On Jeans….

From Chross

Those who follow Chross’ site (and if you don’t, why not?) have seen this picture. Jeans and a hairbrush-two of my favorite things.

Silky underthings or clinging skirts are fashioned to accent what they are concealing; on some level inviting an unveiling. A bottom in sheer panties is-save for color-about as bare as when the slinky garment is rolled down.

Jeans though, are cut from a sturdier cloth. They are woven to cover and protect. Pulling down a pair of jeans really does expose something that was meant to remain wrapped and hidden.

Yanking down a pair of jeans is a commitment.  It’s really doing something. (OK, it’s not exactly a Wrangler ad but it does give me a little buzz).


A Day In The Life


My wife Shelly and I run a small non-profit catering operation on the side (not to be confused with the For-Profit catering we do to keep the lights on that sometimes turns into a non-profit situation.  Shit happens). This non- profit thing is not a big production-just occasional dinners to raise operating funds for organizations we support.

During the last dinner, my wife and I had to leave for an hour or so to attend a funeral service for an old friend’s father. The kitchen was handled, servers were all in place and we enlisted our friend Theresa to take the money at the door. Not a complex job and she had sat in to spell either of us previously, but we had never left her alone to run the show.  The thing about Theresa is that she is our only vanilla friend who knows what goes on behind closed doors at our house. Some expect, I’m sure, but she knows. My dear wife, fueled by Vodka tonics, spilled the beans during a heart-to-heart with her a couple of years ago about keeping marriages strong, what we did, yadda-yadda.

Shelly had told me about it afraid I’d be angry but it was sort of a kick. Something to add to a flirty overlay that Theresa and I are always playing with. And she’s quick-like the time I came up beside her at a bar and she offered me a stool. “That’s OK”, I said. “I’d rather stand…” She gives me the look: “Were you really bad today?”

So when we left her at the door heading out-“OK, I counted the till and I know we’re straight. You know what happens if you’re off when I get back, right?”

“I guess I get spanked”, she said with a smile and twinkle that gave me a southerly buzz, funeral home trip or not. She laughed, I laughed and winked saying something like “As long as you know…” Shelly smiling led me out of the room asking, “How long will that exchange stick with you?”

As a natural vanilla, this stuff will roll off of my wife. Theresa, who talks a lot, probably wouldn’t remember by the time we got back. As a spanko though, this is the kind of thing that I can wrap a whole day’s worth of fantasies around.

So we get back about an hour later and the hall is packed-sold more dinners than we had in six months. Good for all concerned, but I ducked into the kitchen to help and Shelly did her thing, and we were at it hard for the next three hours or so. “Assholes and elbows” as my Gramma used to say. No time to fraternize or commiserate.

The next day Theresa and I had the text exchange you see here. All nudge, nudge, wink, wink; showed it to Shelly, she gave me the “you’re incorrigible” look and that was that. Then, this past weekend I’m in the garage tuning my lawnmower-it’s that time in my corner of the realm-when my phone buzzed. I assumed it was Shelly telling me when she’d be home but nope. “Theresa” said the phone.

“Hi Babe”, says I. She’s been “Babe” to me for years…as is my wife and most woman friends. (If it makes me an asshole, so be it.)

“What are you up to?” she asked.

I told her. She asked about our garden-had I tilled yet. Stuff like that. Small talk that I knew she really didn’t give a shit about but I kept the conversation going. Then she asked-

“Did you ever recount?”

Of course I knew what she was talking about. “Sure”, I lied. “The next day.”

“How did we do?”

“Good, real good…over 250 dinners.”

“Was the money straight?”

“Well, yeah”, I said slowly-as if reluctantly. “We were off a bit-not so you’d notice.”

“How much?”

“Around fifty bucks-cost of five dinners. Well within the ‘close-enough’ range.”

“It got really busy for a while there”, she said.

“I know…great job by you…”

“Still”, she said….”I feel like I should make up that money.”

