He would have looked absolutely adorable if she wasn’t so pissed at him. Long dark bangs cut across thick eyelashes above dark brown eyes that almost glistened. He was an engaging kid-if you could call a man five months eighteen a kid. Maybe that’s what it was about him; he was older than most of his classmates by almost a year. And not that much younger really than she was. To say those were the reasons she was attracted to him though would have been a bit of a lie. The first attraction was clearly physical.
This football player had darkened her doorway last semester wanting to take her Intro to Art Class. She had seen him in the halls and knew who he was in the way that everyone “knows” the football hero but hadn’t really spoken to him until that day. Arms bulging against his shirt, shoulders seemingly as wide as the door that V’d down into a tight waist. She had worked her share of models in figure drawing but nothing that her eyes wanted to linger over like him.
The first thought that had popped into her head when he tapped on her door jamb that day was “Uh Oh”. Right off she knew that he was the kind of student that her senior advisor warned her against back when she was student teaching. Of course, she might have paid the warnings more heed had they not come in bed while he was suckling at her titties like a balding, middle-aged kitten. Poor near-sighted Stephen, with his little pot belly and bandy legs-that was the kind of guy she typically ended up with. Not this ruddy Adonis across the desk.
“You can’t blow off all of my classes Dixon! You are seriously taking advantage of our friendship here you know that? That is not cool.”
Everything was in place for Dixon. He had already accepted the scholarship to play football at State in the fall so most of his time was spent in the weight room and on the fields getting ready for summer workouts. So he wasn’t paying the strictest of attention to his classes or schoolwork still on his plate. Which meant he wasn’t going to the ones he didn’t “have time for.” It didn’t matter to most teachers. To this one it did.
“…and you know” she continued sternly, “this is an elective art class so even if I failed you-which I wouldn’t-it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t mess with your plans. It was just a shitty thing to do. I thought we were beyond this.”
His apologies were profuse and heartfelt. He knew that he had betrayed a friendship and felt horrible about it but all he could do was apologize. And she accepted it-she knew he was beating himself up over it-but she had to keep teaching. Had to make him know what was acceptable and what wasn’t. But that was enough.
She let him up and smirked. Emboldened by his sad puppy look she pushed a little. “I’m sure I could rummage through the closet here and find a board or something suitable that I could use as a paddle. Maybe that’s what I should do to drive home my message. What would you think of that?”
“What?” he thought. Did she just say that? His cheeks burned in a surprising way and he quickly sifted through his memories to see if he had ever hinted to her in class about the things that he dreamed about. No. He wouldn’t have-ever. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying “OK, but only if its pants down and I can go over your lap.”
The last shred of anger in her eyes shattered in a high pitched titter of laughter. “I don’t guess so. I’d want to punish you-and I think you’d like it too much. Now, get out. Don’t you have a class to go to…?”
“I was going to go look in the closet…”
“OK, we’ll save that for our first date….”
“Out! Go lift some weights or something you goof ball. And come to class!”
She watched him walk out of the room and couldn’t help but focus on his hard-looking ass wrapped in tight jeans. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered what it might feel like-to touch. To squeeze. And his arms, his shoulders that cascaded down into the strong firm waist. She had stayed away from athletes when she was in school so hard bodies like his weren’t her specialty…but…She shook her head hard. Down girl, she thought smiling.
After commencement, June disappeared. Dixon was off to State for orientation and when he got back, Emily Palmer who spent most of the month playing tennis, was off to the beach for a couple of weeks. Not to say they didn’t stay in touch. She had given him her phone number and told him to stay in touch if he “needed to talk” over the summer. It was sort of a manner of speaking-she didn’t know if she’d hear from him but when he was away-as most young men-he got homesick. So they had talked…and talked…but didn’t see each other again until the Fourth of July Party at Bill Necture’s house.
Events conspired against them and they didn’t get there until around seven when the party was in full swing and they had no real time to catch up. At nine, a dozen unspoken plans began to play out. Coolers were packed, bottles were grabbed and everyone headed for the door. The fireworks wouldn’t start for an hour at least but getting a prime parking place and watching spot was key.
Dixon thought he’d park up the hill a bit-where the woods thickened and the lights of town were left behind. He looked around the room, assuming Ms. Palmer would go with him. He had no real plans-there was no conquest in mind-he was looking forward to continuing a conversation. Where was she though? Had she already left? That would have been a drag.
The house emptied. Directions were shouted from room to room-from the porch back to the kitchen-and glass tinkled and the refrigerator door opened and closed incessantly. Plans for the after-party all revolved around the Club and downtown. Nobody was heading back here.
Damn, had she slipped out? Where the hell was she? He looked around a little too frantically for his taste before he saw her, back to the room, leaning against the wall going through albums. Short skirt, tanned legs, madras shirt-alone in the corner.
“You going to the fireworks?” he asked ready to invite her to his secret spot up on the hill.
“Naw”, she said. “I’m not much of a sky flower girl.”
She pantomimed two exploding sky rockets with her fingertips. “They all look the same after a while. Smell like smoke and you get covered in ashes. Don’t think so. Plus, Billy has some killer albums”, she said still leafing through them. “I think I’ll sit here, listen, enjoys a few more drinks before I drag myself home.”
