbed into her mouth. At other times she had been lifted and turned around again, her scorched bottom weaving wildly before her hips and seized and...

Oh no, she mustn't ever think of that again. And she must wash up – she would in a moment. Before he caught her out again. She would just read the paper first, though. And if he tried to spank her she would scream and scream and... Her mind wandered crazily, trying to collect itself amind the short, sillier items of news. Inside herself she was trembling as she half listened to the sounds of her father-in-law moving around upstairs. It was as if she had two different minds – one that wanted her to go and wash-up and the other that was going to rebel. Deliberately.

None of which prevented Sandra from jumping up guiltily when he descended. In a sudden panic she made for the kitchen – but too late. Appearing from the hall, he stood in her way, smiling. 'You see how easily it happens again?', he asked. Then the rest was a blur – a wild struggling and screeching which availed her nothing. And this time he didn't carry her to the armchair but upstairs – slung head down in a fireman's lift over his shoulders while her fists drummed on his back and her legs kicked.

'You're not going to!', Sandra yelped. Her foot scraped the new paint off the bedroom door as he carried her in. She tried everything – she tried to get away as she told herself ever after. She knew all about being spanked on a bed and how easily they could roll you on to it afterwards. But thoughts and protests were no good, for she was across his lap already where he had seated himself solidly on the edge of the bed and her mistily-veiled bottom was bared to his view where he had flipped her skirt up.

'WHOOO-HOOO!', Sandra blubbered a few seconds later as the first resounding SMACK! made her bottom cheeks quiver like jelly, 'Oh STOP it!'. But Frank had her now in the fully glory of her semi-transparent panties and the charcoal-shaded self -supporting stockings which reached only halfway up her thighs and made her legs look even more erotic. 'YEEE-AAARGH!' came her next screech, her flawless, chubby cheeks going a deep pink already under the second and third steady, hard smacks.

'Lie still!', Frank said sternly as the upper part of her dangling body writhed over her knees. 'Lie still, Sandra or you'll get eight instead of six. You HEAR me now?!' – 'HA-AAAAR!', she gasped as the fierce flames swept through her botty. Her legs straightened and her shoulders slumped. 'You hear me, Sandra?', Frank growled, his hand splayed across her hot cheeks, 'WELL?'. He waited – waited in the breath-rushing silence that followed. For a second or two he could actually hear the bedside clock ticking, and then it came... a small, quiet 'Yes' that barely reached his ears.

'That's better', he soothed, 'Now lift your botty – well up. Come on now and I won't smack so hard – all right?'. – 'Y... yes', Sandra's whisper came. She felt him stroke her thighs and her half-bared bottom checks and sobbed within herself. It wasn't fair – it wasn't. How she bore the next ones she never knew. Whatever he said about not smacking her so hard, they were stingers – real stingers. Her bottom reared to each one, hands scrabbling madly in the carpet.

'No, I won't, I WONT!', Sandra began to sob even more madly when he then lifted and rolled her on to the bed, as she knew he would, and squashed down beside her. Frank ignored her. He knew such tantrums of old and how she would cuddle into him, tightly, defensively, while he stroked her hair back from her brow. Her tits bulbed into his chest and he wondered idly how big her nipples were – but he would find out soon. 'D... d... don't sp... spank me again', Sandra blubbered. Her legs and hips would have wriggled more if he hadn't been cupping her bottom. Half fearful she let it sink into his palm, seeking the pressure to help squeeze out the raging heat.

'There, there – it's all right – it's all right', Frank soothed. He knew she didn't expect him to promise anything now. And he knew too that she had had it before – the way her face was pressed in hiding into his shirtfront. Very delicately he slid his fingers under the backstrap of her panties and felt her clutch at him tighter. 'No – please!', Sandra burbled, but he ignored her, stilling her jerks and quivers as he toyed gently in the groove where the checks inrolled and then drew her in more tightly against him.

'Lovely little botty – such beautiful legs', Frank breathed against her warm ear and Sandra closed her eyes tightly. She couldn't help wriggling her bottom still and it was helping him – helping him to be wicked. Her nipples were hot and tingly, pressing through her top into his chest. His finger moved inwards, making her press with a startled, helpless cry full into the awful big thing she could feel under his slacks.

'Don't – you m... mustn't!', she whimpered, but now he had begun to push her head down, down. She tried to resist, but he was too strong. Her arms, released from her instinctive clinging to him, found themselves around his waist as her small, slim body was almost reversed upon him. Not daring to open her eyes she heard the small hissing sound of his zip. Something that felt like a huge, swollen plum urged itself against her lips. There was a salty, fleshy taste and then her head was pressed remorselessly down, her lips opening blindly to engulf the big, meaty knob in their moist rosebud.