“Get the hell out of here! No way…”

The phone was silent but there was still a connection….

“Still….” She said finally.

“Still nothing,” I said. “We’re good. And besides….we already worked out a penalty if you were off.”

I’d offered to spank her before-most famously when she was complaining about not being able to stick to a workout regimen. I’d offered the same service to her that I provided my wife-which had earned me a severe punch in the shoulder from Shelly who was sitting next to me. But this seemed to be different. It was just she and I on the phone.

The silence earlier had nothing on this. The birds stopped singing, there was no wind, I do believe my heart paused so that I wouldn’t miss anything Theresa might say.

Finally, “Is Shelly home?”

“No. I mean, not yet. She’s on her way. I thought you were her, on the phone. ”

“Okay…” she said, stretching it out…”I’ll swing by your house on the way home. If I see both cars, I’ll stop.” Good-she didn’t trust herself alone here either.

“Ok, Trece-maybe I’ll see you later…”

“Maybe you will…”

I didn’t. Shelly got home about twenty minutes later and I didn’t mention anything. Really nothing to mention yet. That’s bullshit-OK-I know that’s bullshit. But I’m waiting, see what happens at the next dinner….

Tiffany’s Play

continued from No Discretion-An Agency Story

Her eyes shut, she moved to his rhythm, rising onto her toes as his finger rubbed forward. She slid her arms wider to brace herself and bumped the paddle with her left hand. She closed her palm over the cool, hard wood grain and tried to spread her legs but was bound by the lasso of her jeans and underwear. Justin felt her kicking lightly at her bonds and paused in his caresses to drop to his knees behind her. She thrilled like a schoolgirl at the touch of his hands on her calf as he worked her pant leg off over her shoe. Unencumbered, she opened herself and slid further across the desk sliding the paddle forward with her.

She suddenly felt his breath on her bottom and warmly between her cheeks which now lay open exposing herself. This had not been her plan. That’s what she told herself as she felt his lips kiss her low on the left cheek, then the right. This was going further than she thought it would. She told herself that in short fragments of thought. She wanted the paddling, she thought. That was all. Of course she knew it meant that she would be dropping her pants for him, but they were adults weren’t they? They would be able to control themselves. She would anyway.

Justin’s kisses, then licks, centered wetly on her anus for a few excruciating moments pulling a soft moan through her closed lips. He slid lower-to her sex-where his tongue replaced the perfect touch of his finger.  Gripping the paddle firmly as if to convince herself that was why she was here, Tiffany arched deeply to give him better access to the hard bud of her clitoris.

His tongue found it easily enough. She had almost forgotten how good Justin was at this. The pressure built deeply in her as he used a finger to spread her from behind. “Oh God”, she moaned dropping her cheek to the desk top. A tiny nibble generated such a shock from her clit to the rest of her body that the paddle slipped from her hand and the clatter of the wood on wood broke the spell. He withdrew his tongue and she felt his face pull away.

“Oh noooo….” She whimpered like a child.

“God, Tiffany”, he said patting her bottom, “You taste like nothing else.”

She felt him rise to his feet as her once imminent orgasm slid back below the surface leaving off a small but insistent hum so she knew where it was hiding. She dropped down onto her heels and felt the paddle sliding away from her hand. She grabbed it mischievously and pulled it back.

“Now, now”, he said, and she released her grip. “Let’s remember why we’re here.”

“Oh, man…” she whined, and pulled her legs together properly. Justin, standing behind, watched the double doors close on the delights that he had missed so much. And that he wanted to get back to. Tiffany had laid out this script and he was following it as best he could but she was never one to give overt directions. He followed the flow as best as he could knowing that she would pull him back on track if he strayed too far. She settled with her palms and elbows on the desktop and ached her back slightly to present the best target.

Yes, she had wanted this. Fifteen minutes ago this was all she wanted. Now, with the feel of Justin’s mouth-his lips and tongue-lingering on her clitoris and his saliva drying on her bottom she wasn’t sure. He had left her so tingly and sensitive back there that she knew the paddle would doubly sting. She gasped slightly as he lay the cool wood across her cheeks and patted once then twice. Her heart pounded at the hard feel of it and in anticipation of what was to come.

