From Blushes 2.03
Roger pressed his lips against Sandra’s bared nipple. She moaned gently, arching her back, pressing her breast against his caress. After he had kissed her, he talked softly, whispering close to her ear. Her eyes were closed. He was lying between her legs. ‘So you wanted to tell me about Jilly…?’ His fingers were touching her where she was wet and extra-sensitive. Each stroke of his fingertips sent new ripples of ecstasy through her body. Her voice was soft and choked. ‘Peter doesn’t know what she needs.’ Roger’s lips went again to her nipple, standing proud and firmly erect, her breast softly resilient. ‘So what does she need?’ he asked her, already knowing the answer. He lifted himself away from her, giving her the freedom to move. She wriggled onto her front, her head resting gently on the pillow, turned to face him, her long legs casually open. He knew what Sandra needed. He gave it to her, almost every night. His fingers traced secret patterns across the contours of her bottom. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he told her, almost every night. His fingers traced secret patterns across the contours of her bottom. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he told her quietly. He often told her how beautiful she was. Not just her tits. Her bottom. The bottom of a growing young woman. Smooth and round. Fully-fleshed. She was a gorgeous creature, and being no mean athlete, her body was in gorgeous shape. Her bottom could look soft and vulnerable, and yet firm and resilient, all at the same time. He knew he could smack her really hard. Really make her yell and squirm. But she was strong and fit and healthy. She could take it. Rosy red-cheeked, she would kiss him goodnight. And on the following evening, she would bare her bottom for more.
Peter was having problems. It was easy enough to get at Jilly’s tits. And to get a firm grip of her knickers. But that’s where it would always end. ‘God. What’s wrong with you?’ he yelled at her one night, as she remained chaste, hands clutching her knickers, bra tangled around one shoulder. ‘Sod you,’ she announced, climbing off his bed to retrieve her discarded jeans and blouse. ‘Sod you.’ She sought consolation from her childhood friend. ‘God. What’s wrong with him, Sand?’ Sandra reckoned she knew. She and Jilly were birds of a feather. Girls with the same or, at least similar predilections and preferences. They went for a drink. Not to the local, but out in the country, where the lads couldn’t reach them. In a quiet corner by the flickering log fire. ‘Remember Oakdean?’ Julie downed her vodka. ‘God. Do I remember Oakdean!’ Sandra leaned towards her friend and whispered a few intimate reminders into Jilly’s ear. They giggled together, like naughty young girls. ‘So does Roger give you… you know…?’ Sandra went back to the bar and returned with refilled glasses. ‘Yes. He bloody well does. Whenever I need it.’ She handed Jilly her drink. ‘And it’s bloody marvellous.’
They drove home, knowing the lads would be out playing skittles. ‘So how do I get Peter to sort himself out?’ It was a cry from the heart. ‘The stupid wimp couldn’t even swipe a fly.’ Sandra was driving. ‘Find yourself another bloke. That’s my advice.’
Very late that afternoon, Sandra began rethinking their conversation. Perhaps she could get things moving. Get Peter to wake himself up. She lay on top of her bedclothes, her fingertips tracing patterns upon the most erogenous areas of her bare body. She remembered how she had first sorted out Roger. How she had bent forwards across his bed, tantalising him, her little nightie carelessly raised so he would see her bottom. She remembered the taunts and the insults. She remembered his angry murmur as he strode across the room and lifted her off her feet, placing her face down across his knee. Sometimes she really itched with a desire for that first spanking, so real and uncontrolled. So forceful. He had really lost his temper. He had really upturned her, ripped back her nightie. He had really laid into her. And she had asked for every sweet stinging smack.
Roger entered her, with a short firm thrust. She stifled a deep-throated gasp. ‘Look. What about Jilly… and…’ She lost control of her vocal chords as he rode her, edging her closer and closer to orgasm. Afterwards, as they lay together, fingers exploring each other’s bodies, she returned to the subject. ‘We’ve got to light his fire,’ she told her boyfriend. ‘For Jilly’s sake…’
Two days later, Peter and Jilly were invited round to Roger’s place for supper. Strategically-placed candles created the right mood. Soft red wine helped to relax tensions. After the meal, the two lads relaxed in the lounge, soft blues on the stereo. Sandra and Jilly were in the kitchen. The sound of shattering glass broke the atmosphere. ‘What the bloody…’ Roger ran into the kitchen, Peter following. ‘Alright. Which of you young madams smashed it?’ On the kitchen tiles lay the remains of a wine glass. The two girls glanced urgently at each other. ‘Right. Get in here.’ The order was directed at Sandra. Meekly, she scampered into the lounge.
