Chelsea – 7

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(Continued from Party Interruptus)

The trail dipped into a slight decline and, out of sight of the car, he led them angling away from the road, toward, by Chelsea’s reckoning, the party house. But they didn’t appear to be heading there directly; he kept checking a map on his phone and adjusting direction. The girls came up short, startled by the rusty remains of an old gas line junction. The pipes, out of use for decades stood as leaning sentries to tell that this wasn’t always untraveled woods. He knew they were there and stopped.  Then paced a few feet due north. He stopped again and bent, clearing the leaves and branches from a small patch of ground. He reached toward Chelsea who, without a word, handed him the digging tool.

“What are…?” Gennie whispered.

“Shhhh…” Chelsea shushed her quickly.

He dug a small divot and angled the shovel into the dirt. With a quick pry he lifted a thin flat section of ground exposing a void beneath. Without prompting Chelsea dropped to a knee and caught the edge of a thick sliver of plywood concealed under a few inches of soil, leaves and branches. Her heart whirred when she spied the long plastic box settled in a wooden vault about a foot below ground. She lit her cell phone light and carefully kept it below the surface.

“Here”, he said, kneeling beside her and reaching into the hole.

Most of the gun caches she had seen when she was living with her crew in Virginia years before were smaller-built to accommodate hand guns and ammo away from the house. The way her lover had explained it then, in the years before “Prepping” became a thing, they scattered hidden guns about the farm in case “shit really goes sideways.” Maybe there were some of those small boxes out here too. But not this one. This one was built for bigger things. “Weapons won’t be a problem”, she remembered him saying.

When he popped the plastic top she was able to see long guns stacked carefully. He picked out a hunting rifle very similar to the 30.06 her dad used to have. He pulled the clip, replaced it and slipped the bolt. He took two spare clips. She, without waiting to be invited, grabbed the AR-15 that was beside it and familiarly pulled the clip and slipped the bolt. Locked and loaded.

She held it comfortably across her thighs and his idea of shouldering one and carrying the other was instantly updated. He stayed frosty at each revelation simply because he wouldn’t allow himself to be surprised. He was able to accept this new Chelsea-this new aspect of Chelsea-completely and on it’s face because it had always been there. Thinking with his dick, he had missed something. It was his gap, not hers.

There was a shotgun and a few others still in the ground. They both looked at Geneva. “No way. I don’t know who you guys are, but I’ve never held a gun in my life.” He and Chelsea were in constant motion now, furtively grabbing clips, binoculars-which Gennie would carry-then closing the vault, pausing to kick dirt and leaves back over it.

While Chelsea’s heart raced with excitement, Geneva’s pounded with a fear that would paralyze her if she let it. She squatted low and waited while he hurriedly pecked out a text message. Then, not thinking just watching, she moved when they did, in crouches that really seemed melodramatic and right out of the movies. They headed toward the house.

(To be continued…)

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The Sweet Shoppe

(Continued from Maria  and also continuing the Party Interruptus storyline).

Duke stood on the stoop of “Monello’s Decadent Delicacies” for a moment to gather himself. The front of the shop was dark and deserted but light from the bright kitchen leaked forward from the porthole in the swinging door and the service window. He shook his head hard twice and windmilled his arms gulping deep breaths. It was an exercise he’d learned in college theater to clear himself-to get in character. He was the angry client in Maria’s little drama.

The door was locked so he twisted the knob on the old-fashioned chime. Maria’s face instantly appeared in the service window then disappeared again. The door swung open as she hustled out front. He watched impatiently tapping his toe on the concrete as she clumsily unlocked the door with what looked to be shaking hands.  She kept her hair short on the sides and he focused on the soft white skin at the side of her neck, just below her ear. He imagined the touch of the soft downy hair and the whisper of citrus that she always wore underlying the fecund aroma of dough and yeast that had to be wafting up and out of her t-shirt. Jesus, he thought. This was why Beth had warned him not to diddle…er, dawdle too long.

