I’d just gotten up and had breakfast one fine Saturday morning when the woman from next door came knocking on my door. I’d opened the door and we’d exchanged greetings and just chatted for a few moments. I didn’t mind. I knew Sylvia would get to the reason for her visit sooner or later. She always took a while to get to the point.
Sylvia and Martin, her husband, were new to the neighbourhood. They were friendly enough, with Sylvia proving to be a bit of a flirt, but always rather genteel with her flirting, never going too far or embarrassing anyone.
She was in her early twenties and quite a looker. Fair skin augmented by very fair hair and bright blue eyes. It was amazing what she could do with those eyes when she fluttered her eyelashes at you. Charm personified. She was also what I would call generously endowed around the bust without being over-endowed. Her breasts were very shapely and I’m sure every man in the street had wondered what they’d feel like if they could only get their hands on them. I certainly had had such thoughts. As a matter of fact I was having them right now, and it wasn’t my fault.
It was shaping up to be a very hot day and Sylvia had dressed accordingly, wearing this cute little white sun-smock that barely reached her thighs. I knew damn well that she wasn’t wearing a bra under that dress as I could see the darker skin surrounding her nipples. I’m not saying that the dress was see-through by any means, as it wasn’t, but standing this close to her I could see the slight differentiation in skin tones. That alone wasn’t enough to make my palms itch. It was more the way that Sylvia tends to talk with her hands. Her hands would go flying about and her breasts would bounce right along with them, their subtle movement automatically drawing the eyes.
By this stage in our conversation we’d reached the point where I was given to understand that Martin wasn’t at home. He’d flown out yesterday to a convention that he had to attend and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Unfortunately there was a little chore that he’d intended to do before he left but had simply run out of time.
“So I was wondering if you can help me,” Sylvia finished up.
“Probably,” I admitted, “but I can give you a better idea of that if you tell me what the little chore was.”
“Oh, didn’t I say?” she asked with a laugh. “It’s that stupid tap in the kitchen. It keeps dripping and it’s driving me mad. The drip is getting worse and I couldn’t get to sleep last night due to the incessant drip, drip, drip. I finished up going outside and turning off the water, just so I could get some sleep. When I turned it back on away it went, dripping like crazy. It’s stupid to spend a fortune on a plumber to fix something so small but I’m going mad listening to it. I know you do all your own repairs so I thought maybe you could change the washer for me.”
Not the hardest thing in the world. I would only need to unscrew the tap, change the washer, and screw the tap back together. Piece of cake.
“Not a problem,” I assured her. “I’ll come over right now and get it done. Why don’t you go and turn off the water again while I get my tools. Do you have a new washer? If not, I have some spares.”
“Oh, yes, I have a washer,” she said. “Martin bought some. It’s just that he didn’t get a chance to change it. If he’d been home he’d have done it last night just to get some sleep.”
She trotted off to turn off the water and I shortly followed with my portable tool chest. The first thing I did when I was there was turn the tap on to make sure she’d turned the water off properly. Assuming that someone followed your instructions in this regard is a mistake you only make once, and I’d had my go. No problems, however, as the pipes were dry.
I took the tap apart, chucked the disintegrating washer to one side, dropped in the new washer, and reassembled the tap. A couple of minutes and the job was done and Martin was a lazy bastard if he couldn’t find two minutes to do it. Sylvia ran out to turn on the water and I turned on the tap. Water ran and I turned off the tap and the water stopped with nary a drip. Problem solved.
Sylvia had been talking the entire time I was fixing the tap and she wasn’t stopping now. The girl just plain liked having someone to talk to, I guess. She insisted I sit down while she made us a cup of coffee so I did. I had no objection talking to a pretty woman. It wasn’t as if I had anything more important to do. She fussed about turning on her coffee maker and then she reached for a couple of mugs and that’s when things got interesting.
Sylvia opened an overhead cabinet and it seemed the mugs she wanted were right at the top. She stood on tip-toe reaching up, with her smock rising as she stretched. I think I mentioned that her smock hadn’t been all that long to start with and as she stretched it grew shorter and shorter. It only needed an inch or two to demonstrate that a bra wasn’t the only thing she had chosen to go without when she got dressed.
Two questions immediately came to mind. Did she know that she was flashing me and if she did was I supposed to do something about it? The answers that popped to mind were both in the affirmative. She knew all right. That was why she’d reached for the mugs at the top of the cabinet rather than ones on the lower shelves. Getting the mugs gave her plausible deniability as she couldn’t really just lift her dress and flash me. As for whether I was supposed to do anything about it, if I wasn’t, and she was just teasing, she’d have done a quick flash and that would have been that. She help the position just a little too long for innocence.
I got to my feet and moved quietly up behind her. She had the mugs on the bench now but there was a slight flush to her cheeks and she was breathing slightly harder. My hands slid across her bottom, first down, then back up, but under her dress on the way up, hands running over her smooth flesh.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, trying to sound shocked but only succeeding in sounding a little breathless and excited.
