By Simon Banks from Janus 32
‘They’re very young, that new couple in No. 24,’ Muriel Walker told her husband. ‘Really I don’t know where these young people find the money.’
Muriel, naturally keen to get an early look at the new arrivals next-door, had invited them round for a cup of tea the day they moved in. Stan had missed this as he’d been out. Stan Walker was newly retired and just 60, a couple of years older than Muriel, and their own mortgage was all paid for. It gave you a pleasant feeling of contentment looking back at your own quite hard times when younger.
‘Some of these young ones are pretty high earners these days,’ he observed. ‘Not like when I was a lad.’
Stan got his own first look at what had moved in next-door the very next day, or at the female half at least. He was out in the garden pottering about and she came out with some laundry. He introduced himself and she said brightly, ‘Hello: I’m Sandra Mitchell.’
She was quite a looker, Stan saw. In her early twenties with short blonde hair and a pretty face with a bright ready smile. And quite a figure too! Her sleeveless blouse showed off a pair of tits which though not overly big were firm and high, like nice crisp apples, Stan thought; while down below her jeans were stretched skin-tight over fullish hips and a ripely rounded rump.
This latter item kind of took Stan’s breath away — especially when she bent down to pick up the laundry she was hanging out. I’d give a few quid to have this one over my lap, he thought appreciatively. That would be exactly what the doctor ordered; a real retirement present rather than that stupid clock they’d given him.
It really was extraordinary that Stan should have been thinking that. Because it was that very night, in bed and just before he was getting to sleep, that Muriel suddenly said, ‘Whatever’s that?’
Stan, down in the bedclothes, couldn’t hear anything. ‘Listen!’ said Muriel. ‘She’ s crying out. Her next-door. I think he’s beating her.’
The houses were adjacent semis and the dividing wall was next to the head of Stan and Muriel’ s bed, and Stan, when he raised his head, could hear it quite distinctly. Slightly muffled of course but undoubtedly female yelps and squeals. And was that at the same time the steady rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh? Of a male hand sharply smacking down into that delectable rump?
‘Get to sleep,’ advised Stan. ‘Just a little lover’s tiff I daresay.’
And Muriel, after a bit of tut-tutting, and some ‘Really!’s and ‘Whatever is the world coming to!’, did get to sleep. Stan, though, lay wide-awake. Visualising what was happening on the other side of that wall. And thinking how absolutely out of this world it would be to be in there dishing out the medicine himself. If fate, or Divine Providence, wanted to give him something, as a little retirement present say, then that — that magnificent bottom on Sandra Mitchell — would undoubtedly be it.
As luck — or Divine Providence — had it Stan happened to see the new girl next-door in the garden again a couple of mornings later, when Muriel had gone shopping. He started chatting — and, wonder of wonders, found himself invited in for a cup of coffee. He sat himself down on the settee with a rising sense of excitement. Boldness, he knew, was the answer if you wanted something. He watched her rear view as she went to get the coffee. The jeans looked even tighter today, with the ridges of her brief panties clearly showing. Panties which covered barely half of each slightly wobbly bottom-cheek.
She came back and with heart pounding Stan decided on a frontal shot. ‘The walls of these houses are pretty thin, I’m afraid. I mean you can just about hear everything that goes on next-door, can’t you?’
His new young neighbour looked at him — and her pretty face gradually developed a deep flush. There wasn’t much going on in Stan and Muriel’s to be heard through the wall of course; whereas next-door in No. 24… It had happened again the second night, though not as far as Stan knew last night. Sandra nervously picked up her coffee cup.
Emboldened, Stan decided to dive right in. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, my dear, you’ve certainly got the bottom for it!’
Sandra, bright red now, said, ‘Christ!’ She looked at Stan, then quickly away. ‘I told my dear bloody husband we should use the bedroom on the other side. But no, he was sure you couldn’t hear anything through the wall.’
‘Keen on it, are you?’ asked Stan.
‘Gary’ s keen on it,’ replied the pretty blonde. ‘He just loves it. I’m not all that keen — it hurts for one thing. Well, I suppose if I’m in the right mood I don’t mind it.’
The pink flush had now abated and she gave Stan a quick smile. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this: all our intimate details. It’s highly embarrassing. I mean I’ve never let anyone know that we do it.’
Oh don’t worry about me,’ Stan put in quickly in his best avuncular manner. ‘I’m just a friendly old chap. A father figure — or even grandfather figure almost. I’ve seen a bit of everything in my time.’