She finally got the door open with a jerk and stepped back startled and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barton…”

“Maria-you know this is unacceptable”, he said sternly stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“I know, sir…”

“There are two dozen guests at the house right now-everything is prepared except for the what you were supposed to bring!”

She backed toward the kitchen slowly with Duke keeping pace. “Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s bad enough, but then I have to leave my own party to come and help you make a delivery. Where is Shea?”

“She had other commitments, Mr. Barton, so I let her off early.”

“Other commitments?! This, today is a pretty important commitment!”

“Yes, I know. This is my fault. I misjudged. But look!” she pushed open the door behind her. “Everything is done. I finished up just as you got here.”

“I should be happy now that you’re only an hour late?”

“No sir. Of course not sir.”

“Help me to the car with these.”

She picked up a tray of bright red candied apples and fairly scurried through the shop. He took the caramel and nut. Two trips and all that was left was a tray of petite fours. He followed her back into the kitchen keeping his eyes on the perfect inverted heart of her backside wrapped tightly in stone washed denim. She had to be wiggling more than necessary, every hurried step in a perfect heel to toe line.

“The last one!”, she said waving her hand in a nervous flourish.

He bared glanced at it, choosing instead to catch her eyes in his angry glare. She coughed slightly and looked away as he deliberately unbuttoned the sleeve of his khaki shirt. He rolled it up his forearm. “I’m going to teach you a little lesson about punctuality Maria.”

“Awww, come on Mr. Barton.” she pleaded, again trying to back away from him. “Please don’t. Not here.”

“You turn around young lady…”

“Mr. Barton, I….”

“You turn around right now!”

She did so reluctantly-hiding her face with her hands.

“Stick your bottom out”, he ordered.

She pouted and pushed back slightly. He slapped her hard on the jeans finding the jarring contact of the firm yet giving mound very satisfying. She jumped with a high pitched “OUCH!”

“Do you like that, Maria?”

“No sir!”

“Stick it out a little further.  And put your hands on your thighs.”

“Oh sir…” but she did as she was told. He grabbed the beltline of her jeans and pulled them higher tightening even more the fabric that encased her bottom. Maria gasped as the pulled seam buried itself inside of her setting off wild alarms up her spine and down her legs. Her heart raced-did he know what he was doing to her? She wriggled as he slapped and lifted in perfect rhythm. Of course he knew what he was doing, she thought between gasps. She danced on her tiptoes, the swats on her bottom having a shadow of the effect to the rubbing in her crotch.

“Maria, I don’t feel I’m making a good enough impression on you.”

“Oh sir”, she said breathlessly. “You are….”

“No, I don’t think so…” He released her jeans and placed his hand around the back of her neck-not squeezing but definitely leading her forward to her work table, still dusted with flour, wisps of dough and dabs of strawberry jam.

“Bend over here…”

“Sir…I…”

“Bend!” he pushed her gently over until her hands, then her elbows then finally her breasts contacted the hard wood. Pressing on her back he reached around and unsnapped her jeans roughly pulling them down over one hip, then the other, exposing her wide firm bottom blooming slightly pink by his attentions.

Gently, but not too, he reached between her legs and peeled the damp seam from inside of her swollen lips. She gasped lightly and pushed back into his hand. Her clit could not have been harder had it been forged. Each light touch brought a tiny spasm from her mounded backside. He pulled his hand away and dipped three fingers in the bowl of strawberry preserves that she used for the pastries and jammed a dollop between her legs imagining steam rising from the cool jam spattering into her hot folds.

“Oh God, Oh God…Duke!” she reacted.

He slapped across her wide bum leaving red slashes of jam like talon scars. “What did you call me?”

“Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton! I’m sorry…I’m sorry. “

He pressed more heavily on her back lifting her milky bottom higher. He spanked her rounded cheeks and the tops of her thighs, splattering strawberry speckles and streaks to accent the softer pink handprints. He paused for more jam and reached lewdly between her legs careful to rub the inside of both thighs. She rose onto her toes trapping his hand in her pearly vice.

