Subject: A Bondage Story: A Man's Touch
From: mdranter@hotmail.com
Date: Tue, Jan 27, 1998 18:08 EST
Message-id: <233562876428.3260550470@hotmail.com>

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                A Man's Touch
                     by
            Charisse van der Lyn



     I am a nanny. I'm twenty-eight and quite English,
I moved to the States a few years ago.  I am tall, big
boned, with a good, full figure; I'm freckled and have
have long, wavy auburn hair.  The traditional English
Fergie look.
     I went to work with a new family this last summer.
Rose and Charlie, a nice couple, have a nine month old
boy, Jason.  My room was on the lower floor, below the
first. The house is on a hillside, so I have my own
entrance, and my room has a nice, cheery, view, and I
have my own bath.
     I worked there from August through October without
any trouble.  They give me a lot of free time, but I am
on call, so to speak, every day.
     Early in November, I went out to a movie.  When I
got back, I saw a light coming out my bedroom window.  I
had left while it was still day, so I knew I hadn't left
it on.  You don't have to be a nanny long to learn that
things can go terribly wrong with the job, and if
someone must take the blame, it's always us.
     As quietly as I could, I sneaked into the lower
floor. I crept to my room, and peeked through the open
door.
     It was Charlie!  He was standing with his back to
the door, in front of my dresser.  As I watched, I saw
him going through my drawer.  "I don't take things, if
that's what you're looking for."  I stepped angrily into
my room, and by habit closed the door behind me.  "Since
you don't trust me, I'll leave in the morning."
     Charlie jumped.  For a moment he stood, frozen.
"It's not what you think," he said, without facing me.
     "What should I think, you're going through my
things.  Damn you!"
     "No. I . . ."
     "You're going to deny this, aren't you?  Shit!
That's how it goes, doesn't it?  I'm out the job,
probably get a bad report, and I'll--"
     "You don't understand."  He pressed himself harder
into the dresser, as if trying to move further away from
me.
     "You can't even face me," I said, and I pulled my
suitcase out from under the bed.  "Chicken shit, ass--"
     "No,"  Charlie turned around  He held a pair of my
panties, pink, silk and lace, thongs.  "Please don't
think that."  His face was flushed. "I . . . it's. . ."
Tears welled in his blue eyes, he was thoroughly
humiliated.
     My anger didn't abate; I felt violated.  "I know
this isn't my house . But as long as I'm here, this is
my room, and those are my things."
     Tears ran freely down his face. "I know. . . " he
whispered.  He put my panties to his face, and closing
his eyes, he breathed in through them. ". . . they're
yours."
     I looked at him.  He was a little taller than me,
wiry, and his strong features were enhanced by his
receding hair line, handsome, I thought.  He was a
successful executive with a large advertising company.
And he stood in front of me with his face buried in my
panties.  I was confused.  My feelings of rage prevented
me from seeing what he was about.  I collected my things
from the night-stand and put them in suitcase.
     Next was the dresser, which he blocked.  I started
to ask him to move away when I noticed a small, wet
stain, growing on the front of his trousers.  Wet!  And
I understood.
     I put my suitcase down and walked over next to him.
"You like my undies," I whispered.
     Charlie opened his eyes and looked at me.  It was a
look I had seen before--like a little boy caught doing
something he knew was wrong, but he couldn't help
himself.  <"Don't tell mom.">  They all begged.
<"Please?">  I smiled with that recognition.  "Do they
turn you on?"
     The world is a funny place, especially about sex.
In a way, this was why I had left England.  Usually, it
was an older brother, home from school, who sneaked
through my drawers and who expected me to introduce them
to the mysteries of sex. . . . and, the boy's father who
would rub my bum when he thought no one would see.
     Most of the boys were just that, boys, and the
father's were usually unattractive and cowardly: the
kind that would climb all over you but if caught, they'd
make all sorts of dreadful accusations of seduction, of
teasing, almost of rape.
     If it weren't the sex, it was the nanny who stole
the Grand mama's silver or snitched the family's four
hundred year old letter of promotion from Elizabeth I to
their great great great great father Joseph.
     I knew too many nannies who found themselves jailed
for all sorts of things that weren't their faults.  It's
the culture, I told myself.  But I was feeling as if I
had merely been lucky.  Worse, every time Fergie got on
a magazine cover, I'd get groped.  So, the States
sounded like a great opportunity, and with no family
there to keep me, I left.
     I stared at Charlie and the telltale stain.  "Do
they turn you on?"
     Charlie nodded.
     I sat on the bed. I was beginning to enjoy myself.
"You've wet yourself a little."
     He looked down and saw the dark stain on his khaki
pants.  His hands dropped to hide it from me.
     "Too late."  I laughed.  "You've been a naughty
lad."
     Charlie looked pitiful.  "You won't tell Rose?"  He
fumbled with my panties.  "I mean, it's not like we . .
."
     He stopped, unable to say it, because although true
that we hadn't done anything, it was obvious that he had
fantasized it.  The silence was painful for him, and I
did nothing to make him feel comfortable.
     He dropped the panties, and fell to his knees in
front of me.  "Please, you can't tell, you can't."
     I ignored him and pulled the hem of my dress up a
couple of inches above her knees, letting him see the
dark tops of my stockings.  "This material," I rubbed my
hands along my thighs, "wrinkles so easily."
     Charlie couldn't take his eyes off my legs.  The
front of his pants bulged as he knelt in front of me.
"Don't."
     I was getting excited teasing him.  I let my legs
open, knowing that even in this light, he couldn't see
between them.  "Don't?" I pulled my dress up another
inch, showing off the maroon, satin straps of my garter
belt.  "Don't what?"  I stared at his crotch.
     Charlie saw where I was looking.  He put his hands
over himself.  "Don't do this."  He looked at the dark
shadow under my dress.  "I can't get you out of my mind.
I . . . "  he stopped while I carelessly recrossed my
legs, letting him see a flash of my maroon lace panties.
". . . Yes!"  He whispered.
     I put my legs back together. "I don't want to upset
you."  I pulled my dress down.
     Charlie looked sheepishly at the floor.  "Don't
tease me."  He stood up.  "Women always tease me, just
because. . . I--"
     "You have a little fetish."  I loved his
discomfort.  "I think it's sexy."
     He looked at me.  "Sexy?  And you'd tease me?"
     "Perhaps it's I who's been wrong."  I was curious
where this was going.
     "You have been."  He looked down at me, vindicated
by my acknowledgment.
     I recognized his need to be shamed followed, like
now, by his need to feel control.
     "I've been bad," I suggested, "wearing naughty
underwear, and leaving it around for anyone to see."  I
feigned contrition. "I've been insensitive, worse, I've
put you in a difficult position."
     Charlie smiled.  "I'm glad you understand what
you've been doing to me--that you know how bad you've
been."
     "I promise I won't tell anyone."  I put my hands in
my lap.  "I won't do it again."
     "I'm not sure I can trust you."
     "But you can. . . . If you were to punish me. . ."
I have no idea where the thought came from.  Of course
I've enjoyed teasing, but my sex life has been basically
normal.  I think I was as shocked as he was, but I had
to keep going; I couldn't stop.  "I'd never, ever, tell
or do it again."
     "Punish?"  He repeated the word quietly.  The
thought of it seemed to arouse him more.  "Yes . . .
that might work."
     "Please."  I looked up at Charlie, my voice
dropped.  "I could never tell . . . not if you spanked
me."
     Charlie sat on the bed next to me.  He stared at
me, waiting as if he weren't sure of what I had said,
and wanting confirmation.
     "I deserve it," I whispered.
     "You do," he said, reaching for my shoulder, and
pulling me down, across his lap. I could feel his little
man pressing into my tummy.
     Suddenly, it was I who felt humiliation.  A grown
woman, lying on across someone's lap to be spanked.
Memories of being punished as a little girl flooded my
mind . . . sometimes in public . . . the shame of being
exposed and made helpless . . . the pain . . . the
crying . . .  Now, nearly thirty, I was again that
little girl.
     His hand came down on my fanny.  Not hard, but it
startled me.  "Oh!"  I screamed.
     "You've been a tease."  He slapped me again,
harder.
     I wiggled a little, rubbing his hardening tool.
And, I was surprised to realize, I was getting turned
on.
     "Make me sorry," I said.
     
