well, Irene. You can put yourself back together now.”
God, how I wanted him to stay.
I was too turned on to accept bringing myself to orgasm, so I headed to the kitchen to find BJ, with the excuse of looking for desert if I needed it. He was putting away groceries.
“Damn, I just got it again.” He looked puzzled. “You know, disciplined.”
He pulled out a chair from the desk, sat down, and asked, “Please tell me exactly what happened.”
I began describing what happened…starting with Mr. Johnstone’s order that I report to the study for neglecting to pick up the laundry. Before I mentioned Mrs. Johnstone’s appearance I related what I had come to expect…told him in detail what had happened the first three or four times I had been spanked. He constantly interrupted me. Asked me to repeat certain descriptions. Suddenly he stood up, moved forward and embraced me. His lips were all over mine and his tongue slid into my mouth.
Within a few frantic moments we were in the large pantry and he was on his knees pulling my panties down. He slid his hand up under my blouse and bra, across my breast; then, still on his knees, held my skirt up with his other hand, put his mouth over my pussy and started licking me. I was pinned against jars of tomatoes, but it was intense, explosive pleasure. His fingers and tongue seemed to be all over me at once, and a warm wetness teased, then entered me in more than one place.
After a few minutes of gasping ecstasy, BJ stood up, quickly removed my clothes, pulled his pants and undershorts down to reveal a beautiful, large, dark, swollen cock, turned me around, and plunged deep into me from behind. We managed to cum almost in unison.
It was a few days later, at night, again in the kitchen, and this time we were having dessert. BJ brought it up. “Has Mrs. Johnstone ever had anything to do with disciplining you?”
“Well,” I said with a wink, “you didn’t let me finish my story the other night. It was the only time, but she watched.”
“She only watched?”
“She said a few things.”
“Well, I have a story for you. But first, tell me what she said.”
“No, you owe me a story. You go first.”
“Mrs. Johnstone interviewed me, and she gave me an agreement that sounds like yours. I questioned her about the discipline and corporal punishment part and she looked right into my eyes for a moment, then said, “I’m the one who will discipline you, BJ. Don’t you think you can handle it?” I was stunned, but I sure wasn’t going to say I couldn’t.”
“Nothing happened for about a week. And then I forgot about a request Mrs. Johnstone had for an evening meal. She came into the kitchen after dinner, said she didn’t ever want it to happen again, and told me to come to the study after I finished putting everything away.”
“Sounds like similar scenarios, except she was standing, waiting for me, and holding the belt in her hand. She immediately told me to take off my jeans. I took them off. Then she told me to step over to the front of the desk and bend over it with my chest flat across the top. I hesitated. She was very stern, said something like “Now, BJ. Do as I tell you.” I bent across the desk. Nothing happened for a minute, then I felt her fingers under the waistband of my underpants and she slid them down to my ankles. She told me to spread my legs. Man, was I exposed. She said she was going to give me a good whipping, and I’d get the same every time I didn’t obey her or follow her orders.”
The shudder came suddenly as my mind’s eye pictured BJ bent over the desk, his tight, muscular ass arched up and his beautiful cock hanging down and clearly visible between his spread legs.
“She really spanked me hard. I tried not to squirm but it was tough. She stopped for a minute and I wasn’t sure she was finished, but then I felt her hand wrap around my dick. Man…I was hard as a rock.” He paused.
“And then?”
“BJ, come here, please.” Mrs. Johnstone’s voice cut through the kitchen and BJ was quickly up and through the door.
I figured BJ would knock on my door later that night, and he did. As he slid my pajama bottoms off I asked him to finish his story. Instead of speaking, his mouth went immediately to my thigh, his tongue licked at me, then moved up to find my already dripping pussy lips. After a long session with his tongue sliding up and down my lips and over my clit, he gently rolled me over. His fingers now caressed my pussy, while his tongue started darting between the cheeks of my bottom and lightly flicking across my anus. The fingers of his other hand played with my breasts. I was on fire.
I remember marveling at how skilled and experienced a lover BJ was. From our conversations I believed that he was not actively practicing a religion, but he was born a Hindu, and I would have thought exposure at a young age to that culture might inhibit sexuality. I was employed by the Johnstones for less than a year, but my sexual education moved at warp speed during those months, and my addiction to the amazing intensity of pleasure inherent in an erotic component to discipline was cemented forever.
I was exhausted after the multiple hours of sexual pleasure BJ and I exchanged that evening. I did my best to reciprocate each caress…to each body part. But as I lay in bed I thought that perhaps I still had not had enough. Images were dancing in my mind of Mrs. Johnstone, with her perfectly coiffed blond bun, in her perfectly tailored, exquisite suit, reaching between BJ’s legs as he bent forward across the desk, wrapping his balls and huge erection in the palm of her hand, and squeezing and caressing them until his cum splashed onto the floor…or filling her mouth while she knelt under him…or filling her pussy as she bent over the desk, her skirt pulled up and her panties around her ankles. I vowed to ask BJ what really happened.
It was a couple of days later when I found the time to raise the question again. He smiled, then said, “Okay, but I’m still waiting to hear what she said while she watched Mr. Johnstone spank you. Where did I stop?”
“You were bent over the desk, she had just spanked you and she reached between your legs and put her hand around your cock.”
“Yeah. I almost exploded right then. But I managed to wait. She turned me around, then went down on her knees and started sucking on me. Man, was it hard not to cum. But she seemed to know when to stop.”
“She got up and went over to the couch, then told me to come and undress her…slowly. I remember the slowly part. I took all of her clothes off. She has a very nice body for a woman her age. As soon as I pulled her panties off she grabbed my head and pulled it down to her pussy. I knew what to do. I was really getting into licking her when she pushed me away, turned around and bent over the arm of the sofa. She spread the cheeks of her ass and said, “Now I want you to lick me here.”
“She was really getting hot…moaning and groaning while I was sliding my tongue across her ass.”
“I want you to fuck me now! That’s what she told me. She was panting…gasping. “In my pussy,” she said. But if you don’t do it well I’ll spank you again…harder…then make you fuck me in my ass.”
“Man, that got me going. I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next. Okay, now it’s your turn. What did she say?”
Sealing the Deal
My earliest memories? Going with Dad to buy the new, 1950, green Chevy coupe when I was five. And likely a year or two earlier, lying in what I think was a large, crib-like bed, playing with my penis.
Spanking turned me on from an early age; about six or seven the best I can remember, when the neighbor girl first told me her mother gave her a spanking with a hairbrush. At that young age I was an adept enough at interrogation to quickly learn that she was marched in to her bedroom where her mom ordered her to lay across her lap, then pulled down her panties and gave her a paddling. Her bare bottom, arched, waiting…an enduring image. There were other punishments to hear about,