He flicked quickly, then rubbed, his finger slithering into her easily, her juices married with the preserves.  Her feet left the floor altogether as she gripped the edge drawing herself across the table. Duke’s hand was stuck fast, nothing but his fingers free to move, twiddle and rub. Her growl turned into a squeal as she opened herself to whatever happened back there.

She stiffened as she came, her legs drawn up and Duke’s relentless fingering turning her momentarily into quivering, squirting stone. His stroke slowed as she subsided; all the pert tension in her body dissipated revealing soft curves and sweet milky dimples. As her breath returned he slipped his hand back into the jam and spread her backside filling her crevasse and coating her tight little asshole with strawberry filling.

He playfully squeezed her cheeks together before dropping to his knees and spreading her again, licking from bottom to top as she kicked her toes. “Jesus Christ, Duke. I’m killed…” she sighed relaxing back onto her feet.

“You always had a sweet ass”, he said getting up.

“Will you give me a kiss?”

“Sure.” He bent and smooched her bottom cheek loudly.

“No, up here. On the mouth.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Too familiar”, her voice was sleepy, smiling.

“Exactly. Now, get yourself cleaned up and get over there. No later than nine. Many people are dying to show how disappointed they are with you.”

“You’re not are you?”

He bent and patted her butt once more, deigning to kiss the back of her neck.

“Never love. Never.”

He left her spread and sticky across the work table and carried the last tray of petite fours. As he was getting into his SUV his phone pinged a text.

 

(To be continued…)

Party Interruptus

(Continued from Maria)

They took the road easily, with the moon roof open to better view the graying sky that revealed itself more every night as the leaves fell. Also, so Chelsea’s dope smoke could dissipate easily into the dusk. To be fair, it was her dope but they all were partaking. Him less, but still….

As zombies went they were definitely sexy, both careful to apply makeup that accented their looks-cheek bones for Chelsea, those goddam eyes for Gennie. They were also wearing special panties he had bought them anticipating an unveiling sometime in the evening. Gennie’s said simply “Spank Me” and Chelsea’s, “I need a good spanking.” Chels laughed and took them in good humor but didn’t model them as he’d hoped. Gennie was still a little standoffish-hesitant-nervous, though she looked great in them. Hard-on great.

At their prodding and wheedling he had broken down and put on the sheriff’s costume from a few years ago pleased that it still fit. He had a tiny pang remembering that his wife had accompanied him in cuffs and a striped jumpsuit which opened in the back for when she misbehaved. Which she often did. He toked deeper when the joint reached him this time. Linda was popping into his thoughts more and more lately.

As they rounded the last turn before Duke’s place, he saw a light swinging at the head of the driveway. He slowed. Valet parking maybe? The guy was standing at the top of the drive effectively blocking him from leaving the road. He slid the window down and leaned over Gennie.

“Heading into the party”, he explained.

“No party here”, the guy answered.

“Really? I thought there was.”

“Cancelled”, he said looking closely into the car.

“Huh! I hope everything’s alright”, both girls noticed his voice was different. Lighter and a bit breathy.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I just heard about this on Facebook. Seemed like a fun thing. Don’t get out to his part of the county often. Easy to get turned around I guess…”

“Yeah, well, you got the wrong place.”

“Which is it?”

“What?”

“Cancelled or the wrong place?”

“Tell you what there, cowboy”, they guy growled leaning forward. “Might be a good time to ride on.” He pulled his jacket aside just enough to show a pistol in his belt.

“Oh Jesus pal!”, he flustered, almost sliding into a falsetto.  “Not looking for any trouble…” He hit the gas and popped ahead, around the next bend watching the rear-view more than the road.

“What’s going on?” asked Gennie.

The road switched back then slipped over a slight hill so they couldn’t be seen but he shut the lights anyway before slowing and turning onto a hard-packed dirt road that you had to know was there.