Careful not to loom, he reached over her shoulder and began leafing through the albums she’d already seen.
“Beatles or Stones?” he asked.
“Neither really. Stones, though if I have to choose…”
From behind he put his hand on her hip-careful to not extend too far forward or two far backward. Just contacting the hipbone which felt warm and firm under the skirt. He felt a tingle in his crotch as she reacted not at all to his touch. He took that as permission and his next move was going to be sliding the hand down to feel the tight bare skin of her thigh.
“How about this?” She asked holding up a black album cover with silver script.
“Huh”, he said. “I don’t know ‘War’”.
“Sheltered child”, she grinned. “I’ll put this on. Go see if they left us anything in the fridge.”
As he expected, the pickings in the fridge were pretty slim. He grabbed two beers as the funky beat of “Me and Baby Brother” filled the rooms. Ah, he thought. This was War. He knew the music-just not the name.
He came back into the room to find it empty. Good Lord, he thought. Had she moved right to the bedroom? He looked down the hallway and saw light leaking out from below the bathroom door. Ahhh, he thought. In his primitive mind he assumed she was performing some pre-sex ablution that was only going to work out well for him. He talked a good game and really looked the part, but he wasn’t much of a sexual being back then. Only twice removed from virginity and he was sure, if pressed, he’d have to admit that his best sex would have been the wet dream he had on the morning of the Riverside game.
He turned when the bathroom door clicked open. As she came out of the dim hallway he focused on what she was carrying. She came into the living room with the bath brush that had been hanging on the inside of the door. He felt his pulse rise as she approached with a slight smile.
“Look what I found”, she said, patting her off hand with the brush. “I think I owe you something.” The smile widened a bit and her eyes didn’t wink-but he felt like they did. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch looking from her to the brush and back again but not moving-using workout techniques to keep his breathing in check. He didn’t know the next move. She did though.
“We can leave now and still catch the fireworks.” She held up the brush to her eyes regarding it as a swordswoman might her weapon. “Or we can stay here and I’ll make our own.” She let the silence hang between them.
“Let’s…” he coughed as his voice caught. “Let’s stay.”
“Alrighty then.” She moved to the couch-in front of him. “Get up.” It wasn’t a request.
He stood and they traded places. Sitting on the couch, he in front of her now, she was conscious of his size. She reached out and hooked a finger through his belt loop and pulled him toward her-knowing she couldn’t move him unless he wanted to be moved. He took a step forward.
“You did say bare-bottom as I recall…” she said grabbing his belt buckle.
“I…I did…” he stuttered, then hesitated. “But….”
“But what?” she asked looking up feigning innocence.
He looked ready to say something but instead reached down and cupped the side of her face with his strong right hand. She was surprised as much by the gentleness of the touch as by the roughness of his palm-callused from constant weight lifting. Again, she thrilled slightly at the quiet power coiled in every inch of him. “Nothing”, he said finally. “Never mind. Proceed, Ms. Palmer.”
“I was going to tell you to call me Emily, but I kind of like Ms. Palmer, in this context.”
She grinned and without looking away from his eyes unclasped his belt then unsnapped his jeans. He filled them so that they wouldn’t be falling to the floor in a bunch. She unzipped his fly then worked the bleached denim down over one hip, then the other. She peeled them down over the bulging thighs to his knees where they stuck.
Emily ran her hands slowly up Dixon’s thighs with a sculptor’s appreciation but at the moment was more interested in the bulge at eye level. Dixon was wearing black briefs which looked like silk. This brat either had a plan for the evening or he was a snappy under dresser. She ran her hands over the sides of his hips-Damn! They WERE silk-before catching her thumbs in the waist band and pulling them down. She had to pull outward-far outward-to get over the hard-on which sprung free and was perfectly positioned to put an eye out.
“My Oh My”, she said touching the tiny hole in the middle of the pulsing head. “Someone is excited about getting their bum spanked…”
“How long what?”
“Since you’ve had a spanking.”
“Ever I think.”
“Look at me. Who’s going to spank me?”
Stroking his cock gently she let her eyes swim over the thickly muscled arms and heavy shoulders and took his point.
“How long have you wanted it?” she asked softly’
“I think it’s time we fix that.”
“Yes, Ms. Palmer…”
As she spoke she directed him lightly-hands feathering his hips-to her side. She then leaned back opening her lap to him. Looking lustfully down at the tanned thighs he needed no further direction. Shuffling through the pants and briefs that now bound his ankles he knelt one leg on the couch and slowly lowered himself gingerly pinning his engorged cock between himself and her legs.
She enjoyed the view his squirming afforded her. His round muscled bottom thrust skyward even in repose. They both gasped in tandem when she rubbed her right hand over the firm cheeks, squeezing and kneading. “You’re being such a good boy Dixon”, she cooed “It almost makes me regret what I have to do.”
He felt her reaching for the brush on the back of the couch. “Yes, Ms. Palmer”, was all he said but the three words turned the butterflies in Emily Palmer’s stomach into ravens as she patted his butt gently with the brush. He pulled a throw pillow up to his face and waited, tensing.