'Good girl – good girl, Sandra', she heard from somewhere above her. A last tear rolled down her cheek to the corner of her mouth and slid in turn upon the throbbing shaft of his cock as she began to suck on it steadily...

* * *

All the way!

How far will Frank go with Sandra? And what is her husband doing in her Mum's house? This sure beats 'Soap'!

* * *

Mark called in occasionally at his mother-in-law's on his way home from the office. Generally he did so to pick something up for Sandra, but this evening even though there was nothing to collect he found himself driving towards the house.

Marcia, his mother-in-law always welcomed him warmly and so did Sandra's sister, Claire. 'Mark and Marcia – we have the same names you know', Marcia had told him once laughingly. He had always thought of them as a close and cosy family and now that his father-in-law was in America on an extended business trip, he seemed to be made even more welcome. Claire, who was nineteen and as shapely a piece as he had ever seen, ran to make coffee as soon as he arrived.

'Stay for a bite of supper', Marcia urged him. 'I know Sandra won't mind. Your father's staying with you for the week, isn't he?' Mark nodded. Rather oddly he had always had an eye for Marcia who like many smooth-skinned women had kept her shape very well. Careful of her appearance and always well made-up, she wore that evening a form-fitting grey wool dress that clung tightly to the plump globe of her bottom and her large, firm breasts. Sitting as she was in an armchair opposite him, Mark furtively admired the strong, shapely lines of her legs which were sheathed in bronze stockings. The swelling up of her thighs above her exposed knees made him think of sleekness and warmth and richness.

Something must have showed in his eyes because Marcia smiled at him as she lit and cigarette and crossed her legs higher so that the hem of her skirt dragged up another two inches. When Claire entered with the coffee, Marcia modestly toyed with the hem and eased it back down. But Claire had things to do in her room, it seemed, and once she and Mark were alone once more, Marcia leaned back more, shifting her bottom on the seat. Blinking slightly over the rim of his cup, Mark suddenly had a dazzling vision of darker stocking tops and a shadowy gleam of white above. But Marcia was chatting away normally and he was sure she had no idea how with every movement the wool dress seemed to be creeping higher up her legs.

'There's something I want to send over to Sandra by the way, dear. Would you like to come up and fetch it?', she asked when they had finished their coffee. Mark's answering 'Yes' coincided then with the clattering run of Claire downstairs. She wore a loose cotton top beneath which her unbrassiered tits bobbed jauntily, and a new pair of jeans that seemed to have been poured over her, so tightly did they wreathe her pert bottom. 'I'm off! Back at about eleven', she declared while her mother smiled at her and twisted in her chair, giving Mark an even more breathtaking view which this time included her broad, ruffled suspenders, their white plastic clips drawing her nylons up in tight peaks.

'See you', Marcia said as Claire waved to Mark and then vanished. Her skirt had creased itself in folds above her round knees, but she made no movement to smooth them out. 'Won't take a minute to find it, if you want to come up', she said.

Mark had never been up into the main front bedroom before, and certainly he had never followed his mother-in-law up the stairs so closely, as he did now, savouring every second of the view of the rolling cheeks of her bottom which bulbed so luringly into the thin wool. 'I won't forget your supper, Mark', she declared, leading him to the bedroom. 'Oh – don't worry, I'll get something at home', he replied, taking in the room. Then, seeing a strange flashing above him, he stepped back while Marcia laughed at his momentarily startled reaction to the mirrow tiles with which the ceiling was covered in the area immediately above the bed.

'Brian's idea', she said referring to her husband, 'and – well – mine too in a way. It gives more light in the room. They're expensive. Funny feeling seeing yourself upside down, isn't it – but of course when you lie down it's different – see?'. Having seated herself on the bed she lay back and smiled up at Mark's reflection in the ceiling. But it wasn't her smile so much that he was looking at. Rather it was the fact that the hem of her dress had really ridden up so that he could not only see her thighs in the ceiling minor but the incredibly sexy vee of her panties which bulged slightly over a hidden wad of curls.

'You'll get dizzy, Mark, staring up', she laughed, 'sit down a minute'. It WAS dizzy-making in fact and Mark did sit down. Right next to her, but jumped again as he found something beneath him and pulled it out from under him. Marcia had sat up again. 'It's a strap', Mark said as if he had made a great discovery. It was broad, thick and shaped off at one end to a handle. At the other end it was split exactly in the middle, stretching up for about six inches.

