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Saturday, 12 October 2019

Bottom Row

Story from Swish Vol.6 No.4
Summer — and the living is easy, as the song used to say. In the mornings, when the sun comes bright through the windows into the lounge and they wear their thin white skirts, I can see through them when they stand against the sunshine. How lovely and subtle and feminine the lines of their legs seen as through a veil! And then above all the profile of their bottoms, the proud pert thrust of them, and the shadowy vision of their panties cupping their cheeks so lovingly and tightly.
Naked bottoms are, of course, delicious to see, but I also have a penchant — and I’m sure every man has — for a tight round bottom sheathed in tiny panties. ‘Cupped’ is the better word. More descriptive, I think. Very tight and semi-translucent panties seem to hold the female bottom in readiness, even to make the darling cheeks rear up a little higher — but that is a visual illusion.
I have spanked Marianne several times — playfully — but never yet Linda. The smallness of her waist bewitches me, and the young-womanly way her hips curve out as though to announce themselves. Marianne’s bottom is slightly plump, like a ripe plum in fact, and so resilient to my palm. Linda’s will be a little smaller and (or does the imagination make it so?) tighter? To spank them together, or — better — to bring a loving strap to their bottoms together, would be fantastic, and I confess to having dreamed of it many times.
Marianne does become flushed when I spank her playfully. Two weeks ago in this very room I bent her under my arm, and, although she said weakly ‘No,’ hoisted her thin skirt to her hips and had her display herself to me. She wore stockings then (on this warmer day neither are wearing them) and my fingers flirted a little with the creamy rims of her thighs where her nylon tops bit into her flesh and made very tiny ridges above. I dared not linger on that too obviously, though, and gave her a first little stinger.
Ouch!,’ she squealed, over-dramatically, for it could not have hurt her, and I would never do so. — ‘Be quiet, Marianne!,’ I said sternly, for she secretly likes ‘male rule,’ and so she let her head and shoulders hang limp while I applied another Smack! of my palm. Bent well over thus, her panties drew in at the back until the thin nylon strap seemed almost to be sucked in between her nether cheeks, leaving them wickedly naked to my seeking eyes. There was a pink tinge on the snow-white half-moons from their contact with my hand, and I gave her another.
It was slightly harder, I confess and her ‘Yeee-Ooooh!’ was louder, but still she did not desperately struggle up. I suppose if she had done I might have stopped. It is after all a sport of sorts in which the female must show herself submissive, and should like doing so. I am sure Marianne does, despite her protests and the fact that I have to playfully chase her through the house until I have her over. — ‘Not my skirt!,’ she will protest, but it comes up all the same. The moment of unveiling is especially thrilling as is the first contact of my yearning palm to her full moon.
How juicy it feels — yet even as I write the word, I really seek another. Rich as the English language is, it can never really express the sense of firm, yielding flesh — that glorious vista of a proud female bottom poised like a moon in the heavens above two shapely legs. I know how I want her — I know how I want them both — with legs slightly apart and toes turned in. When I last spanked Marianne — her ‘sweet sixer,’ as I called it — I did quickly lever her warm, curvy legs apart with my wrist after the second or third Smack!, but they closed quickly again.
I said nothing. It was a defensive movement that I must overcome, though some aficionados are — from what I read — quite content to have polished high heels close together. There is a lovely ‘awkwardness’ of posture, in having a girl poised as I prefer with, as I say, the toes turned inwards a little and legs reasonably well apart. Besides, it gives her better balance. I did venture to say that to Marianne afterwards, wriggling as she was and holding her own palm to her bottom which by then she had covered.
‘No, I think it’s rude,’ she said rather comically as if that excused and covered all. I wanted to ask her then, ‘Do you like me spanking you?’ but felt it too open a question. There is a ‘heavy’ and slightly flushed look on her face when I let her up. Her eyes seek mine and then dart away. I cannot help but look at her tits then, imagining her nipples stiffer than they were and persuading myself that I can so see them through her top.
Perhaps one day I shall slip my hand beneath one or other of those lovely gourds while I am spanking her. Perhaps one day I shall — having awarded her the sixth and last — squirm a quickly-enquiring finger under the strap of her knickers and feel her furry haven. I swear it will be soft and moist. Such thoughts quicken in my mind as they both come into the living room, blue ribbons binding their long brown hair at the top against a breeze, for we have arranged a picnic today.
