Story from Swish Vol.4 No.4 continuing from Tight Cheeks.
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 alluringly 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 mirror 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 calls 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 breath 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.’ Be-ringed 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, again 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 OK,’ 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…