“It occurred to me that there’s another little chore that Martin didn’t get around to so I thought seeing that I’m here I might as well attend to that, too.”
One hand slid down and between her legs, first cupping her pudenda and then massaging it. I guess I was just fortunate that she’d been standing with her legs parted enough for me to do that. It seemed to me that I could already feel the heat inside her.
“But you can’t do that,” she gasped out. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
I ignored her comment. She hadn’t said that I wasn’t to do it and her resistance was purely verbal. Her body was pressing against my hands just as much as my hands were pressing against her body. I started running my hands up the inside of her dress. I was finally going to get hold of those two luscious globes of hers.
She gave a little squeak when my hands closed over her breasts but that was her only reaction. Well, only reaction apart from her bottom pressing back against my groin. I can only imagine what she was thinking about what she was feeling there, but she didn’t recoil.
Her breasts were soft and warm, just made for holding and rubbing. Her nipples were hard little nubs, already erect before I even touched them. I spent a few pleasant moments making their acquaintance.
I reached down and cupped her pussy again, rubbing more firmly now. Sylvia was now protesting. It wasn’t a case of her saying no, don’t do this. It was more along the lines of oh, you shouldn’t, and oh, you mustn’t.
I lowered my trousers and lifted the back of her dress, my erection now pressing firmly along the cleft of her buttocks. She gave another little squeal.
“Oh my god, you’re really going to do this. Oh, this is so embarrassing. I never dreamed that you’d do something like this.”
Embarrassing, I asked myself? An odd word to choose. Still, I didn’t worry about it as I was contemplating another problem. Did I take her dress off, leaving her naked, or leave it on. It’s not as though it would get in my way but I wouldn’t mind seeing her naked. The problem was her state of mind. Touching her while she was dressed she could claim she couldn’t stop me and it wasn’t her fault. Taking off her dress would mean she was committed to what we were doing and I suspected she wanted that get out. Maybe I could talk her out of her dress afterwards.
I adjusted the position of my erection so that it was now pressing between her legs. A slight rocking motion and the length of it was dragging back and forth along her slit, rubbing against her labia, teasing them even more. I could practically feel them trying to kiss me.
Sylvia was rubbing right along with me, even while she was saying, “Oh, we shouldn’t, we really shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?” I asked. “This?”
I lifted her hips slightly while bending a little to adjust my position. My erection rose to the task, you might say, and was now pressing light against her mound, right at the sweet spot, demanding entry.
“Yes, that,” she gasped and I shrugged. Yes was OK by me. I pressed a little harder, feeling myself starting to slide into her.
She shrieked something that sounded like, “WHOA,” drawing the word right out as she pressed firmly back against me, pushing almost desperately to meet me as I drove forcefully home.
Let me tell you that she felt wonderful wrapped around my cock. She was hot and wet and tight and, oh, so responsive. I started moving at a decent rhythm and she was right there with me, meeting my every thrust with the greatest of ease. As far as I was concerned it was breast time again and my hands closed greedily over them.
And a fine time was had by all.
At least I know I was enjoying myself and from the amount of noise Sylvia was making she was making the most of what she was getting. I thrust in happily, enjoying the feel of her hot silky passage sliding against my own hot and tumescent flesh. It seemed to me that every thrust was better than the one before and with every thrust my cock felt as though it had swollen a little. I kid you not – I was prepared to swear that by the time I was getting ready to finish my cock was twice the size as when I started. Maybe it was the increased sensitivity with all that friction, but who cared. It felt great.
Sylvia was pushing hard to meet me, taking me as deep as possible, gasping deep in her throat every time my cock thrust into her. I toyed with the idea of pausing and asking if she wanted me to continue but discretion ruled. The way she was reacting I think she might have killed me if I stopped.
I was now pumping into her a damn sight faster than when I started. Not a conscious act on my part but a rather subtle increase in speed brought about by our mutual need. By this stage my balls were telling me in a not so subtle way that they were ready and past ready for some relief. From the sounds that Sylvia was making I was prepared to say that she was also just about ready to cut loose, so I did my humble duty.
I drove in hard and fast, giving it all I had. It didn’t take more than a few strokes and I was shooting my load and Sylvia was screaming and climaxing hard. I let her have all I had. Like I had any choice in the matter. Her passage clamped so tightly around me that I was lucky to get my cock back.
I relaxed while she just sagged against the counter for a couple of moments. I was wondering how she was going to react now and how I could get her dress off to admire her naked body.
It wasn’t to be. She suddenly straightened up and turned to face me.
“I can’t believe that you did that to me,” she said, for all the world as if she’d just been standing there as an unwilling spectator. “Out,” she said, “and don’t ever speak to me again.”
She was busy shooing out of the kitchen so I grabbed my tool box and departed.