     "Make me know how bad I've been."
     
     "Wait! . . . Please, don't wrinkle my dress."
     He pulled my dress up over my waist.  He slapped
me.  This time it stung.  Tears came to my eyes, and I
wasn't sure if I had made a mistake or not.
     "Stop! . . . I won't do it again."
     
     Somewhere, within the pain I was getting
unbelievably excited.
     "Whore!"  He  yelled.
     
     I tried not to scream, but I struggled against his
arm that held me firmly over his lap.  "I'll do
anything."
     "Bitch!"
     
     I couldn't take any more.  "Please!  I'll--"
     
     "Slut!"
     
     "Cunt!"  Charlie stopped suddenly.  He pushed his
hips up, his body stiffened, and I felt his shaft throb
and pump his cum.  "Ohhhh!"  His hands gripped into my
flesh.   "Oh!  God!"
     I have always loved making a man squirt, and my
excitement was only seconds from his.  He kept pumping.
I reached down between my legs and pressed my fingers
into my sticky, wet crotch.  I rubbed myself.

     "Yes!."  I screamed, feeling my climax swell.  How
I love to play with myself, but like this, I was
overcome instantly.  "Yes!."
     For a few moments we stayed like that.  Charlie
sitting, flushed with excitement, catching his breath,
and me lying across his lap with my hand still inside my
panties.
     When his breath slowed, he let his finger tips slip
between my cheeks--they found the hard, firm, ring of my
asshole.  "Mmm," I moaned.  I loved having a man play
with my bum like that.
     He suddenly stopped.  He pulled his hand away.
"I'm sorry. Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry."
     I got off him and knelt next to him. I grinned at
the large wet spot on his pants, and I touched his
stickiness.  "Don't be."  I looked up at him.  "That was
good. . . . But I'll be sore for a while."
     "Let me see," he whispered.
     I stood, and holding up my dress, I turned around
and pulled my panties down for him.  I don't know how
red it was, but I know it felt puffy, hot, and
stinging.
     Charlie dropped to his knees.  He put his arms
around me and gently kissed my fanny.  "I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, I'm sorry. . . .  I didn't mean to . . . . I mean
. . . "
     I turned in his arms, and pulled up my panties.  I
pressed his head softly against my mound.
     "I didn't mean to hurt you."  Charlie closed his
eyes.  I could tell he enjoyed having his head against
me like that.  His nostrils flared as he breathed in my
scent.
     I stroked my fingers through his hair.  "I climaxed
too, and . . . I won't tell."
     "I thought it was just a little game," he
whispered.
     "It was."  I pulled him to his feet.  "I've got a
long day tomorrow."  I kissed him.  His lips tight
against mine.  I pushed my tongue between them and
hungrily probed his mouth.  Charlie opened himself to
me.
     I broke from their kiss.  "You've got to leave and
let me sleep."
     "Do you forgive me?"  He asked.
     "As long as I come like that," I bit his ear, "of
course."  I pushed him away.  "Now go, you can't stay
here."
     Charlie walked to the door.  He turned to say good
night.
     I stepped out of my panties.  "Here," I tossed them
to him, "these have my juices."
     Charlie felt them, and held them to his lips.
     I pulled my nightgown out from under my pillow.
After all we had just done, I gave him something to
sleep on.  I pulled off my dress and bra and let him see
my dark red bush.  I fussed with the gown before I
slipped it on.  "I'll keep your secret,"  I said
climbing into bed and turning off the light.
     Charlie walked out, and started to close the door.
     "But remember," I added, "it's a game, and now it's
my turn."
     For the next few weeks, I was polite but cool to
Charlie.  I didn't know where things stood--husbands can
get funny when things happen--and I enjoyed the subtle
teasing.
     The next time anything happened, Rose had taken
Jason to visit her mother over a weekend.  It was a
Saturday morning.  I showered, dressed and fixed a light
breakfast.  The house was dead still, and I wondered if
Charlie was home.  I sneaked upstairs.  My heart pounded
as I stood in front of the open door to Charlie's and
Rose's bedroom.  There were noises, rustling and
moaning, and I knew Charlie was there.  I stepped in.
     Charlie was naked, kneeling by the bed.  Holding my
panties around his swollen shaft, his hand pumped slowly
up and down.
     "What a sight," I said.
     Charlie stopped.  "Oh, God!"  He looked at me.
"I've wanted you."
     "I can see, but I'm sorry that you would soil them
with your spunk."  I sat on the bed in front of him.
"And such a waste." Under my long skirt, I spread her
legs.  "Of course I do have another, fresh pair."  He
looked at me with such longing.  But I smiled, "Remember