‘Is the hamper in the boot of the car?’ — ‘Of course — yes.’ — ‘Where shall we go?’ — ‘To Anerley Castle, I thought’ — ‘Oh great, yes’ …and so the chatter goes on, their brown suntanned legs more fully revealed as they get into the Jag. Wild fantasies enter my mind as I take the driving seat. I want — yes — to spank both their bare bottoms and to hear their sobbings while I lick their fur as they lie wriggling their hot bottoms, kissing away each other’s tears. Maybe the high summer is heating my blood — but surely it must theirs also? The drive takes less than an hour. I know the place well enough — well enough for me to park the car in the right place and to lead them along by the lake to a cool spot beneath the branches of huge elms where most others frequently do not come.
‘It’s right out of the way here.’ — ‘Yes, but it’s nice.’ They quarrel on that lightly among themselves while I open the old wicker basket and start to lay things out. Then they help. — ‘You’ve brought a lot of wine,’ is said. — ‘Yes, but it’ll keep — it’s all in the cooling box,’ I reply. Heat and wine go well together. Will they become drowsy and let me raise their skirts? But I am meandering. It is their bottoms you want to know about, to see — together — even as I do: the two ripe, split peaches.
Linda lies back first, finished with eating and drinking, drawing her skirt up of her own accord until I can almost see her baby-blue panties. Marianne settles down, too. Lazy humming of insects. All the beguiling sounds of summer. Then Lady Luck comes to me and smiles. Marianne sleeps, head on her arm. Linda murmurs, eyes closed. Pretending to tidy up, I get behind her and stretch out on the slightly sloping grassy ground. Easing my hand forward inch by inch, I move the back of her skirt up little by little. She does not stir. Oh, glory of glories, her bottom half-bared and the milky swelling wonder of her cheeks seen at last!
She stirs, rolls on her hip more towards Marianne. Her cunny will be sticky already in this heat. Holding my breath, I draw the hem up until her thinly-knickered bottom is fully exposed. Dare I? But I can’t resist. Just one juicy big smack — or two. Will it start her off? Not too hard, though — don’t startle her, I tell myself and — with pulses racing — give her a little pat on her pert and half-bare bum.
So light it is that she utters a sort of ‘Mmmmmpfff!’ and makes to move, but still has her eyes closed. Another? Dare I? Will she ‘wake’ — scream, screech? I can’t help myself. If anything the gentle smack across her dreamy, tight globe is lighter, but I know she feels it. — ‘Woooo!’ she chokes and moves her hips. The darling — she can feel it all right, and likes it. Or does she dream and do I kid myself all too hopefully? Thankfully, Marianne doesn’t open her eyes. I try a new tack — one that will not over-please the caning and hard-spanking fraternity, but I prefer to tell it how it was. They will be better pleased with my later episodes. So yes — I had best say now that this was Linda’s very first moment of ‘tutoring,’ and I would challenge anyone to have done it more effectively.
What I did was to begin to pat her bottom rhythmically with the full breadth of my palm. I did it as softly as possible so as not to arouse Marianne — though after this distance of time I do not believe she heard. Hence it was pat-pat-pat rather than Smack-Smack-Smack, but the sensation was exquisite. So slowly did I do it that I could feel the full chubby cheeks of her, the vee-ridges of her knicks, and the spreading warmth of her lovely botty. Another puffing breath or two from her. Glory of glory, her hips moved a little and she drew her knees up so that I could smack her ‘bulb’ the better, getting my hand under so that now and then my extended forefinger actually touched the tight, nylon-sheathed fig of her quim.
I felt truly dizzy — my wildest dreams not quite realised, yet I knew I was on the brink of them. A full dozen times or so I pat-smacked her and then suddenly the breath hissed in through her nostrils, her legs straightened and she made to sit up. All happened at once then. — ‘Wassamatter?’ Marianne asked and stretched and opened her eyes, but in that moment, brief as it was, I had sat up also — my prick admittedly straining up through my slacks — and reached for the cooler box.
‘Just pouring some more wine,’ I said. — ‘Don’t want any,’ Marianne mumbled and closed her eyes again. Linda saw me looking at her thighs and drew the hem of her white skirt down. My eyes questioned hers. She blushed and said ‘All right,’ and — when I filled her glass — drank pensively and perhaps I thought a bit defiantly. Finishing it quickly, she got up and said pettishly, ‘Want to go for a walk.’
‘Me, too,’ I said and then looked down and asked, ‘Marianne?’ I’d got up as Linda had so Marianne had a worm’s-eye view that I rather forgot she would have. For a long moment she stared up at the projecting outline of my rodding cock, then turned away quickly and said, ‘No — you go. Don’t be long.’ I said ‘All right,’ in a croaky voice and walked by the side of Linda. The ground was narrow there, between the shrubs and trees that hid the road, and the encroaching edges of the lake.
Linda didn’t say anything, head coming up to my shoulder beside her. I knew she’d felt my hand at her bum and hadn’t stopped me or jerked her hips away as she might have done. Maleness is sometimes a handicap — it makes for impetuousness that often spoils things (Hear, hear! — Ed). Without thinking, and we being entirely on our own, I reached my hand behind her and gave her pert bottom a little smack. — ‘Ouch!’ she said, ‘No don’t!’ — ‘You like it lighter,’ I said. — ‘I don’t — I don’t like it — Yee-Ouch!’ she repeated for even as she did jerk forward then in our walking I gave her another on her warm, tight moon. Her lips pursed, her eyes screwed up and I could really almost feel her bottom-cheeks tightening together.