'It's a tawse', Marcia said. Her stockinged thigh touched his warmly. 'At least, the Scottish people call it that. It's for naughty bottoms – didn't you know? Never used one? No, I bet you haven't', she laughed and got up, sauntering over to her dressing table which was covered with crystal flasks and items of make-up. 'It must hurt', Mark said wonderingly. The leather was a good quarter of an inch thick.

Marcia came back and looked down at him and Mark was more conscious than ever of the voluptuous curves of her body, the outlining of her thighs beneath her dress and the jutting of her breasts. She had married young, he knew, and was barely touching forty. 'Sort of', she said. There was a trembling of excitement in Marcia and she was trying to hold it down. What she was thinking about was too wicked to think about really, but it was as if she were on a wave, being carried forward. Brian had been away for three weeks now and it was too long.

'It hurts and yet it doesn't, you see Mark', Marcia went on. 'My husband has always kept a tight ship, as he call it, so...'. Deliberately she let her voice trail off and waited. Mark held his breath. 'You mean he actually... I mean... '. It wasn't a new strap. It looked used, supple. Marcia bit her lip and sat again so that her knee pressed against Mark's. 'Well – perhaps I shouldn't have told you, Mark, but yes – when we're naughty. Six for ordinary discipline and a dozen for rebellions, as he calls them. It used to be hand-spankings until he got this. It feels different – much different', she mused.

Sitting together, their faces were close now. Her perfume wafted to him even more deliciously. Her mouth was lustrous – her eyes wide and half amused. 'Yesterday I'd have got it – I scraped the side of the car going out', Marcia said, 'I'd have had a real burner – a dozen, I'm sure'. – 'Would you?', Mark asked thickly. His heart was hammering. He had a crazy desire to kiss her and fondle the weight of her tits. Her eyes were taunting him, he felt, her long dark eyelashes fluttering. 'Across my bottom – panties off', Marcia said softly, 'but I know you wouldn't dream of it, Mark, and so...'.

Their breaths flowed together, so close were their faces in the quiet of the bedroom. 'If... if you... if you wanted me to', Mark husked, not believing that he had dared say the words. Marcia dropped her eyes and played with the hem of her dress, 'It would do me good, Mark. A woman has to be under a man, don't you think'. Beringed fingers slid warmly across the back of his hand. 'But you'd better lock the door first, in case Claire comes back'.

'Yes', Mark said. He knew it was a dream – it had to be. His legs felt slightly wobbly as he rose, feeling the springiness of the mattress. The key was in the lock and he closed the door quietly and turned it. 'Only six, Mark, please', Marcia said when he turned, making to step back.

She was kneeling – kneeling on the bed. Not only that but in the few seconds it had taken him to lock the door Marcia had drawn the hem of her grey wool dress full up to her waist, exposing to his glazed eyes the sumptuous moon of her bottom whose hemispheres plumped out from either side of the backstrap of her panties in a pale gleaming of rich flesh. Her shoulders were down so that her back formed a sloping line which accentuated even more the wickedly erotic offering of her bottom. Her face, resting on her arms, was turned away from him, but he could see her closed eyes and pouting lips in the mirror of her dressing table.

Dry-mouthed, Mark swung the heavy strap at first awkwardly and then coiled his fingers more tightly around the slimmer end which curved in to form a handle. Inwardly smiling to herself and feeling a tight-jerking thrill course through her, Marcia waited with her own pulses beating as fast as his own. He wouldn't be as good as Brian with it, but the searing kiss of the leather always thrilled her. It made her feel dominated, submissive – wanted even. And mastered. She heard Mark move right behind her, positioning himself. Lifting her bottom higher, she slid her stockinged knees a little apart, knowing very well the lips of her quim would be pressing visibly through the net of her nylon panties. With Brian they always had to be off, but she daren't make such an offering to Mark – yet.

THWAA-AAAACK! came the first then – making her jump almost as much as it did Mark who was at first fearful of leathering her either too softly or too hard. But the leather had a weighty impetus of its own, as he discovered in that first stroke and the SLAP-CRACK of it against the bold ripeness of her bottom was a pleasure to be believed. A long wailing moan came from Marcia whose eyelids closed more tightly as she went down into her private darkness of pleasure. OOOH! it stung! The first one was always the worst, even after all these years.