what I said, it's my turn."
     Charlie nodded.
     "You've been naughty--doing this here.  Let's go to
my room."  I stood up.  "Well?"
     Charlie reached for his robe.
     "No!"  I grabbed it and tossed it across the room.
My eye caught the lacy edge of one of Rose's sheer
peignoirs in the closet.  I took it out and handed it to
Charlie.  "Wear this."
     His face burned as he took it from her.  "I can't."
     I started to leave.  "Such a waste."
     Charlie slipped it over his shoulders and held it
closed in front of him, hiding his excitement from me.
"Wait."
     I had him!  "Come on, downstairs."
     In my room I turned to him and pushed him back,
down on the bed.  "You've been naughty."
     I lifted my dress, flashing my red, curly mound at
him for a second, and straddled his chest.
     I leaned forward, putting my knees on his
shoulders, and sat up.  "Don't you want to kiss me?"  I
tease.  "My private place needs you."
     Charlie put his hands on my ass, trying to pull me
down to his hungry mouth.
     "This?" I lifted her dress, and pulled it off.
"You want my box?"
     "Oh, please!  Let me kiss it."
     "What?"  I asked.
     I knew I must be dripping. I was so excited. I kept
my pussy an inch out of reach.  He stretched his neck,
and tried to touch me with his tongue.
     I laughed.  I let him touch me--a taste, a brief
flick, so quick that it was more an accident.
     "Please?"  Charlie begged.
     I liked feeling him struggle to kiss me there.
     For several minutes, I teased him: giving him my
mound, then a little of my crack, pulling my lips apart,
I'd let him suck on my love button.
     He moaned when he had me, and he screamed for me
when I was off of him.
     Finally, I lowered myself slowly, fully, onto his
mouth.
     "Mmm," he moaned as he was engulfed by my sex.  He
breathed through my pussy hair as he tongued my deep,
moist hole.
     I grabbed his hair and pulled him up into me.  I
wiggled my hips, as I did myself on his face.
     I screamed as I felt myself climax.
     Charlie opened his eyes, he looked up over my
stomach, at my jiggling breasts and at my face.
     My legs clamped tight against his head, and he gave
in to the power of my excitement.
     I collapsed forward, leaning into the headboard.
After a moment I sat up and got off Charlie.  He smiled
at the curly wet hair of my swollen sex.
     "My turn," he whispered.
     "No," I said, playfully.  "You were beating off
when I found you.  If that's how you want to do it, then
beat off now."
     "Let me . . . fuck you."
     "No."
     Charlie kissed my nipple.
     "Then suck me off.  Please?"
     "No."
     "But I--"
     "I don't care.  It's time women used men the way
men always use women."
     Charlie started humping my thigh.  "Please?  I need
to. Do you want me to kiss you again?  Is that it?"  He
started towards  my crotch.
     I held him off.  "No," I lied, but I knew we had
all day and all night.
     "Dammit!"
     I kissed his chest, and flicked my tongue over one
of his nipples.
     "I like that," he moaned.
     I bit it.
     "Ow!"  He screamed.
     It was pink and hard, and I sucked on it, while I
fondled his balls.  Then I worked one finger down to his
ass and flicked it over his asshole.
     "God!"  Charlie pumped his hips.
     I pushed it into his tight hole.
     "Yes!"  Charlie gasped.  "Yes!"
     I my mouth to his other nipple. Gently I played
with it between my teeth.  But I kept my finger still.
     Charlie moved his hips trying to get me to start
doing his hole.  "Sarah?  Please?"
     "What?"
     "Don't tease me."  He pumped his hips.  "That feels
great."
     "I don't want to. . . . Did I tell you how good you
look in Rose's peignoir."  I pulled my finger out.
     Charlie sat up.  "Please?"  He pleaded.
     "You like lady's clothes don't you?"
     "Yes."
     "I know you like my panties."
     Charlie looked down at the floor.  He pulled the
peignoir tighter around his shoulders.  "Why are you
doing this?" he whispered.
     "I hit a sore point didn't I?  You were in my
panties last week again."
     Charlie's face burned red.  "Stop."
     "You're just  a pervert."  I taunted him.
     "I . . . " he looked up at me, his eyes full of
tears.  "I . . . "
     This was my game and my turn.  I put my hand behind
his head and pulled him towards me, but not for a kiss.
I pushed him down over my lap.  "You've been a naughty,
naughty, lad."  I reached over for my hair brush on the
nightstand, and pulled the edge of the peignoir up, out
of the way.
     He had a nice bum, small, tight, and firm.  I felt
him stiffening against my leg.
     I slapped him hard with the back of the brush.  And
again.
     He didn't make a sound, but his hands clenched the
bedcover.
     