“You kids wearing sensible shoes?” he asked scanning the woods off to the right.

“We’re good”, answered Chelsea.

“What’s going on?” Gen repeated.

“Not sure.”

“You gonna call 911?” she asked.

He had stopped in the middle of the road and turned the car off. They listened to the ticking of the engine and felt the closeness of the trees on both sides. Without a word he opened the door after switching off the interior lights. He popped the console and grabbed his pistol without taking his eyes off the woods and field ahead.

“What’s that?” asked Gennie, unnecessarily.

Even wrapped in the clip-on holster Chelsea recognized it. “Sig Nine”, she said simply.

Without answering he cut his glance her way and squinted quickly-as if trying to see something in the shadows behind her eyes. She didn’t waver. He clipped the gun onto his belt.

“You gonna call 911?” Gennie repeated in a harsh whisper.

“Shhhh!” Chelsea hissed just as urgently. They gathered behind the car where he popped the trunk.  He took out a small fold-up digging tool and a handed it to Chelsea.

“We can take the poles I made for the leashes. They could be weapons.”

He closed the trunk with a silent click. “We’ll be OK for weapons”, he said leading the way into the woods.

(Continues…)

Chelsea – 5

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Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Chelsea – 4)

 

Geneva knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in”, she muffled. Chelsea was on the bed, laying on her side facing the window. She was fully clothed, but for her boots.

“You OK?”

“Sure”, she sniffed. The wall against her tears had evidently collapsed on the way up to her room. “My ass burns like hell.”

“I bet.” Geneva sat on the bed and handed the tube of salve over her shoulder. “He sent me to give this to you.  Apparently, it’s for burns, sunburn…he said it would help.”

“Thoughtful.”

Geneva rubbed her shoulder. “Sorry Chel…”

“Wasn’t your fault”, she sighed and handed the tube back. “What did he say?”

“When?”

“When he sent you up with this stuff.”

“Oh…he said, that I should…take care of you. That you’d want to see me…But I can leave…”

“Come on,” she almost snickered as she undid her belt. “Take care of me then.” She unsnapped, unzipped and pushed her jeans and underwear down to her knees, rolling onto her belly.

“Yeeouch”, Gennie said tentatively touching the double bulls-eye bruises on Chelsea’s bottom. “Has to hurt…” She squeezed a dollop of lotion onto her right cheek and rubbed gently.

“It hurts for sure, but guess what I won’t be doing anymore?”

“What?”

“Smoking anywhere near the workshop.”

“Guess it worked then. But I don’t know how you could stand it!

“Sometimes it’s easier to take a beating than to live with the disappointment.”

“Huh?…What?…I’m sorry.” Gennie was only half listening, distracted by the feel of Chelsea’s hot bottom under her slick, ministering fingers. Her skin mounded and crested as she massaged from the inside out allowing peeks of the treasures barely hidden in her cracks and creases.

“Remember the way he looked at me when he got out of the truck? That ‘you let me down look?’ I’d rather have my ass beat every day of the week than live with that.”

“I think I remember that…” Gennie said remembering her own spanking.

“Complicated”, Chelsea said.

“Truly…”

Geneva rubbed in circles, first one cheek then the other. She dabbed more lotion and widened her circles to the small of her back and then down to the tops of Chelsea’s thighs-places the paddle hadn’t touched. Her hands navigated the lithe body like a well-remembered but seldom trod path.  “Mmmm…that’s nice” Chelsea said into the pillow. As if awaiting a signal, Geneva allowed her hand and it’s exploring fingers to slide between her cheeks and rub up over her tight little button and further down between her legs. Chelsea began to wriggle at the touch.

“Would you do something for me?”

“If I can.”

“Slip my plants the rest of the way off.”

Geneva smiled ruefully watching her finger tease its way up the crevasse between the mottled cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s what he had in mind.”