She gritted her teeth and scrunched her eyes and waited…waited…felt the movement as he leaned away then, SMACK! It hit her. The pain washed across both cheeks like a hot iron. Before she could take a proper breath or ready herself the second SWAT! Landed on the right cheek.

“OWWW!” she yelped louder than she wanted to. Then quieter…”Sorry….but that hurt…”

“It’s okay”, he said patting the two distinct pink spots on her bum again with the wood. “There’s no one on the floor-you can be as loud as you want. I’m going to give you twelve.”

“Twelve more? Or ten more?”

“What do you think you deserve?”

For the first time she thought of Connie and her eyes stung a little. “Probably fifty”, she muttered.

“Well, that might be a little much, but we’ll see. We’ll leave it kind of open ended”, he said with a final soft pat. She tightened her shoulders and back to brace herself leaving her bottom soft and accepting. The third swat landed hard across the middle of her butt and the next came up from below stinging the soft underside of her cheeks rising her onto her toes. “Ahhh…” she gasped.

The next three came solidly in the same place across the middle in quick succession. She raised onto her toes again and was still up there when the next hit her SPLAT! lower on the cheeks. The echo of that swat filled that room accenting her high-pitched cry.

He brought the swats quickly but aimed carefully bringing most of them to bear on the heavier and softer mid target. It was tough to find an untouched spot as the creamy white turned pink and what was pink, a deeper red. Tiffany was moving a bit-up on one foot then another-further forward on the desk then backward, blooming open so that he could see again the tiny brown button of her anus and the swollen purse of her sex. His balls ached as his ignored hard-on stayed pinned to his inner thigh.

Then, as he took a break to allow her to compose herself after the twentieth or so swat, she surprised both of them by starting to cry. It was a quiet snuffle at first but from behind he could see her shoulders begin to quiver. Regardless, she settled into position with palms and elbows properly placed on the desk and aimed her bruised bottom his way.

She wanted more than he wanted to give her. But he patted the spot, leaned back and smacked her again in the center of a dusty grey spot on her right cheek. She bawled loudly at the impact and her body wracked with sobs after the next. He stopped and flipped the paddle onto the chair behind him. With one hand on the small of her back he cupped her burning bottom with the other.

“We’re done here,” he said.

“I deserve more”, she said looking back teary over her shoulder.

“Maybe you do…but not today. Stand up.”

She stood slowly and he moved her around to face him kissing her softly on her parted lips. She returned his kiss and he kissed harder and deeper wiping the tears from her face with his own. He pushed her softly backward and sat her on the hard edge of the desk.

“Ow-ow-ow…” she whispered. “My bum hurts.”

“That’s because you’re a bad girl”, he said. “Bad girls always end up with sore bums…”

Justin stepped between her legs and finally released his hard-on which jumped toward her pussy like a long ridden horse to a barn door. She accepted him completely in a single thrust. The tiny hum behind her clitoris rose quickly to a roar. The sting of her bruised backside bouncing off the desk only added to the whirl of feeling happening below her waist. She squeezed Justin’s head tightly.

“Don’t cum in me, please…” she whispered in his ear.

“Shhhhh….” He said bucking hard and fast.

Her moan built quickly from a soft whimper to a rumble and finally a wail louder than any brought out of her by the paddle. “Jesus!!!!” she screamed. He put his hands below her and lifted her into him and absorbed every quivering crush of the legs and arms entwining him. When he felt her grip soften he sat her back on the desk and covered her mouth with his. She accepted it gently and softly as he pulled is cock out of her just in time to shoot hot and thickly over her thigh and hip.

“Ohhh…” he gasped, as she reached down to pump whatever was left. “You didn’t say don’t cum on you….”

“That’s fine…” she said.