     "You've been a bad boy!"
     
     "Can't even get a hard-on without smelling my
cunt."
     
     "It hurts!"  He screamed, large red welts puffed up
on his ass.
     
     I felt him stiffen, like he was about to cum, so I
stopped.
     "Sarah!  Oh God!"  He looked up at me.  I knew he
was close.  I felt him lift off of me, trying to stop
his impending climax.  "Sar--"
     He flinched, and wetted on me, a disappointing and
embarrassing cum.
     "I--"
     I laid back and when he sat up, I rolled over on my
tummy.
     "Forgive me," he said.  "Sometimes I cum--"
     "You wasted that."  I looked over my shoulder at
him.  "You are bad."
     "Forgive me."
     I put my hands on my bum and rubbed it.
     He looked at me there.  Then up at my face.
     "Maybe," I whispered.
     He leaned forward and gently kissed my bum.
"Forgive me."
     I couldn't believe how turned on I was as I spread
my cheeks.
     Later Charlie told me that he had never seen a
woman's asshole--never as a sexual thing.  He wanted
it.
     His lips puckered and he kissed my tight hole.
Then his tongue just touch it.
     "Yes."  I screamed.  "Yes!"
     Charlie pushed his tongue into my asshole, his lips
clamped around it, and tried to suck on it. I humped and
screamed, while I rubbed myself.
     "Do me!"
     Charlie fucked my ass with his tongue.
     I lost control.  I thrashed about.  I screamed.
And I climaxed.  For a few minutes, I lay there savoring
the afterglow of a wonderful explosion and the tickly,
sexy feeling of his cool spittle running down from my
pulsing hole into my crotch.
     When I rolled back over and I saw that he was hard
again.  "Beat off for me."
     He looked longingly at my sex.
     "Charlie?"  I whispered.
     "Okay."  Resigned, he knelt over me and grabbed his
tool.  "Watch me.  Watch me cum for you!"
     He yanked on it.  Harder and faster, while he
stared at my slit.  His tool flared . . . purple velvet
. . . his balls slapped about . . .  his hand blurred.
     "I'm cumming!"  He screamed.
     "Shoot it!"  I yelled. "Pump it on me!"  I moved
closer.  "Make me messy."
     Charlie couldn't hold back.  He let his jism squirt
on me.
     Globs of jism hot, burning, jism hit me.  His
beautiful tool flipped around as he unloaded on me.  His
man-stuff landed on my tits, my neck, my face, a little
landed on my eye and stung.
     When he finished he smiled sheepishly.  "Thank
you," he confessed in that little boy look I had seen
that first time.
     Did that look mean he saw me as an older woman, an
aunt?  his mother?  And his fetish?  Did he want to be
dressed?  Did he want to be a girl?  I wondered what
discoveries we were going to make.
     "Look what you've done."  I smiled. "Wash it off."
     Charlie knew what I meant.  He leaned forward and
slurped up a glob of his cum.
     "That's better,"  I said. I knew it was going to be
a great weekend.  "Wash me off--all of me."