“He sent you up here to rub lotion on my bare butt. He didn’t say just to bring me the salve, did he? What do you think he had in mind?”

“But you know he and I are…”

“Jesus! Don’t say it. You think I don’t know? This is a big house but not that big. I hear you guys at it every night.”

“Not every night!”

“Sometimes twice a night!”

Geneva giggled like a kid and took the bottom of Chelsea’s butt cheek in hand to knead it gently, her thumb playing at the soft spot just inside her thigh. “I just don’t know…” she stopped herself frustrated, but Chelsea would have none of it.

“Look, I can’t-not with your hands on me like this, imagine you leaving me here alone with my pants off and having to rub one off again. That’s all I do! Alone in my room while you make crazy love down the hall. I’m like a nun in here. Come on Gen-don’t make me beg! I know you don’t…feel about me the way I could about you. But you like me well enough don’t you?”

“Of course I like you well enough…”

“You don’t hate me do you?”

Chelsea was so engrossed in her pleading that she didn’t immediately feel her jeans being pulled over her feet. “Jesus, when did you become such a drama queen?”

“Celibacy makes cowards of us all”, Chelsea said allowing her legs, unbound by her jeans and panties, to fall open.

“May I never find that out”, Geneva said. Then, with a well-aimed and light smack on the bottom, “Roll over. I’ve seen enough of your narrow ass for one day.”

(Continuing…)

 

Chelsea

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(Continued from Geneva – 12)

It was an odd fall, he thought watching the trees as he pulled into the driveway. No hard frost yet, but no rain. The leaves that were changing and falling seemed to be doing it out of exhaustion more than anything. They knew their time was done, even if the weather didn’t.

Approaching the house, he turned down the old Waylon tune that had popped up on his shuffle. No, he wasn’t feeling generally lonesome, ornery and mean but, seeing someone sitting on his porch, he did feel a prickle on the back of his neck. He rested his hand on the console top, ready to snap it open, then recognized who it was.

He turned off the truck and got out. He’d only seen Chelsea twice before in his life, but he could see she had made an effort to look attractive this time. Not flirty or showy but beyond presentable-and it didn’t take much. Her hair, no longer a tied-up mess stuck to the side of her head, hung loose and wavy, framing her face. She had dusted lightly with make-up that accented rather than concealed her freckles and her thin lips glistened pink. The dark eye liner might have been overdone but it fit the picture. She had a slight bump on the bridge of her nose that probably came with a story and her lanky frame looked comfortable in worn denim and long-sleeved cotton jersey that pulled slightly across her breasts.

“Geneva’s not here”, he said simply.

“I know. She’s at the Battery picking up a few things. We texted.”

“She know you’re here?”

“No. She thinks I’m at work.”

He leaned against one of the rough-hewn porch columns and noticed a small duffle beside her.

“No cigarette today?” She winced and pointed to her purse.  “Who smokes in a stranger’s house without permission?” he asked.

“I was trying to show you I couldn’t be intimidated. I didn’t care about you.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Burned my fingers and ruined a good beer.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t spank you too.”

“Oh Jesus, I thought you were! When you said that to Gennie I thought…I almost puked I was so nervous.”

“You know what happened to Gennie, right?”

“She’s my best friend-even if I’m not really hers.” She shrugged lightly allowing her voice to tail a bit.  “We talk or text every day”. She reached for her purse, took out a pack of Salem 100’s. “Do you mind?”

“Light one for me”, he said.

She patted two out of the pack and put them in her mouth. She snapped a battered Zippo and lit them both. He took one, smudged with pink frost at the end.

“I knew she was reaching out to someone.”

“You never asked?”

“Not my business.” He inhaled his first cigarette in a month and watched it burn for a moment.  “Also none of my business but I’m going to ask anyway. Are you two lovers?” Chelsea took a deep puff and exhaled luxuriously-seeming to conjure the answer in the smoke. He was in no hurry, content to let her chew, hoping for the truest and not the quickest answer.