He reached down and pulled his handkerchief from his pants that were stuck at his knees. She took it but left her hand dead beside her, choosing instead to kiss him softly once more.

“Thank you”, she said.

“Always here for you, babe. Whatever you need.”

No Discretion-An Agency Story

The air between them was as thick with their history as it was with their current dilemma. It was that way with ex-lovers who retained any kind of relationship; each passing year laid another scrim that added texture to the painting that they had made together. None of the simple day to day interactions between them seemed random, as they might have without their shared story. On a level, they both felt that things between them were preordained to happen-which could be a relief or a curse. A relief in that no one was guilty of anything-that this was meant to be; or a curse in that they had to be ever vigilant against mistaking their simple urges for predestination.

So here, neither had anything to say for a moment. Justin Holmes leaned back in his chair until it creaked, waiting for Tiffany to continue. He felt an inevitability in the discourse that he didn’t want to be seen to encourage. She would have to spin it out to the end herself. Realizing this she leaned forward slightly and grabbed Justin’s gaze.

“What I’m saying is, if you have to beat my ass, I understand. It’s OK.”

His chair complained loudly as he leaned a little further. If this had been a year earlier he’d still have his beard and would be stroking it.  “I don’t really have to do anything” he said giving the impression that he was thinking it over. “This is all discretionary. You’ve done a lot on this project-this is your project. We would have been buried on this without you.” Having caught onto a narrative, it was his turn to lean forward placing his palms on his desk.

“Your work’s been exemplary-as always-you put in a lot of hours. It’s been good.” He flopped a hand back and forth for emphasis but stopped when he caught her watching it. “It’s true that your mistake wasn’t an overreach. Wasn’t you extending beyond what we could do…it was an oversight. A rookie mistake. Something that neither one of us would expect you to do.”

Sensing she was about to say something, he powered through to the end. “We’re all human right? So you know, given the work to here…If you wanted a pass on this, I would have no problem giving you a pass on this. Call it professional courtesy. Go. Finish out the day, go home to Connie and we’ll chalk it up. See you in the morning.”

She cocked her head and squinted at him with one eye, as if through cigarette smoke. She too gave the impression of thinking something over; as if she was actually deciding something that hadn’t already been settled.

She slipped an errant strand of hair behind her ear and spoke carefully-as she always did. “It’s as you said, if this were a creative issue-if I had missed the mark creatively-that would be one thing. This was a stupid move. Complete dumbshit-missed filing date. I’m as aggravated at myself as you are. Believe me.”

“I get that”, he said.

“So”, she said. “Given that, I don’t think you should exercise your discretion in this case.”

Christ. He wished he had his beard to tug or a cigarette to drag. Something. He looked at her sweet open face and closer at her impossibly lustrous skin. Didn’t something happen to a woman’s skin when she was pregnant? He pulled himself away from her bright brown eyes and sighed heavily.  “Honestly, I agree with you. Just thought I would give you the option.”

“I appreciate that,” she said then smiled tightly, shrugged with her palms upraised as if feeling for rain. “So here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.” He returned her smile with a warmer, if resigned, one. “Are you OK, with…” he nodded vaguely toward her belly.

“All good. Don’t worry, you’re not going to break anything…”

“Alright then. Get up…Let’s get on with it.”

She stood as he came out from around the desk to fetch the paddle from the closet. The days of leaving it out in plain sight as a motivational tool were far behind them.

“It’s been awhile”, Tiffany sighed, as if acknowledging that she might be due.

“Yeah, it has”, thinking, “A year?”

“Almost two”, she said. “Eighteen months maybe? The Redcliffe debacle, remember?” She was standing in front of his desk as he moved around behind her.

“Oh, right”, he said remembering the lost bid that had cost so many so much. “I swear I wore out my shoulder that day.”

“A lot of red asses, that’s for sure.”

“Indeed”, he said. It was the only time when everyone in the agency was called to the conference room for a punishment. There was too many of them-creative, accounts, administration-they had spilled out into the reception area. Everybody had gotten their share-some more than others. “A lot of crying”, he said.