                  #     #     #


                A Man's Touch
                     by
            Charisse van der Lyn



     I am a nanny. I'm twenty-eight and quite English,
I moved to the States a few years ago.  I am tall, big
boned, with a good, full figure; I'm freckled and have
have long, wavy auburn hair.  The traditional English
Fergie look.
     I went to work with a new family this last summer.
Rose and Charlie, a nice couple, have a nine month old
boy, Jason.  My room was on the lower floor, below the
first. The house is on a hillside, so I have my own
entrance, and my room has a nice, cheery, view, and I
have my own bath.
     I worked there from August through October without
any trouble.  They give me a lot of free time, but I am
on call, so to speak, every day.
     Early in November, I went out to a movie.  When I
got back, I saw a light coming out my bedroom window.  I
had left while it was still day, so I knew I hadn't left
it on.  You don't have to be a nanny long to learn that
things can go terribly wrong with the job, and if
someone must take the blame, it's always us.
     As quietly as I could, I sneaked into the lower
floor. I crept to my room, and peeked through the open
door.
     It was Charlie!  He was standing with his back to
the door, in front of my dresser.  As I watched, I saw
him going through my drawer.  "I don't take things, if
that's what you're looking for."  I stepped angrily into
my room, and by habit closed the door behind me.  "Since
you don't trust me, I'll leave in the morning."
     Charlie jumped.  For a moment he stood, frozen.
"It's not what you think," he said, without facing me.
     "What should I think, you're going through my
things.  Damn you!"
     "No. I . . ."
     "You're going to deny this, aren't you?  Shit!
That's how it goes, doesn't it?  I'm out the job,
probably get a bad report, and I'll--"
     "You don't understand."  He pressed himself harder
into the dresser, as if trying to move further away from
me.
     "You can't even face me," I said, and I pulled my
suitcase out from under the bed.  "Chicken shit, ass--"
     "No,"  Charlie turned around  He held a pair of my
panties, pink, silk and lace, thongs.  "Please don't
think that."  His face was flushed. "I . . . it's. . ."
Tears welled in his blue eyes, he was thoroughly
humiliated.
     My anger didn't abate; I felt violated.  "I know
this isn't my house . But as long as I'm here, this is
my room, and those are my things."
     Tears ran freely down his face. "I know. . . " he
whispered.  He put my panties to his face, and closing
his eyes, he breathed in through them. ". . . they're
yours."
     I looked at him.  He was a little taller than me,
wiry, and his strong features were enhanced by his
receding hair line, handsome, I thought.  He was a
successful executive with a large advertising company.
And he stood in front of me with his face buried in my
panties.  I was confused.  My feelings of rage prevented
me from seeing what he was about.  I collected my things
from the night-stand and put them in suitcase.
     Next was the dresser, which he blocked.  I started
to ask him to move away when I noticed a small, wet
stain, growing on the front of his trousers.  Wet!  And
I understood.
     I put my suitcase down and walked over next to him.
"You like my undies," I whispered.
     Charlie opened his eyes and looked at me.  It was a
look I had seen before--like a little boy caught doing
something he knew was wrong, but he couldn't help
himself.  <"Don't tell mom.">  They all begged.
<"Please?">  I smiled with that recognition.  "Do they
turn you on?"
     The world is a funny place, especially about sex.
In a way, this was why I had left England.  Usually, it
was an older brother, home from school, who sneaked
through my drawers and who expected me to introduce them
to the mysteries of sex. . . . and, the boy's father who
would rub my bum when he thought no one would see.
     Most of the boys were just that, boys, and the
father's were usually unattractive and cowardly: the
kind that would climb all over you but if caught, they'd
make all sorts of dreadful accusations of seduction, of
teasing, almost of rape.
     If it weren't the sex, it was the nanny who stole
the Grand mama's silver or snitched the family's four
hundred year old letter of promotion from Elizabeth I to
their great great great great father Joseph.
     I knew too many nannies who found themselves jailed
for all sorts of things that weren't their faults.  It's
the culture, I told myself.  But I was feeling as if I
had merely been lucky.  Worse, every time Fergie got on
a magazine cover, I'd get groped.  So, the States
sounded like a great opportunity, and with no family
there to keep me, I left.
     I stared at Charlie and the telltale stain.  "Do
they turn you on?"
     Charlie nodded.
     I sat on the bed. I was beginning to enjoy myself.
"You've wet yourself a little."
     He looked down and saw the dark stain on his khaki
pants.  His hands dropped to hide it from me.
     "Too late."  I laughed.  "You've been a naughty
lad."
     Charlie looked pitiful.  "You won't tell Rose?"  He
fumbled with my panties.  "I mean, it's not like we . .
."
     He stopped, unable to say it, because although true
that we hadn't done anything, it was obvious that he had
fantasized it.  The silence was painful for him, and I
did nothing to make him feel comfortable.
     He dropped the panties, and fell to his knees in
front of me.  "Please, you can't tell, you can't."
     I ignored him and pulled the hem of my dress up a
couple of inches above her knees, letting him see the
dark tops of my stockings.  "This material," I rubbed my
hands along my thighs, "wrinkles so easily."
     Charlie couldn't take his eyes off my legs.  The
front of his pants bulged as he knelt in front of me.
"Don't."
     I was getting excited teasing him.  I let my legs
open, knowing that even in this light, he couldn't see
between them.  "Don't?" I pulled my dress up another
inch, showing off the maroon, satin straps of my garter
belt.  "Don't what?"  I stared at his crotch.
     Charlie saw where I was looking.  He put his hands
over himself.  "Don't do this."  He looked at the dark
shadow under my dress.  "I can't get you out of my mind.
I . . . "  he stopped while I carelessly recrossed my
legs, letting him see a flash of my maroon lace panties.
". . . Yes!"  He whispered.
     I put my legs back together. "I don't want to upset
you."  I pulled my dress down.
     Charlie looked sheepishly at the floor.  "Don't
tease me."  He stood up.  "Women always tease me, just
because. . . I--"
     "You have a little fetish."  I loved his
discomfort.  "I think it's sexy."
     He looked at me.  "Sexy?  And you'd tease me?"
     "Perhaps it's I who's been wrong."  I was curious
where this was going.
     "You have been."  He looked down at me, vindicated
by my acknowledgment.
     I recognized his need to be shamed followed, like
now, by his need to feel control.
     "I've been bad," I suggested, "wearing naughty
underwear, and leaving it around for anyone to see."  I
feigned contrition. "I've been insensitive, worse, I've
put you in a difficult position."
     Charlie smiled.  "I'm glad you understand what
you've been doing to me--that you know how bad you've
been."
     "I promise I won't tell anyone."  I put my hands in
my lap.  "I won't do it again."
     "I'm not sure I can trust you."
     "But you can. . . . If you were to punish me. . ."
I have no idea where the thought came from.  Of course
I've enjoyed teasing, but my sex life has been basically
normal.  I think I was as shocked as he was, but I had
to keep going; I couldn't stop.  "I'd never, ever, tell
or do it again."
     "Punish?"  He repeated the word quietly.  The
thought of it seemed to arouse him more.  "Yes . . .
that might work."
     "Please."  I looked up at Charlie, my voice
dropped.  "I could never tell . . . not if you spanked
me."
     Charlie sat on the bed next to me.  He stared at
me, waiting as if he weren't sure of what I had said,
and wanting confirmation.
     "I deserve it," I whispered.
     "You do," he said, reaching for my shoulder, and
pulling me down, across his lap. I could feel his little
man pressing into my tummy.
     Suddenly, it was I who felt humiliation.  A grown
woman, lying on across someone's lap to be spanked.
Memories of being punished as a little girl flooded my
mind . . . sometimes in public . . . the shame of being
exposed and made helpless . . . the pain . . . the
crying . . .  Now, nearly thirty, I was again that
little girl.
     His hand came down on my fanny.  Not hard, but it
startled me.  "Oh!"  I screamed.
     "You've been a tease."  He slapped me again,
harder.
     I wiggled a little, rubbing his hardening tool.
And, I was surprised to realize, I was getting turned
on.
     "Make me sorry," I said.
     