Peter sank in astonishment towards the nearest empty chair as he watched his friend take control. Jilly stood in the open doorway. Sandra was dragged unceremoniously across Roger’s knee as he sat on the settee. ‘No, Roger. No. Not now… No!’ Sandra’s short disco skirt was pulled right up, well clear of her bottom. Red fashion tights were tugged right down, along with her brief knickers. ‘Jesus Christ, Roger. Later! Not while they’re watching. Please!’
Roger, oblivious to her pleas, began smacking his girlfriend’s bottom. Firm explosive smacks which rippled across her bare bottom flesh and made her squirm and swear and gasp and yell. ‘For God’s sake, Roger… for bloody Pete’s sake…’ Pete watched spellbound, his girlfriend too, stood open-mouthed as the punishment commenced, and Roger turned Sandra’s bottom into a blazing stinging mass of girlish bottom-flesh. Many minutes later, after Sandra had yelled and pleaded and threatened, Roger finally stopped. She climbed to her feet, tugging up her knickers and tights. Without another word, she ran from the room. But the glance she directed at Jilly said everything.
Jilly stood in the doorway, hands on her slim hips. She spoke to her boyfriend. ‘Peter, I’ve got a confession to make…’ Both lads looked at her. ‘I broke it. Not Sandra.’ She glanced at Roger and then back to Peter. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ Peter was rivetted to the spot, still stunned by the earlier vision of big Sandra, writhing, knickers down… across her boyfriend’s knee. Jilly repeated the challenge. ‘Look lads, I did it. Not Sandra. So who’s going to tan MY bottom…’ Roger stood up. ‘Get your jeans off, love. I’ll tan you… you bloody well deserve it…’ Peter, hardly able to believe his eyes, watched his girlfriend meekly strip off her jeans, right in front of Roger. ‘Hey. This has gone too far…’ He stood between his girl and Roger. ‘I’m not letting you touch her…’ Jilly, now dressed in just her tee-shirt and knickers, pushed him away. ‘Don’t be stupid, you wimp! I deserve it. And Roger’s going to give it to me.’ She draped herself across his knee, and waited for Roger to take down her knickers. It was inevitable. He always smacked Sandra on the bare. Her bottom was bared. She lay there, Roger’s hand hovering in mid-air above her creamy bottom-cheeks.
‘Don’t you bloody touch her. Don’t you bloody dare…’ Peter ran across to his girlfriend, grabbing her by the arm, lifting her away from Roger’s knee. She stood up. Again her hands went to her hips. But now, she was minus her knickers as well. No-one noticed Sandra, now standing in the doorway, watching the proceedings. Roger stood up, holding his arms aloft. ‘Alright, I won’t touch her. She’s all yours.’ He strode across the room, took hold of Sandra, and disappeared from view.
As Peter approached, Jilly backed away, strangely, refusing to allow her boyfriend to touch her. ‘Hey. What’s wrong now?’ She put her hand up, pushing him away. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong. It’s you. You’re a wimp. A bloody wimp! Why can’t you be a man? Like Roger? Why can’t YOU deal with me? Why can’t YOU keep me under control?’ She scampered to the settee and stretched herself across its padded arm, face down, displaying her bare bottom. ‘If you can’t tan my bottom, you stupid pranny, then you can’t screw me either!’ Peter’s temper finally erupted. Somehow, he found a large leather sandal in his hand. He thanked Roger for its provision. Swearing darkly to himself, he stood over his girlfriend, and her cheeky upturned bottom. ‘Jesus Christ. I’ll teach you to talk to me like that!’ He raised the slipper and planted an almighty slap across Jilly’s bottom-curves. Again and again. And she danced and yelled and pleaded and tossed her pretty head backwards and forwards.
Two hours later, Sandra and Roger lay together in the bedroom, holding each other. His fingers were cupping her bottom-cheeks, still feeling their radiating warmth. They were listening to the lively sexual activity taking place in the adjoining room. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s really giving it to her, isn’t he?’ Sandra suppressed a little giggle. ‘Doubt whether our Jilly’s been screwed like that for a very long time!’ Roger could only agree, judging by the mixture of creaks and groans. Peter was really going at it. ‘Think we’ve solved the problem, then?’ Roger turned, and kissed his girlfriend’s lips. ‘Sounds like it.’Next door, young Jilly was still perched face down over the settee. She was devoid of her knickers. And her bra and tee-shirt. Her bottom looked very red. And Peter was giving her the sex session of the century. ‘You bloody show me up again…’ he whispered through clenched teeth. ‘And I’ll tan you into the middle of next week.’ Silently, Jilly whispered Thank God. And promised to buy Roger and Sandra a very special drink, next time they met.