“Naw. I wish…I mean we were-before Brittany. Little and short. But sweet. We hooked up before we really knew each other. If I had known her better, I’d have taken better care of her. It. The relationship. We never really had one till now. Friends you know. “

“So, Chelsea, what brings you here to my porch on a day when your friend isn’t here?”

“I’m a direct person. People either hate that or like that about me, but it’s the only way I can be. I’m on short hours at work-can’t afford to get a place of my own right now. Living with Brittany without Geneva as a buffer is impossible…”

“For being a direct person you sure are taking a wide path…”

“I want to move in.”

“That’s direct.” It was his turn to read the smoke after a long exhale. “I can’t open a boarding house for everyone that doesn’t want to live with Brittany anymore.”

“You’d do a great business”, she said smiling wryly. “I’m just looking for a place to fall out a bit. Like I thought Gennie was looking for. Now I’m not so sure…” She waited for him to jump in, not yet knowing that it wasn’t his way. “Anyway, one thing you should know though, if I move in here? I’m one hundred percent a girl gal. I let Jimmy Wilson take me to the Christmas Dance in seventh grade, but that was it for boys. No dicks for me.”

“And you’re telling me this because….”

“Well, with you and Gennie-… she kinds of goes which way the wind blows…”

He frowned. “Don’t put it that way. It makes her seem…frivolous…flighty, somehow. Is that how you meant it?”

“No. No. Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just that…I’m gay, and I wanted you to know that. That’s all.”

“OK, I get it. No offense taken.” Happy to finish that part of the conversation he sat in the chair beside hers, separated by a small table.

“I could be helpful around here.”

“How’s that?”

“I have a CDL. And can handle a fork lift…landscaping…” her prepared speech was trailing off and she took another, quick and nervous, drag. “I can handle any machine you have up here.”

“I imagine that could be helpful…”

He waited for the rest. There had to be something more, the way she was scanning the surrounding hills for clues. “There is another thing…” she started slowly, then stopped. Puffed the last of her smoke, then put it out in a flower pot after holding it above the dirt and having him nod the OK.  She reached for her purse to get another.

“Don’t”, he said, again simply. “You know what you’re going to say. Just say it.”

She sighed deeply and surrendered, “If I’m living here and I fuck up-or do something you don’t want me to be doing-and you need to spank me? I’m OK with that.”

“You are, are you?”

“Not looking for it. Not hoping for it. Not. Been there done that, a long time ago. But if you thought it was necessary, I’d be OK with it. Not OK, you know? Don’t know how much I could handle these days-especially from a guy…But…if you had to…”

“I get it”, he said letting her off the hook though he would have been happy to while away the afternoon listening to her talk about spanking.  Just hearing a woman he barely knew use the word… Nothing in his outward nonchalance betrayed him. He looked at the bag. “Did you and Gennie already work this out?”

“No. This is on me. I didn’t want to put this on her. Figured this was between you and me.”

“What if I’d have said no?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Gennie.”

 

Continuing…

Geneva – 12

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Uncredited Tumblr find

(Continued from Geneva – 11)

His eyes locked on hers as she moved slowly toward him. It wasn’t far, but every step of the foot-dragging-journey seemed to take forever. She broke first, dropping her gaze to the floor. She wasn’t afraid, exactly. At least she didn’t think so-but she sure felt something. She remembered learning about the flight or fight response in psychology. That must be what she was feeling-but she was doing neither. She was submitting. Her response was to acquiesce. Maybe that’s what frightened her.

She stopped when she saw his feet and knees in front of her. As if reading her mind, he asked softly, but in the same stern tone, “Do you trust me?” She said nothing for a breath then nodded meekly as the word ‘yes’ fell stillborn to the floor.

Done talking he reached out and unsnapped, then opened, her jeans. He pulled them down with none of the attendant gentleness that would come with undressing a lover. Her hands, having nothing to do, dangled. He guided her, shuffling, to his side before pulling her panties down to lie with her jeans in a bundle at her feet.