     "Make me know how bad I've been."
     
     "Wait! . . . Please, don't wrinkle my dress."
     He pulled my dress up over my waist.  He slapped
me.  This time it stung.  Tears came to my eyes, and I
wasn't sure if I had made a mistake or not.
     "Stop! . . . I won't do it again."
     
     Somewhere, within the pain I was getting
unbelievably excited.
     "Whore!"  He  yelled.
     
     I tried not to scream, but I struggled against his
arm that held me firmly over his lap.  "I'll do
anything."
     "Bitch!"
     
     I couldn't take any more.  "Please!  I'll--"
     
     "Slut!"
     
     "Cunt!"  Charlie stopped suddenly.  He pushed his
hips up, his body stiffened, and I felt his shaft throb
and pump his cum.  "Ohhhh!"  His hands gripped into my
flesh.   "Oh!  God!"
     I have always loved making a man squirt, and my
excitement was only seconds from his.  He kept pumping.
I reached down between my legs and pressed my fingers
into my sticky, wet crotch.  I rubbed myself.

     "Yes!."  I screamed, feeling my climax swell.  How
I love to play with myself, but like this, I was
overcome instantly.  "Yes!."
     For a few moments we stayed like that.  Charlie
sitting, flushed with excitement, catching his breath,
and me lying across his lap with my hand still inside my
panties.
     When his breath slowed, he let his finger tips slip
between my cheeks--they found the hard, firm, ring of my
asshole.  "Mmm," I moaned.  I loved having a man play
with my bum like that.
     He suddenly stopped.  He pulled his hand away.
"I'm sorry. Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry."
     I got off him and knelt next to him. I grinned at
the large wet spot on his pants, and I touched his
stickiness.  "Don't be."  I looked up at him.  "That was
good. . . . But I'll be sore for a while."
     "Let me see," he whispered.
     I stood, and holding up my dress, I turned around
and pulled my panties down for him.  I don't know how
red it was, but I know it felt puffy, hot, and
stinging.
     Charlie dropped to his knees.  He put his arms
around me and gently kissed my fanny.  "I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, I'm sorry. . . .  I didn't mean to . . . . I mean
. . . "
     I turned in his arms, and pulled up my panties.  I
pressed his head softly against my mound.
     "I didn't mean to hurt you."  Charlie closed his
eyes.  I could tell he enjoyed having his head against
me like that.  His nostrils flared as he breathed in my
scent.
     I stroked my fingers through his hair.  "I climaxed
too, and . . . I won't tell."
     "I thought it was just a little game," he
whispered.
     "It was."  I pulled him to his feet.  "I've got a
long day tomorrow."  I kissed him.  His lips tight
against mine.  I pushed my tongue between them and
hungrily probed his mouth.  Charlie opened himself to
me.
     I broke from their kiss.  "You've got to leave and
let me sleep."
     "Do you forgive me?"  He asked.
     "As long as I come like that," I bit his ear, "of
course."  I pushed him away.  "Now go, you can't stay
here."
     Charlie walked to the door.  He turned to say good
night.
     I stepped out of my panties.  "Here," I tossed them
to him, "these have my juices."
     Charlie felt them, and held them to his lips.
     I pulled my nightgown out from under my pillow.
After all we had just done, I gave him something to
sleep on.  I pulled off my dress and bra and let him see
my dark red bush.  I fussed with the gown before I
slipped it on.  "I'll keep your secret,"  I said
climbing into bed and turning off the light.
     Charlie walked out, and started to close the door.
     "But remember," I added, "it's a game, and now it's
my turn."
     For the next few weeks, I was polite but cool to
Charlie.  I didn't know where things stood--husbands can
get funny when things happen--and I enjoyed the subtle
teasing.
     The next time anything happened, Rose had taken
Jason to visit her mother over a weekend.  It was a
Saturday morning.  I showered, dressed and fixed a light
breakfast.  The house was dead still, and I wondered if
Charlie was home.  I sneaked upstairs.  My heart pounded
as I stood in front of the open door to Charlie's and
Rose's bedroom.  There were noises, rustling and
moaning, and I knew Charlie was there.  I stepped in.
     Charlie was naked, kneeling by the bed.  Holding my
panties around his swollen shaft, his hand pumped slowly
up and down.
     "What a sight," I said.
     Charlie stopped.  "Oh, God!"  He looked at me.
"I've wanted you."
     "I can see, but I'm sorry that you would soil them
with your spunk."  I sat on the bed in front of him.
"And such a waste." Under my long skirt, I spread her
legs.  "Of course I do have another, fresh pair."  He
looked at me with such longing.  But I smiled, "Remember