Brian adored hearing the cry of 'NO-OOOOH!', but she couldn't whimper it to Mark. He might believe her and stop! 'NA-AAARGH!' she choked next as a second searing stroke flared a deeper heat into her out-thrust checks, making her hips move sensuously in a wriggling motion that brought Mark's cock up to a full stand. Jeee-ZUS, she looked glorious – so wanton, so exposed. If only he dared rip her knickers down. Yet at the same time the surging thrill of having her submit her half-naked bottom to him over-rode all his other desires. Holding the other end of the tawse outstretched with his free hand, he stepped back half a pace and swathed it out and down in an even broader arc so that the resulting CRA-AAAAACK! was the loudest of all, making Marcia's fingers dig tightly into the quilt.

'NO-OH, Mark!' she squealed without thinking. The blazing stinging of the stroke bit right through her, flaring out broad strands of fire into the cheeks which tightened on the backstrap of her panties, sucking it further in between them, 'P... please, no!' she stammered, moaning, as the next came, but Mark himself was nearing the apex of desire and with wild fingers had slipped down the zip of his slacks until his cock pronged up fully into view. Wow, it gave you a hard-on, he thought. Everything about it – the luscious bottom, the wriggling hips, and the heavily-dangling tits that pressed down through her dress, their nipples pointing through the wool.

'Yes! Yes – come on!', he heard himself croak, realising for the first time how both were part of a mutual act of desire. No sooner had the words left his lips than another scorching stroke bit deep into Marcia's bottom, making her writhe and choke out. 'YEK-AAARGH!', she sobbed and the pearls of tears on her cheeks were real, 'Mark! no more!'.

But Mark didn't listen, and that was his second lesson. A woman or girl who didn't want to be spanked or strapped would somehow kick and wriggle and scream her way out of it. If she didn't it was because deep down she needed what she was getting. CRA-AAAAACK! and Marcia's shoulders quivered, rose and sank down again, the brazen cheeks of her now almost naked bottom flared with red over the creamy skin. And more and more, it seemed to Mark, the rolled lips of her quim impressed themselves visibly through her panties. But how many? Had he given her five, six, seven? He couldn't remember. She would shriek if he hurt her badly, but instead her bottom thrust back after every stroke as if impelled by a shunting movement of her hips. Was she crying really? Guilt flooded his excitement. Then as he raised the tawse again Marcia twisted her neck and in the mirror he could actually see the tear-streaks on her face, and a smudge or two where her mascara had run. Oh God, Mark thought, I've overdone it. He forgot that his prick was stemming up naked from his flies as Marcia suddenly rolled over, flinging one arm over her eyes, her luscious stockinged thighs apart in all their gleaming richness.

Mark stared down at her and trembled. The tawse slipped from his hand as if he had never wanted to pick it up, but he would now, attain and again he knew. 'I'm... I'm sorry...', he began, 'I got carried away, I mean I... OOOOH!'. For in the same moment that the words tumbled from his mouth, Marcia had flung back her hair and sat up. She had seen his standing cock as she turned and she knew what he needed. What Brian always liked. The last act of surrender to the mastery of the strap. The knob was thick and gleaming as she drew it into her mouth, gently frigging his swollen stem.

'NYNNNNG!', Mark groaned. Her mouth was like a sponge, sucking him in, and he felt the tip of her tongue run around the crest of his cock which had now buried its first five inches between her lips. 'GLUG!', he choked as Marcia's fingers moved sensuously up and down while her free hand sneaked into his pants and cupped his balls, her bottom squirming on the quilt as she did so. More strongly then she began to suck, wetting the length of his prick with her saliva. Brian adored shooting his jets of come into a warmly-enclosing mouth. So would Mark. He had earned it, wicked as it was, but they had gone too far to draw back now. The very heat in her bottom seemed to be impelling her to do it. Sliding her long tongue under his cock she sucked it further in and felt his trembling...

* * *

'Mark's going to be late, obviously', Sandra was saying. She was still trying to forget what had happened on the bed upstairs that morning, but she couldn't, and the way Frank moved so confidently and easily about her maddened her. Men were so bloody cocky, she thought with a sickly tightness of guilt.

'He'll probably be back around eleven – watching television at your mother's, I imagine', Frank said. Sandra had drawn her golden hair back with blue bobbles that she hadn't used for a long time, and now she looked even younger. 'Well – I'm going to wash-up', Sandra said firmly and moved away from the window and away from him. She wasn't going to give him another chance. It had all gone too far. Before they had had supper together she had carefully changed into a longer dress.