The sunlight illuminated her glowing white skin and he, with difficulty, ignored the luxurious tangle of fur standing within easy reach. His eyes lingered though, when he caught her sweet scent in the light breeze coming through the door. “Lay over”, he said with difficulty, his tongue, like hers, slow and dry. Avoiding his eyes and flushing a deep pink, she bent and leaned her hands first on his legs, then on the chair beside him and finally, as she settled over his lap, onto the rough floor, mortified that her bare backside was pointing into the yard.

He cupped her bottom once to push her higher and she wriggled into a better position and waited nervously feeling the heat of the fall sun on her skin. He resisted the urge to touch her-wanting this moment to stand singularly from any other where he might fondle or caress her bare bottom.

“I don’t want this”, she said to the floor. “I hate this. But I’m still sorry for what I did…I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” He patted her soft bum once, then again, tenderly. “And I forgive you. Now let’s get this out of the way. Don’t tense-that will make it worse.” With that he raised his arm and brought his hand with a loud “SMACK!” onto her creamy right cheek. As anyone reacting to their first spanking, every swat was met with a verbal response. Gennie yelped “OUCH”, then “OWW” then “OUCH” again as he spanked first one side then the other then back again.

His blows weren’t as hard as they could be but certainly not light. She allowed herself to begin crying at around the seventh or eighth swat and once she opened the gate, all the afternoon’s tension and her fear of being sent away flew through her and out, driven by his heavy hand on her backside. Her crying filled the workshop punctuated by “OOOO’s” and “OWWW’s” which became louder as he quickened the pace of the blows at the same time reducing their severity. She began to kick and squirm.

“Lie still”, he commanded pausing.

“I’m trying”, she sniffed.

He concentrated his smacks on the void at the bottom of her bottom where her cheeks met the tops of her legs so every echoing swat reverberated between her legs. As her bottom numbed to his spanks, her flower awoke to the reverberations.

“Here”, he said, “Let me move you…” He spread her legs slightly so that in delivering the final light swats he could cup her cheeks and allow his fingers to linger in the softness between.  After a pause, he said “I think you’re done”. His hand rested at the top of her leg kneading slowly.

“Thank God!” she said, lifting one hand then the other to wipe her eyes. But she didn’t move to rise as his fingers explored between and below her pink-spattered mounds. After a moment, she felt his hardness poking at her belly.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I’ve had worse times”, he said sliding his finger deftly across her moist labia. “You?”

“Great” she said sarcastically but made no move as he rubbed.

“You want me to stop?” he asked pausing and seemingly ready to pull his hand out. She pushed her bottom back to stay engaged.

“Don’t be hasty. Really, it’s the least you could do.”

“You are in a pretty vulnerable position to be a smartass.”

She didn’t push it, nor did she move, save for the slow undulating dance of her hips against his prodding finger.  She was pushing backward off the floor wriggling against his growing cock. “Hold on”, she said. “As much as I hate to move, I have to tend to that.”

She stood quickly and, marching in place, hurriedly stomped her pants and underwear off. She pushed him hard back onto the chair when he began to stand and reached for his belt. She yanked it roughly as he tore her T-shirt toward himself, up her back and over her head leaving her completely naked but for the tears on her cheeks and the blush on her bottom. She barely noticed, hungrily pulling his jeans and underwear down.

He pulled her in and closed his lips over one small taut breast, then the other, and nibbled softly, squeezing her warm bottom. She growled lowly, throwing a leg over and straddling him. Reaching down she grabbed him firmly, placed him, then gently impaled herself in one long sure move. She settled, wriggled-kissed him hard-then lifted slightly-to fall back down. Then lifted higher-almost out. Then sat hard again. Then again. Her grunting exertions accompanied the soft squishing sound that became louder and louder as she as she pumped and jumped faster and faster working her burning thighs to the loud slap-slap-slap of his bare ass on the hard, wooden chair.