what I said, it's my turn."
     Charlie nodded.
     "You've been naughty--doing this here.  Let's go to
my room."  I stood up.  "Well?"
     Charlie reached for his robe.
     "No!"  I grabbed it and tossed it across the room.
My eye caught the lacy edge of one of Rose's sheer
peignoirs in the closet.  I took it out and handed it to
Charlie.  "Wear this."
     His face burned as he took it from her.  "I can't."
     I started to leave.  "Such a waste."
     Charlie slipped it over his shoulders and held it
closed in front of him, hiding his excitement from me.
"Wait."
     I had him!  "Come on, downstairs."
     In my room I turned to him and pushed him back,
down on the bed.  "You've been naughty."
     I lifted my dress, flashing my red, curly mound at
him for a second, and straddled his chest.
     I leaned forward, putting my knees on his
shoulders, and sat up.  "Don't you want to kiss me?"  I
tease.  "My private place needs you."
     Charlie put his hands on my ass, trying to pull me
down to his hungry mouth.
     "This?" I lifted her dress, and pulled it off.
"You want my box?"
     "Oh, please!  Let me kiss it."
     "What?"  I asked.
     I knew I must be dripping. I was so excited. I kept
my pussy an inch out of reach.  He stretched his neck,
and tried to touch me with his tongue.
     I laughed.  I let him touch me--a taste, a brief
flick, so quick that it was more an accident.
     "Please?"  Charlie begged.
     I liked feeling him struggle to kiss me there.
     For several minutes, I teased him: giving him my
mound, then a little of my crack, pulling my lips apart,
I'd let him suck on my love button.
     He moaned when he had me, and he screamed for me
when I was off of him.
     Finally, I lowered myself slowly, fully, onto his
mouth.
     "Mmm," he moaned as he was engulfed by my sex.  He
breathed through my pussy hair as he tongued my deep,
moist hole.
     I grabbed his hair and pulled him up into me.  I
wiggled my hips, as I did myself on his face.
     I screamed as I felt myself climax.
     Charlie opened his eyes, he looked up over my
stomach, at my jiggling breasts and at my face.
     My legs clamped tight against his head, and he gave
in to the power of my excitement.
     I collapsed forward, leaning into the headboard.
After a moment I sat up and got off Charlie.  He smiled
at the curly wet hair of my swollen sex.
     "My turn," he whispered.
     "No," I said, playfully.  "You were beating off
when I found you.  If that's how you want to do it, then
beat off now."
     "Let me . . . fuck you."
     "No."
     Charlie kissed my nipple.
     "Then suck me off.  Please?"
     "No."
     "But I--"
     "I don't care.  It's time women used men the way
men always use women."
     Charlie started humping my thigh.  "Please?  I need
to. Do you want me to kiss you again?  Is that it?"  He
started towards  my crotch.
     I held him off.  "No," I lied, but I knew we had
all day and all night.
     "Dammit!"
     I kissed his chest, and flicked my tongue over one
of his nipples.
     "I like that," he moaned.
     I bit it.
     "Ow!"  He screamed.
     It was pink and hard, and I sucked on it, while I
fondled his balls.  Then I worked one finger down to his
ass and flicked it over his asshole.
     "God!"  Charlie pumped his hips.
     I pushed it into his tight hole.
     "Yes!"  Charlie gasped.  "Yes!"
     I my mouth to his other nipple. Gently I played
with it between my teeth.  But I kept my finger still.
     Charlie moved his hips trying to get me to start
doing his hole.  "Sarah?  Please?"
     "What?"
     "Don't tease me."  He pumped his hips.  "That feels
great."
     "I don't want to. . . . Did I tell you how good you
look in Rose's peignoir."  I pulled my finger out.
     Charlie sat up.  "Please?"  He pleaded.
     "You like lady's clothes don't you?"
     "Yes."
     "I know you like my panties."
     Charlie looked down at the floor.  He pulled the
peignoir tighter around his shoulders.  "Why are you
doing this?" he whispered.
     "I hit a sore point didn't I?  You were in my
panties last week again."
     Charlie's face burned red.  "Stop."
     "You're just  a pervert."  I taunted him.
     "I . . . " he looked up at me, his eyes full of
tears.  "I . . . "
     This was my game and my turn.  I put my hand behind
his head and pulled him towards me, but not for a kiss.
I pushed him down over my lap.  "You've been a naughty,
naughty, lad."  I reached over for my hair brush on the
nightstand, and pulled the edge of the peignoir up, out
of the way.
     He had a nice bum, small, tight, and firm.  I felt
him stiffening against my leg.
     I slapped him hard with the back of the brush.  And
again.
     He didn't make a sound, but his hands clenched the
bedcover.
     