'Sure', Frank said easily and managed to plant a kiss on the top of her head as she went past him, 'There's a good show on TV at nine – we'll watch that'. – 'Yes O.K.!', Sandra said distantly. She still didn't believe what had happened after her spanking that morning when he had pushed her head down and down until her mouth had touched his cock and then – oh God – she had actually let it slip in her mouth. But then somehow she had recovered herself and run out of the room. At least he hadn't followed her. In fact he had gone out again and she had spent the day alone. In a way that had been worse. Maybe it had made her think about it more, but that was even crazier.

When she walked back into the living room he was sitting watching the TV and had poured a drink for her. But it was on the low table next to the sofa where he was sitting. Making a careful arc around him as she intended to, Sandra lifted the glass and made to go to a chair when he took her wrist. 'You'll spill the wine!', she squealed and caught her balance just in time. But he had hold of her still. 'Sit and be cosy', her father-in-law said cheerfully and with a little protesting cry Sandra felt herself drawn down beside him. 'I want to watch the television', she answered moodily.

Even then she wanted to giggle, and that itself was maddening. Worse, she was blushing and her eyes weren't really taking in the TV at all. To try and hide her confusion she drank too quickly and choked, spilling wine out on to the skirt of her dress. 'Oh!', she jerked, as angry at herself as she was at Frank whose handkerchief flashed out immediately. Before Sandra could move he had slipped down on his knees and was mopping at her dress.

'All right?', he asked and his eyes crinkled up in the same old way as he smiled. Again Sandra infuriated herself. Instead of saying something cold and distant she allowed a silly grin to touch her lips. 'Huh! and that's what you should be – on your knees – after what you did', she jerked.

Instead of rising immediately he tucked his wet hanky away and laid his hands on the tops of her thighs. 'Maybe', he said quietly, 'but naughty girls have to be seen to. You know that very well, don't you?'. Sandra shook her head violently. 'No, I don't', she protested but the nervous, silly grin wouldn't go away. 'You do', he replied calmly, 'and it'll be the strap next time'.

Putting her almost empty glass down, Sandra tried to get up, but his big palms were still on the tops of her thighs. 'No – you're not going to!', she blurted and it seemed to her as if she had said those words so many times and seen the meaning of them slipping away from her. 'Oh Christ, you don't think I'd ever let you do THAT!', she jerked. But he was smiling again and that was even more maddening. She HATED him!

'You will', he said with such utter certainty that Sandra sat frozen. 'No', she said in a small voice – but it was as if she had not spoken. 'The tawse – that's what you need, love', she heard him say, 'It'll bring you up better for it than my hand did'. – 'Huh?', Sandra heard herself cry out, 'I don't know what you're talking about, I'm never going to let you do that, I'm... OOOH!'. Her knees were lifted suddenly high, so that her kicking legs found themselves over his shoulders with her skirt scooped up. Wriggling madly as his face wedged itself up between her thighs, and slipping down more on to her back, Sandra tried to reach blindly for his hair, to pull it and tear it as she hoped, but found only empty air. Drawing her stockinged legs widely apart he heard her gurgling cries as his tongue found the soft puckered lips of her slit through the vee of her panties.

'WHA-AAAAH!', Sandra screeched. He had reached right under her bottom and was drawing her panties down until the waistband was at the back of his head and his mouth had swooped deep into her pussy. 'N... n... n!', Sandra stuttered. Her feet drummed his back wildly, her bottom jerking to the in-leaping of his tongue until she felt herself floating, floating, floating...

* * *

Half an hour later Mark was making his way downstairs under the pleased smile of Marcia. 'You'd better go now', she whispered and kissed him as they stood in the hall. Mark nodded. He was still in a daze, but the firm fleshy bottom he was fondling through her dress was real enough. 'Next time...', he murmured and Marcia laughed and escaped his seeking mouth. 'We'll see', she said, 'we'll see'. It had been a bit of madness on her part that must never happen again, though she had a tingling feeling that it might. Brian wasn't due back for weeks yet. 'Come round again next week, won't you', she added impulsively and then closed the door.

* * *

In her own living room Sandra found herself on the rug, not only without her panties on but her dress, too.

'Mmmmmm!', she moaned as Frank's big cock pistoned steadily and slowly in her tight pussy. Eyes closed, her stockinged legs wound themselves ever more eagerly around his waist. Her breath jolted as his balls smacked rhythmically against the undercurve of her bottom. It was the wickedest thing she had ever done, and she would never, never do it again.

Or at least, not until he used the tawse on her...