I gave him a quick version of what happened in Mr. Johnstone’s study and although he listened quietly, I could sense more than a polite interest in what I was telling him. He was about to speak when the phone rang and he began a long conversation. I thought it was best that I leave.
I had been at the Johnstone house a couple of months when I was told to report to the study after dinner for failing to promptly pick up an order of dry cleaning. An important jacket that Mr. Johnstone wanted for an event wasn’t available to him. As I entered the study Mrs. Johnstone, standing just inside the door, offered me a slight, tight smile.
After Mr. Johnstone disciplined me the first time, and my hours of bedtime pleasure, I realized that the discomfort was more than compensated for by the pleasure. Or was the discomfort a necessary ingredient for that heightened level of pleasure? I hadn’t sorted it all out…and to this day…lying in this bed years later…still haven’t. But I now know enough to realize that for me there was always that delicious mix of anxiety, apprehension, having something done to me that I don’t really want…or maybe really do… being forced…ordered…being exposed…vulnerable…and punished.
Now, with the presence of Mrs. Johnstone, there was an interruption of the apprehension and warmth I had come to expect. Serious confusion of thoughts and feelings. My mind raced…between the moment and what was coming.
Mr. Johnstone’s lecture was familiar, though being without his favorite jacket at an important function seemed to raise his level of irritation beyond what he normally displayed. When he stood and took the belt from the drawer I was very aware that Mrs. Johnstone had not moved an inch. “Bend forward over the desk and pull up your skirt, Irene.”
I was nervous. Beyond warm apprehension. I hesitated for a moment, then moved to the edge of the desk. I sensed Mrs. Johnstone taking a step forward. I pulled up my dress, and, as I remember it now, Mr. Johnstone was even more deliberate…even slower with his movements…as he pulled my panties down, this time to my ankles. I knew goose bumps covered my flesh as soon as the cool air touched every crevice and opening…and I shuddered slightly. There was a long pause…longer than before I believe…before I felt the belt sting my bottom.
I don’t know if it took longer with Mrs. Johnstone there…but my pussy still got wet. I had stopped holding my legs together during my punishments, as I hoped Mr. Johnstone’s hand might end up between them after he finished spanking me. It never had. On this occasion I did press my thighs together because I surely didn’t want her to notice.
“Darling, I’m not sure your spanking is having the proper affect. We surely wouldn’t want it to give Irene any comfort. Spread you legs, Irene.” I hesitated. “Now.” Her tone was very firm. “You don’t want me to have to punish you.”
I quickly spread my legs apart. I knew. And I knew she knew. Mrs. Johnstone moved closer…until she was directly in back of me…only a few feet away. The spanking resumed and lasted longer than the others I had received. As soon as Mr. Johnstone laid the belt on the desk, she said, “I want you to check her, Darling.”
I felt fingers slide up the inside of my thigh and along the lips of my now-dripping pussy. “She’s very wet, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Mr. Johnstone answered his wife, “she’s very wet.”
His fingers slid into me, lingered, gently probed, found my clit, then moved slowly up between my cheeks until they brushed across my anus. I was fighting not to orgasm. His caresses continued. I couldn’t help myself, spread my legs further apart, and arched my bottom higher. His fingers went back deep inside me while his other hand slid slowly between my cheeks. Suddenly he stepped back. There was a long silence. I stayed very still, bent forward, my legs spread, my glistening pussy and bottom on full display.
“We’ll have to decide how to handle this situation, Darling,” she said as she walked out of the room.
“Very well, Irene. You can put yourself back together now.”
God, how I wanted him to stay.
I was too turned on to accept bringing myself to orgasm, so I headed to the kitchen to find BJ, with the excuse of looking for desert if I needed it. He was putting away groceries.
“Damn, I just got it again.” He looked puzzled. “You know, disciplined.”
He pulled out a chair from the desk, sat down, and asked, “Please tell me exactly what happened.”
I began describing what happened…starting with Mr. Johnstone’s order that I report to the study for neglecting to pick up the laundry. Before I mentioned Mrs. Johnstone’s appearance I related what I had come to expect…told him in detail what had happened the first three or four times I had been spanked. He constantly interrupted me. Asked me to repeat certain descriptions. Suddenly he stood up, moved forward and embraced me. His lips were all over mine and his tongue slid into my mouth.
Within a few frantic moments we were in the large pantry and he was on his knees pulling my panties down. He slid his hand up under my blouse and bra, across my breast; then, still on his knees, held my skirt up with his other hand, put his mouth over my pussy and started licking me. I was pinned against jars of tomatoes, but it was intense, explosive pleasure. His fingers and tongue seemed to be all over me at once, and a warm wetness teased, then entered me in more than one place.
After a few minutes of gasping ecstasy, BJ stood up, quickly removed my clothes, pulled his pants and undershorts down to reveal a beautiful, large, dark, swollen cock, turned me around, and plunged deep into me from behind. We managed to cum almost in unison.
It was a few days later, at night, again in the kitchen, and this time we were having dessert. BJ brought it up. “Has Mrs. Johnstone ever had anything to do with disciplining you?”
“Well,” I said with a wink, “you didn’t let me finish my story the other night. It was the only time, but she watched.”
“She only watched?”
“She said a few things.”
“Well, I have a story for you. But first, tell me what she said.”
“No, you owe me a story. You go first.”
“Mrs. Johnstone interviewed me, and she gave me an agreement that sounds like yours. I questioned her about the discipline and corporal punishment part and she looked right into my eyes for a moment, then said, “I’m the one who will discipline you, BJ. Don’t you think you can handle it?” I was stunned, but I sure wasn’t going to say I couldn’t.”
“Nothing happened for about a week. And then I forgot about a request Mrs. Johnstone had for an evening meal. She came into the kitchen after dinner, said she didn’t ever want it to happen again, and told me to come to the study after I finished putting everything away.”
“Sounds like similar scenarios, except she was standing, waiting for me, and holding the belt in her hand. She immediately told me to take off my jeans. I took them off. Then she told me to step over to the front of the desk and bend over it with my chest flat across the top. I hesitated. She was very stern, said something like “Now, BJ. Do as I tell you.” I bent across the desk. Nothing happened for a minute, then I felt her fingers under the waistband of my underpants and she slid them down to my ankles. She told me to spread my legs. Man, was I exposed. She said she was going to give me a good whipping, and I’d get the same every time I didn’t obey her or follow her orders.”
The