‘Well at least I make him pay for it,’ said Sandra ‘Pleasures shouldn’t come free, should they? Two quid a time. That way I at least get a little bit of spending money.’
‘Hard up then, are you? asked Stan.
‘Oh God it’s awful. We can’t really afford the mortgage on this house but we both really wanted it. And I’ve tried to get a job myself but there’s nothing going. So we’re really skint.’
Stan took a deep swallow of his coffee, then sat back. ‘Yes, it can be hard at your age. Me and Muriel, of course, we’re pretty well placed now. Not really well off you understand but comfortable enough. So that naturally makes a difference. Because I would have said that at even a fiver a time for having a go at what you’re sitting on, a man would be getting a really great bargain.’
Sandra looked at him, and again went slightly red in the face. ‘You’re pretty cheeky, Mr Walker. It was my husband we were talking about doing it, you know.’
Stan left about twenty minutes later, having immediately steered the conversation into other matters after his remark about fivers. He had the feeling that he’d really put his foot in it. Making what sounded like a crude cash offer to the pretty and charming and undoubtedly very loving young wife. Whereas what he had meant was that if she needed any help, cash-wise, he would be happy to oblige, while at the same time it would be really fantastic to get that bottom over his lap.
That, in Stan’s eyes, was very different to actually offering to pay for it, but he could see how it sounded. And he felt there was nothing he could say that would make it sound any better. So he just left it. Yes he knew he had really gone and done it, whereas if he had played his cards right… He could have really kicked himself.
‘Had a good day, dear?’ Muriel asked when she got back from town.
Poor Stan forced himself to say he had, while feeling absolutely sick. What a really stupid stupid business.
Then the next day it happened, when Muriel had again gone off shopping in the morning. She had just left and Stan was vaguely wondering what to do with himself when there was a knock at the back door. He went — and there she was, his delectable new neighbour.
‘Can I come in?’ she asked in a rather nervous voice.
Stan simply held the door open, too surprised and excited to speak. She was wearing a skirt today with a blue sleeveless blouse and high-heel shoes. Feeling a little faint Stan finally managed to say he was just about to put some coffee on.
In the lounge, with the coffee, they sat opposite each other. Stan could see her legs and knees for the first time, and they were quite as good as the rest of her.
Sandra said hesitantly, ‘Mr Walker: about what you said the other day…’
Stan abruptly broke in. ‘Forget it! I was being stupid. I didn’t mean anything.’
The pretty girl bit her lip. ‘Oh… I thought… You see I really am hard up at the moment.’
Stan looked, wide-eyed. ‘And I thought… Well, I’d take you up on what you said. I wouldn’t mind. You… you could spank me… for a little loan perhaps.’
Could Stanley Walker be hearing right?
She had gone rather red in the face, what she was saying evidently was not easy. ‘I mean I wouldn’t let just anyone, of course. But, well, you seem nice and we are next-door neighbours. So I thought… but if you didn’t mean it after all…’
‘No!’ Stan was red-faced himself now. ‘No, I certainly did mean it. It was just I was afraid I had offended you. I… er… can we start today? Now?’
Sandra smiled. ‘If Mrs Walker isn’t coming back too soon, I don’t see why not.’
Stan said she wasn’t, not for a couple of hours, and his pretty young guest stood up. Her hands went to the waist of her knee-length grey skirt, and she simply slid it down and stepped out of it. Underneath there was no petticoat. She was wearing nylon stockings, not tights, fastened with the straps of a cream-coloured satin suspender belt. The straps crossed rounded bare thighs to disappear up into the legs of a pair of matching cream-coloured French knickers.
Stan sat open-mouthed. With a nervous laugh his guest said, ‘I wore these because they say men like them. The stockings I mean. And the French knickers as well I suppose.’
She turned round on her high heels to present her ripe rump in the tight-seated knickers. ‘Will I do, Mr Walker?’
Stan was feeling somewhat apoplectic. He also had a sudden severe attack of tightness-in-the-front-of-the-trousers. He managed to say ‘Come here!’
Sandra came, and she got herself down over Stan’s lap. She had on some kind of delicate yet powerful perfume and what with that and the solid womanly weight of her suddenly on top of Stan’s erection it was almost too much. For there it was only a few inches from his face: that gorgeous ripe bum in the skin-tight French knickers. If I’m not careful, thought Stan, I’ll come on the spot and that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly. Keep control, he told himself firmly.