“I…shouldn’t…be….doing…this…after…the way…..you….spanked…me…”, she gasped.

“If you stop now, you’ll get another one”, he growled, his hands on her bouncing butt.

“Come dammit-COME!” she barked as she began to shudder bucking hard in his lap. He didn’t need the direction lifting his ass off the hard wood and squeezing her tightly-his hands slipping along her damp back.  She rode him hard, bucking into a shudder then crying out something that might have been words as she came loudly just at the moment he coughed and spurted deeply up into her.

He collapsed hard onto the chair as they, still coupled, shrunk into one another like balloons after a party. Her slick body glistened in the sun as he slid his hands over her. Was it only 15 minutes ago that she worried about someone seeing her bare butt out the door?

Too spent to lift her head, her lips tickled his collarbone.

“The most confusing orgasm ever”, she breathed.

“If it was easy, everyone would do it.”

Continuing…

Geneva – 11

(Continued from Geneva – 10)

He stepped into the open door of the workshop as the PT Cruiser drove past. Chelsea, in the passenger seat, was looking away and Brittany was pointedly facing straight ahead steering with her right hand flipping him the bird as firmly as possible with her left. His grin was hard enough to cut stone.

Gennie came running out the door and down the steps before the car had left the yard. She hit the workshop breathless.

“I’m SO SORRY!” she cried wiping at the tears that seemed to run unbidden down her face. “I didn’t mean to invite them over-I REALLY DIDN’T! Brittany just kept calling and calling and telling me I was kidnapped…brainwashed…She was killing me!”

“What do you care what she said or what she has to say?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know…but it was just going on and on for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it if it was bothering you that much?”

“I didn’t want it to be your problem.”

“Those girls in my house are certainly my problem. How did that happen?”

“I…I finally just told her she would quit about all that if she came to see us…How we were together. And one thing led to another.”

“And you invited her up. Sent her the GPS and brought her to my living room.”

“Please don’t make me leave. When you asked if I was packed I thought you were going to make me leave with them. I almost had a heart attack. Please, please don’t let me fuck this up.”

Moved, he stepped to her and wrapped her in his arms pulling her teary face into his chest. “You made a mistake. We’ll work it out. Your place is here as long as you want it to be.” She calmed down at that and hugged him hard. He held on as long as she wanted, then let her pull slightly back.

“That other thing, you said”, she said.

“Which?”

“The spanking. You’re not really going to spank me are you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She searched his eyes looking for the joke. “That’s not…I mean…”

“My house, my rules”, he stated simply.

She backed away from him and moved toward the door. She needed more air-was having trouble breathing.

“But what if I don’t want you to?”

“You lost that choice when you disobeyed me.”

“But I didn’t know that you would…we never talked about spanking!”

“Would that have changed what you did? Do I have to lay out the penalties for disobeying me-for breaking rules that we agreed on?”

“We never talked about this.” She shook her head. “This isn’t normal.”

“So I’ve heard. But again, my house my rules.”

Surprising them both she stomped the ground. “You realize I’m an adult don’t you?”

“She said, while stomping her foot”, he said modulating and remaining calm.

“I don’t want this! What if I just say no?”

“They’re probably not far down the road. They’d be happy to take you home with them.”

“I AM HOME!” She stomped again then half turned with her hands across her chest. Her eyes were leaking again but there was a tiny flame of defiance glowing in them along with something else. Suddenly unsure in the battle of words, he decided to disengage and get on with it. As she watched, he grabbed a stout wooden chair from the shadows with one hand and placed it determinedly between them in the sunshine. He sat on it-hands on his thighs.

“Get over here.”

She wanted to stop crying, but the tears continued to roll unabated. She stole a glance toward the house as if considering an escape. She wanted to be able to take a deep breath. She wanted to swallow. She wanted her knees to stop shaking. She wanted to turn her back on him and walk away. Instead, she did the last thing she thought she wanted to do. She turned and walked toward him.

(Continuing…)