“Spankings don’t always have to be about pain”, she said as she smacked the brush down hard on is full and firm right cheek.
“OWWWW! Easy for you to say!” he gasped.
“Shhhhh”, she said swatting him again. “How about not only about the pain.”
She smacked him two more times eliciting yelps.
“Too hard?” she cooed and he settled.
“No…Its fine…I mean it hurts. But it hurts….in a good way.”
“See? That’s what I meant.
“Ouch!” he wriggled.
“A pity…all these years fantasizing and never getting it…I’ll try to make up for lost time.”
“…Ahhhh,” he sighed raggedly as she began to pick up the pace and delivered swat after swat on his behind as if testing how far she could take him. He bucked at the hardest swats-pushing up on his knees and tried to burrow through her during a couple of volleys. It must have been forty or fifty smacks delivered….He was all over pink with red splotches in the center of each cheek before she slowed. She set the bath brush aside and cupped his hot bottom. As if given permission he began to slowly and subtly rub is cock between himself and her thigh as if she would wouldn’t notice.
But she did notice and slapped him hard.
“Ow-your hand hurts worse than the brush!”
“Thank you kind sir”, she said smiling widely-which he couldn’t see.
“Have you been punished enough?”
He had no idea how to answer. He didn’t want to move except for the slow back and forth and her hand could rub-which it was now doing-his ass till dawn. “I don’t know….I’ve been really bad…”
She laughed lightly and rubbed his red bottom letting her fingers linger between the cheeks.
“You always have the right answer…but come on get up”-she slapped him again.
“OW!”, as he scrambled to his feet.
“I have something else for you…”
He stood before her, his hard-on like a battering ram threatening her forehead. She took it in her right hand and kissed it gently on the head-flicking her tongue below its chin. His moan now was different than the ones from earlier. She ducked and pushed his pants down to the floor and lifted his legs out of them.
“Time to switch places again.” She slipped off the couch and he sat, pleasantly surprised at the harsh tingle that burned across his bottom. “Bum hurt?” she asked wickedly kneeling in front of him.
“Yes”, with his eyes closed.
“Good”, she said and reached under him to pinch at the bottom of his cheeks. His wiggling was less about pain than…other things. She rocked forward and, grasping his hips, opened her mouth just wide enough to accommodate him and swallowed the length of his cock. He sucked air between his teeth as she rocked back withdrawing then sliding back carefully scraping her teeth along his throbbing thickness as her fingers kneaded the heat of his ass cheeks.
His body froze though when her finger touched the locked door of his asshole. She prodded lightly-knocking-and didn’t hear him say ‘no’ or ‘don’t.’
He was green-woefully inexperienced in the sex business-but not stupid. He grew up in locker rooms. He knew the perceptions of someone who “took it up the ass”. Who took anything up the ass. But right now, at this moment, lifting his butt slightly off the couch to give her better access, he wanted nothing more than Emily Palmer inside of him. He gasped slightly as she probed then rimmed his tiny dry hole-teasing. Then teasing some more.
“Do it”, he hissed.
She pulled her mouth from his cock but left her finger where it was.
“Do what?” she asked wickedly.
She crawled up his body so that they were cheek to cheek and whispered teasing in his ear. “What about my finger?”
“Put it in my ass!”
Her heart flipped and her clit quivered a bit knowing that he was surrendering something to her that he never had before. He moaned lightly as she pulled her finger away. His eyes were slits as he watched her squat before him and reach between her own legs to find the thick lubrication she needed. She met his gaze for a moment before her own eyes closed in turn as she swirled her finger and let it linger a moment. But only a moment before kneeling close and putting it back wet on his tight hole.
He moaned as the slippery intruder opened the door slightly. He tried to push toward it but it wasn’t necessary. Opening to the gentle but unrelenting pressure as Ms. Palmer finger slipped in to the first knuckle. Then the second. His mouth fell open in a perfect O mirroring his anus stretched to accommodate the new wriggling life form that had found its way up there.
It didn’t hurt exactly, but it did do…something. He had settled into a low moan when her finger found what she was looking for. She rubbed the slick little nut up in there and the moan grew into a roar. She had thought about a second finger but right now she was struggling to hold on as he bucked upwards bridging on this neck and feet. She never lost rhythm-fingering his prostate in and out while pumping his quivering cock up and down.
Then, growling like a bear, with one uncontrollable thick shuddering spasm, he came. Too much, he thought deep in his wiring-it had to be too much cum! He envisioned the back of her head blowing off even as he tensed his 240 pounds into a firm pile of muscle and kept thrusting into her mouth. She milked him as he deflated, swallowing quickly and completely until his body came down to contact the couch again.
With a quiet pop her finger slipped from his backside.
“I thought sure you were going to break my finger”, she gasped, almost giggling.
“You broke my….everything”…he sighed collapsed on the couch.
She kissed him lightly and patted his cheek before heading off to the bathroom.
In the buzzing silence between album tracks he could hear the pop and rumble of distant fireworks.