Calming down just a little he put his hand on the magnificent rear, sliding his palm voluptuously over the tight-stretched silk. It was a marvellous feeling, quite out of this world. Only one thing could be better and that would be the bare flesh itself.
‘Can I take them down?’ he asked.
A voice from the lowered blonde head. ‘For five pounds I don’t see why not.’ And she obligingly eased the weight of her hips up off Stan’ s lap.
His hand went in the waistband of the knickers, first one side and then the other, dragging them down, right off her bottom to just above the stocking tops. And there it finally was: the ripe resilient bare flesh. Twin sumptuous cheeks with their deeply dividing cleft at the bottom of which could be seen some light brown curling hair. Stan took a deep breath.
And then his open palm came down SPLATT! on the fullest curve of the nearside cheek. It felt fantastic, sending an almost electric shock through him. The firm warm flesh juddered solidly at the impact, and there was a squeaking gasp from the bottom’s owner. A satisfying pink imprint was left on the pale smooth surface.
SPLATT! Stan delivered an identical smack to the right cheek. Sandra again squealed and shifted her weight slightly, in the process grinding herself into Stan’s erection. He bit his lip to keep control; then SPLATT!… and SPLATT!… He delivered two harder ones lower down, where that hair was. At these heavier shots Sandra emitted high-pitched yelps, of the kind Stan and Muriel had heard through the bedroom wall.
Stan was now more in control of himself, after the rather too intense excitement at the beginning. He got into a steady cadence of hard smacks: SPLATT!… SPLATT!… SPLATT!… Distributing them systematically top and bottom, left and right, and also down onto the backs of her upper thighs. Very soon the whole of the splendid rear was a nice uniform glowing pink.
Sandra’s reaction to all this was that sharp yelp each time the hand landed plus as the spanking continued some general heavy breathing, and an increasing squirming around of hips and pinkened bottom. She must obviously be able to feel that hard-on underneath her, Stan thought. And to think how difficult it was for him to achieve one these days — it was quite a revelation.
Eventually he brought the spanking to a close. He felt pleasantly out of breath and really fantastic. Sandra, realising he had stopped, gave a final gasping groan. She struggled up. Stan had a glimpse of a furry-haired pussy before she yanked up her knickers.
Knickers in place, Sandra sat down heavily next to Stan on the settee. She gave him a rather hot-eyed look… And then it was Stan’s turn to gasp as her hand went down to that bulge which was still distending the front of his trousers. She took hold of it through the cloth, and that was it. The self-control Stan Walker had been exerting could go only so far. He simply erupted.
After that he naturally came down to earth. He looked up at the clock. Sandra, getting the message, got up and put on her skirt. Feeling absolutely on top of the world, Stan took out his wallet and gave her not a fiver but £10. No harm in showing his appreciation after this first fantastic morning. Sandra responded with a wet-mouthed kiss on his cheek.
Incredibly Stan could now feel the sap rising again. He had a sudden blood-tingling thought. ‘Sandra: next time… How about me getting a cane?’
Back in her own house Sandra felt unbelievably randy. It had just been such a fantastic turn-on, being spanked by a strange man, because she had only ever had it from her husband, Gary, before. Afterwards, grabbing Mr Walker like that had been simply spontaneous, without thinking. Perhaps it had been an awful thing to do but it just showed how the spanking had aroused her.
Now she was really turned on, with a desperate desire for sex — with Gary of course, although the way her nerve-ends were pounding it was as if almost anyone would do. Clearly, though, actual sex was not on right away and so she turned to the next best thing. In the bedroom she took off the fancy French knickers and lay down on top of the bed. And with a groan put her hands between her legs.
Sandra came almost at once. And then almost at once felt like doing it again. Not only had the spanking been a tremendous turn-on but she had £10 to show for it as well. And not only that, there had been that final suggestion of Mr Walker. That he could get a cane.
That really sent shivers down her. Gary had suggested getting a cane but being caned by her husband had not exactly appealed to Sandra. But getting it from old Mr Walker would be entirely different. It could inspire some marvellous fantasies — she could be a girl at a borstal, or at one of those boarding schools. Or captured by villains… or all sorts of things.
And naturally he would be prepared to pay for the privilege — and that in itself was a huge turn-on, being paid for it. Sandra’s hips were rhythmically rocking against her hand and she started emitting those high-pitched squealing gasps. And very soon Stanley Walker’s little retirement present was having her second climax in the space of five minutes.