     "You've been a bad boy!"
     
     "Can't even get a hard-on without smelling my
cunt."
     
     "It hurts!"  He screamed, large red welts puffed up
on his ass.
     
     I felt him stiffen, like he was about to cum, so I
stopped.
     "Sarah!  Oh God!"  He looked up at me.  I knew he
was close.  I felt him lift off of me, trying to stop
his impending climax.  "Sar--"
     He flinched, and wetted on me, a disappointing and
embarrassing cum.
     "I--"
     I laid back and when he sat up, I rolled over on my
tummy.
     "Forgive me," he said.  "Sometimes I cum--"
     "You wasted that."  I looked over my shoulder at
him.  "You are bad."
     "Forgive me."
     I put my hands on my bum and rubbed it.
     He looked at me there.  Then up at my face.
     "Maybe," I whispered.
     He leaned forward and gently kissed my bum.
"Forgive me."
     I couldn't believe how turned on I was as I spread
my cheeks.
     Later Charlie told me that he had never seen a
woman's asshole--never as a sexual thing.  He wanted
it.
     His lips puckered and he kissed my tight hole.
Then his tongue just touch it.
     "Yes."  I screamed.  "Yes!"
     Charlie pushed his tongue into my asshole, his lips
clamped around it, and tried to suck on it. I humped and
screamed, while I rubbed myself.
     "Do me!"
     Charlie fucked my ass with his tongue.
     I lost control.  I thrashed about.  I screamed.
And I climaxed.  For a few minutes, I lay there savoring
the afterglow of a wonderful explosion and the tickly,
sexy feeling of his cool spittle running down from my
pulsing hole into my crotch.
     When I rolled back over and I saw that he was hard
again.  "Beat off for me."
     He looked longingly at my sex.
     "Charlie?"  I whispered.
     "Okay."  Resigned, he knelt over me and grabbed his
tool.  "Watch me.  Watch me cum for you!"
     He yanked on it.  Harder and faster, while he
stared at my slit.  His tool flared . . . purple velvet
. . . his balls slapped about . . .  his hand blurred.
     "I'm cumming!"  He screamed.
     "Shoot it!"  I yelled. "Pump it on me!"  I moved
closer.  "Make me messy."
     Charlie couldn't hold back.  He let his jism squirt
on me.
     Globs of jism hot, burning, jism hit me.  His
beautiful tool flipped around as he unloaded on me.  His
man-stuff landed on my tits, my neck, my face, a little
landed on my eye and stung.
     When he finished he smiled sheepishly.  "Thank
you," he confessed in that little boy look I had seen
that first time.
     Did that look mean he saw me as an older woman, an
aunt?  his mother?  And his fetish?  Did he want to be
dressed?  Did he want to be a girl?  I wondered what
discoveries we were going to make.
     "Look what you've done."  I smiled. "Wash it off."
     Charlie knew what I meant.  He leaned forward and
slurped up a glob of his cum.
     "That's better,"  I said. I knew it was going to be
a great weekend.  "Wash me off--all of me."

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