‘Stop it — you,’ she squealed and ran forward. There was an old shed of sorts there where once boats had been stored and she ran behind it, I following so quickly that I reached and grabbed her in the shelter of it, so to speak. It was a narrow, grassy passageway and, again, shrouded by trees. I held her wrist. — ‘You did it while I was sleeping,’ she said and tried to pull away. — ‘You didn’t mind,’ I replied. — ‘Did,’ she said and looked half sullen. — ‘No. No, you didn’t. Besides, I want to spank you properly — tonight — will you?’
My words came out all in a rush. I would get no marks for subtlety — I knew that. — ‘Shan’t, no — it stings me. Besides, you… you had my skirt up,’ she accused and stared at me really funnily. — ‘No, it came up. I just couldn’t resist. Please let me,’ I pleaded.
Never plead. Always do it. I learned that quickly, though actually I had never pleaded with Marianne indoors. I always just did it, quickly, on impulse, and always of course when she was unprepared, but she had never struggled strongly either. — ‘I don’t want to. Oh, don’t let’s stay here. Come on,’ Linda said, but she wasn’t angry. It was my one hope left that she wasn’t. — ‘If you do — just a little one tonight,’ I said. — ‘No — you’ll do it hard and, anyway, she’ll hear,’ Linda said with damning logic, perhaps not realising that she was making what I call an ‘outside excuse’ and not simply refusing.
‘She won’t if she’s asleep,’ I said. ‘Huh! So will I be probably if she is. I thought you were getting a new car this week,’ she replied as though to change the subject quickly. — ‘No, next week. Thursday. In the evening. You can come with me,’ I told her. We moved out from behind the shed. — ‘I might,’ Linda said. — ‘And then you can have your spank,’ I said. — ‘No!’ she laughed, but at least she laughed.
‘What have you been doing?’ Marianne asked when we got back. She looked at my flies, but it was down by then. Linda had never noticed my hard-on, or had she? — ‘Just walking’,’ Linda replied quickly and I realised she could have said, ‘Oh, he’s been saying terrible things,’ but she didn’t.
Bless Marianne. I mean that. The heat and wine gave her a headache, she said. We got back early, at about five, and she went straight into her room and closed her door. She didn’t put her radio on, so I knew she’d be sleeping. I took deep breaths inside me. Linda ran up and had a bath. I waited. When she finally came down she had a different, flowered skirt on and a new white top. She sort of tried to avoid me and sat nervously, but I always figured the living room was mine as much as theirs. I did it all wrong, maybe. (Don’t we all sometimes? — Ed). She was about to sit down and pick up a magazine when I caught her. Off balance — just as her knees were bending. Unfair, yes. I had to.
No!’ she squealed. — ‘Be quiet — you’ll wake her,’ I said. Or rather, I snapped. Struggling like a wildcat I got her over a small table, almost knocking over a vase of flowers. — ‘No! Don’t, don’t, don’t! You can’t! Won’t let you! Oooh! No!’ — That last cry, of course, was for her skirt coming up. I clamped her slim waist so tight with my free arm that only her hips could waggle. She’d changed her knicks. They were pale mauve, and perhaps even more transparent. The silky shadow of her tight groove, her twinkling legs. I almost fainted. — ‘You can’t! Don’t! No! Won’t let you! Yeee-Aaaargh!
That was a real smack I gave her. It must have stung deep into her pert, apple-round botty. What a yell she gave! — ‘No-Woh!’ — ‘Linda, stop it! You’ll bring her down,’ I warned. — ‘D…d…don’t care!’ she sobbed. I held her throbbing botty cupped then. — ‘Yes, you do,’ I said with no logic whatever, but miraculously it worked. Her throaty sobs died, her knees tight together. — ‘P…p…please don’t sp…sp…spank me,’ she choked, but in a much quieter voice.
‘Only a little one — you have to learn,’ I said, and wondered even as I spoke those words how often they have been said before in similar circumstances. — ‘Noooo!,’ came her answering whine. — ‘Yes, Linda,’ I replied firmly and then gave her another, though not such a blaster. — ‘Gaaaar!’ she wailed and her thinly-sheathed botty rolled all around, her waist twisting in the ringing of my arm. — ‘Only four more — I promise,’ I said, and that’s a phrase I do recommend. — ‘Booo-Hoooo!’ came from her. She made to press up from the table with her arms, but I had her well over and gave her her third. I didn’t mean it to be so hard, but as luck would have it I was right.
Oh-Wah!’ came from her and then a sort of ‘Zooooooh!’ sound, but this time there was a sort of infinitesimal surrender of her supple body. I could sense it. The others were lighter. I wanted them to be. Burn — and then urge. It so often works. — ‘You little beauty,’ I ground at her in giving her another. Couldn’t help myself. Her sobs were plaintive and sweet and I swear her bottom stuck out more. I knew I must praise her — but that severity (even of a put-on kind) must be the key in future if I was to get her knickers down as I intended. Hers and Marianne’s both. And soon…

2 comments:

  1. Bob here.
    Nice,gently erotic little tale.Not sure how many gentlemen would be content to let a girl off after only
    half a dozen or so spanks,though.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I was never a fan of swish it wasn’t a patch on roue Janus and blushes

    ReplyDelete