his tight, muscular ass arched up and his beautiful cock hanging down and clearly visible between his spread legs.
“She really spanked me hard. I tried not to squirm but it was tough. She stopped for a minute and I wasn’t sure she was finished, but then I felt her hand wrap around my dick. Man…I was hard as a rock.” He paused.
“And then?”
“BJ, come here, please.” Mrs. Johnstone’s voice cut through the kitchen and BJ was quickly up and through the door.
I figured BJ would knock on my door later that night, and he did. As he slid my pajama bottoms off I asked him to finish his story. Instead of speaking, his mouth went immediately to my thigh, his tongue licked at me, then moved up to find my already dripping pussy lips. After a long session with his tongue sliding up and down my lips and over my clit, he gently rolled me over. His fingers now caressed my pussy, while his tongue started darting between the cheeks of my bottom and lightly flicking across my anus. The fingers of his other hand played with my breasts. I was on fire.
I remember marveling at how skilled and experienced a lover BJ was. From our conversations I believed that he was not actively practicing a religion, but he was born a Hindu, and I would have thought exposure at a young age to that culture might inhibit sexuality. I was employed by the Johnstones for less than a year, but my sexual education moved at warp speed during those months, and my addiction to the amazing intensity of pleasure inherent in an erotic component to discipline was cemented forever.
I was exhausted after the multiple hours of sexual pleasure BJ and I exchanged that evening. I did my best to reciprocate each caress…to each body part. But as I lay in bed I thought that perhaps I still had not had enough. Images were dancing in my mind of Mrs. Johnstone, with her perfectly coiffed blond bun, in her perfectly tailored, exquisite suit, reaching between BJ’s legs as he bent forward across the desk, wrapping his balls and huge erection in the palm of her hand, and squeezing and caressing them until his cum splashed onto the floor…or filling her mouth while she knelt under him…or filling her pussy as she bent over the desk, her skirt pulled up and her panties around her ankles. I vowed to ask BJ what really happened.
It was a couple of days later when I found the time to raise the question again. He smiled, then said, “Okay, but I’m still waiting to hear what she said while she watched Mr. Johnstone spank you. Where did I stop?”
“You were bent over the desk, she had just spanked you and she reached between your legs and put her hand around your cock.”
“Yeah. I almost exploded right then. But I managed to wait. She turned me around, then went down on her knees and started sucking on me. Man, was it hard not to cum. But she seemed to know when to stop.”
“She got up and went over to the couch, then told me to come and undress her…slowly. I remember the slowly part. I took all of her clothes off. She has a very nice body for a woman her age. As soon as I pulled her panties off she grabbed my head and pulled it down to her pussy. I knew what to do. I was really getting into licking her when she pushed me away, turned around and bent over the arm of the sofa. She spread the cheeks of her ass and said, “Now I want you to lick me here.”
“She was really getting hot…moaning and groaning while I was sliding my tongue across her ass.”
“I want you to fuck me now! That’s what she told me. She was panting…gasping. “In my pussy,” she said. But if you don’t do it well I’ll spank you again…harder…then make you fuck me in my ass.”
“Man, that got me going. I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next. Okay, now it’s your turn. What did she say?”
Sealing the Deal
My earliest memories? Going with Dad to buy the new, 1950, green Chevy coupe when I was five. And likely a year or two earlier, lying in what I think was a large, crib-like bed, playing with my penis.
Spanking turned me on from an early age; about six or seven the best I can remember, when the neighbor girl first told me her mother gave her a spanking with a hairbrush. At that young age I was an adept enough at interrogation to quickly learn that she was marched in to her bedroom where her mom ordered her to lay across her lap, then pulled down her panties and gave her a paddling. Her bare bottom, arched, waiting…an enduring image. There were other punishments to hear about, and a little later read about, and I was an avid student. I also was fascinated with doctor’s visits and examinations, and on more than one occasion I talked my girl playmates into undressing so I could examine them, concentrating most of my attention on a close inspection of their bottoms. But anything that conjured an image of a spanking was like a drug to me. Not yet knowing anything about the actual sex act, what I did know was that whenever I heard, read or saw anything related to a spanking, or just imagined it – I got a fuzzy, warm feeling flowing through my body and a hard penis. By the time I was in my mid-teen years, I was spending hours in the library investigating and reading about corporal punishment and its historical connection to eroticism, particularly in the homes, schools and convents of the British Isles and the U.S. But that day when I was fifteen, entering my third year of high school, and spending the afternoon at Joe McFarland’s house - sealed my fetish for a lifetime.
Joe and I were classmates and neighbors. I spent many an afternoon at his house, listening to the latest 45’s and searching through his father’s girlie magazine collection – when we thought his mom was a safe distance away.
Ah, yes, Mrs. McFarland. It was my first experience, but not my last, with a neurotic woman who drinks too much. On top of that - she was a flaming redhead. When the weather was warm, she walked around the house in tiny shorts, which often didn’t quite cover the cheeks of her ass above her long, shapely, freckle-covered legs. If she bent the right way, or got up the right way – I could catch a glimpse of red pubic hair. No panties for Mrs. McFarland. She was a frazzled, frantic woman, often smelled of alcohol, and it seemed as if threatening her children was at least half of what came out of her mouth.
Joe’s sister Connie was a year younger and about to start her second year at our school. She was maturing quickly, and her breasts and bottom jiggled enticingly enough to make me always want to look. She was also a redhead, but seemed to be growing into a more rounded, voluptuous shape than her mom’s.
“Do you want me to take you into the bathroom? I’m about to get the belt. Don’t make me tan your behind.” These were all common threats to both Joe and Connie that Mrs. McFarland screamed on a regular basis while I was at their house. I was sent home once because Joe was going to get a whipping, but many of the threats remained only threats.
I was at their house one afternoon when I heard Connie ordered into the bathroom after some yelling and threats, and I fantasized about it for weeks. I asked Joe for as many details of their punishments as I could without raising suspicion, and replayed over and over Mrs. McFarland’s order, Connie’s protestations, and then the slam of the door. There were other sounds, muffled from Joe’s upstairs room, but there was no doubt Connie was getting a spanking.
A month or so went by until another afternoon when we were in Joe’s room listening to music and heard his mom start yelling at Connie, then threatening her. I sat up and began listening and Joe shot me a quick smile. What came next was loud enough to be heard very clearly. “I’m going to get the belt, young lady. Get in the bathroom right now…right now!”
Joe motioned for me to follow him. We crept down the staircase and waited until we heard the door slam, then he darted out the front door and I followed. We reached the back yard and tiptoed, hunched over, to the small window.