“Some handle it better than others. Everybody took it. Nobody quit. And it worked-we haven’t lost one since. You sir, are a master motivator.”

Standing behind her he couldn’t see her smirk. She tried to maintain a light and breezy, conversational mien, but as she moved closer to being in position and knowing what was going to happen, there was a flutter in her chest and a rumble in her belly.

“How far along are you?” he asked.

“Twenty weeks”.

“Wow-you’re hardly showing.”

“You’re about to see where I’m showing…It all settles back here”, she said patting her jeans.

“I don’t know about that…”

“You’ll see”, she said unsnapping and pushing side to side to work the jeans down over her hips. Once free of her bottom they slid to pile on the floor. The last time he saw her like this she had been wearing a black thong that had split her tanned and toned bottom perfectly. Now, in deference to her condition, she was wearing sensible green panties that hugged her tightly.

“Connie says if I wear white underwear we can show movies on it.”

“Cute. Connie’s always been the funny one.”


She had turned to face the desk. No denying that her bottom was a bit larger than the last time it was in this position but not grossly, nor unattractively, so. He always thought, even back when they were a couple, that Tiffany should carry a few more pounds. But it had never been his call. Not at all. She had settled with her hands on the desk surface.

“Uh…speaking of underwear.”

Looking back over her shoulder, “So much for professional courtesy…”

“Form is form.”

With a faux sigh she hooked the elastic at her hipbones and rolled them down. “I’ll have to size these up before too long…” she said as she pushed them far enough-had to go below the thighs- so that they too fluttered to the floor.

She probably knew that his heart was fluttering as much as hers was. There was a reason he hadn’t punished her over the last year and a half beyond her good work. He knew of his limitations in regard to Tiffany Watts. Now, he stood almost transfixed by the sight of her bare bottom: well-rounded, dimpled with a deep crease that hid everything within. Voluptuous was the word that flashed through his mind-the word that could have been invented for this bottom. Tiffany was bent with her hands gripping the edge of the desk-her eyes squeezed tightly shut. As she waited…and waited…she relaxed slightly. He hadn’t moved-standing behind and to her left. She looked back over her shoulder and met his gaze.

“You can touch it, if you want.”

“Jesus, Tiff…”

“I’m not saying you have to…if you want”, she said again. He wanted nothing more at this moment. Slowly, as if in a dream, he lay the paddle down on the desk where Tiffany could reach it-could stroke her fingertips along the polished woodgrain. With his left hand on her back he tentatively cupped her right cheek. She drew in a quick breath as he rubbed a small circle then spanned the crevasse to rub the left. Then to likewise cup the bottom of the cheek gently-as if weighing it.

He stepped closer and encircled her waist with his free hand. He slid his other down the inside of her left thigh eliciting another light gasp and what sounded like the beginning of a moan. He had paddled and spanked many women in this office and never got more than a thickening in his pants. Now though, he had to take a moment to direct his hard-on down his leg and out of the way.

When he brought his hand back up her thigh he caressed lightly, as if accidently, between her legs- finding her swollen and moist. He withdrew slowly then circled her bottom again, then down the right thigh. Again, up the inside but allowing himself to linger this time at the top; allowing a finger to touch, then push and finally stroke lightly at the spot he used to know as well as any spot on his own body. This time she did groan weakly.

“Is this what you want?” he asked. It was never a question he had to ask before and he felt weak asking it now.

“I don’t know that I have a preference between you going forward or you stopping,” she said huskily though rising on her toes and bending her knees to open rearward put a lie to what she was saying. He accepted what he took to be a tacit invitation and continued stroking gently. He knew her spot and circled it wetly.

“Ah, Justin”, she breathed and leaned into him hip to hip. “Do what you’re going to do. I don’t….have it in me to tell you…one way or another….right now….” She had begun to writhe slightly, to undulate in time with his finger.

To be continued…..