“Listen,” I said as I left, “if you get any more problems with dripping taps just give me a yell. You know where I am.”
She nodded and closed the door firmly behind me. I went on home.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully but in the evening I got to thinking. I went over and knocked on Sylvia’s door. I guess she must have been going to bed early as she was wearing a frilly dressing gown. I immediately started wondering what sort of nightie she was wearing under it, if anything.
She seemed to rear back slightly when she saw me.
“What do you want,” she asked suspiciously.
“I got to thinking that if Martin is away still then he can’t do those little things that you need done, so I thought I’d come around and see if I could fill in for him.”
“Are you mad?” she said in a voice that was half scream. “I think you’ve done enough for the day.”
She turned and stalked down the hall. Seeing she hadn’t bothered to close the door I just naturally followed. She didn’t go down to the kitchen but turned into the front room. The TV was on and a DVD was frozen in place.
Sylvia glared at me.
“Do you realise how guilty you’ve made me feel. I feel terrible. I feel that I’ve cheated on Martin and it’s all your fault.”
Technically, she did cheat on Martin but I deny that it was all my fault. Not that I was going to say that. Instead I considered the question judiciously.
“If you’re feeling guilty about it then you will continue to feel that way until you feel that you’ve been punished. I can help you out there.”
“Well, we’d just have to make the punishment commensurate with the crime. What I’d suggest is that I’ll put you across my knee and spank you for your bad behaviour and to make the punishment more fitting I’ll then push you to the floor and ravish you. Instead of me taking you from behind I will spread your legs and you’ll have to watch me ravishing your body, knowing this is your punishment.”
“You have got to be kidding!” she rather flatly stated, looking as though I’d gone mad.
“Why? It seems reasonable to me. You get beaten for misbehaving and then a demonstration of what might happen if you think of cheating in the future. It will be a salutary lesson that will leave you contrite, and content that you’ve had a punishment suitable for your misdemeanour.”
She just looked at me, not knowing what to say. Seeing she wasn’t saying anything, notably not saying things like, “No, I won’t do it,” I strolled over to the couch and sat down.
“Come along,” I said, patting my knee. “You know what they say, soonest started, soonest finished.”
“Well you know what they can do with their pithy little sayings, whoever they happen to be,” she snapped, but for all that she was moving closer to me. I reached out and caught her arm and drew her slowly closer. I didn’t use any real force, just enough pressure on her arm to have her move closer. Once she was standing next to me my arm went around to her back and pressed and she bent over my knee in an almost dreamlike state. The dream finished abruptly when I flicked her dressing gown up, leaving her bottom bare. No nightie and, again, no panties. Didn’t she ever wear panties? Not that I was going to ask her.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she demanded, trying to push her dressing gown down over her bottom.
“Spanking you, remember,” I said. “I mean, you can’t expect to get spanked with your dressing gown in the way. A bare bottom is the only way to spank you. Um, would it help to take the dressing gown right off? Would it feel more of a punishment that way?”
“No,” she said, sounding rather indignant. “The gown stays on.”
OK, so she won that one. At the same time she was agreeing to be spanked on her bare bottom, so I wondered if she’d consider it a win if she stopped to think about it.
“A very nice bottom,” I said, running my hand over it in an appreciative fashion. “It seems a shame to have to do this.”
I lifted my hand and brought it down in a quick stinging spank and Sylvia gave a satisfactory squeal. I repeated the penalty, shifting to the other cheek and getting another squeal in return. I didn’t go pounding on her bottom, just a series of sharp spanks that would sting without damaging. Sylvia proved to be a worthwhile spankee, giving out with a little wailing cry with each spank.
Mind you, that little wailing cry changed when I delivered a spank to her mound. Her legs had drifted apart, giving me a choice of targets, and her fat rosy lips were too tempting a target. When my hand landed her little wailing cry turned into a full, “What the fuck?” shriek.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when another spank landed in the same place.
“Ah, spanking you,” I said, leaving my hand resting for a moment where it had last landed. Well, maybe more rubbing gently, than resting.
“That’s not how you spank someone,” she protested.
“Of course it is. I know what I’m doing. Just relax and take it as it happens. It’ll be over soon.”
I continued spanking, mainly on her bottom, but a few of those little stinging slaps were landing on her pussy, to her great agitation. They also seemed to be arousing her. Her pussy was flushed and her lips were swollen, her inner labia already peeping through, wanting their share of the attention.
“That should just about do it,” I finally said. “I’ll just give you a little finishing touch here.”
With that I gave her a quick tattoo against her mound, the little slaps coming very fast, and I wasn’t totally surprised when she suddenly had a climax, her cry as it hit showing she was.
While she was gathering her wits together from her unexpected climax I was laying her on the floor. It turned out her dressing gown was only fastened by a tie and that became untied very fast, with me opening the gown wide, leaving her totally exposed to my lecherous gaze. That is, my gaze felt lecherous from my side but what I tried to show her was a look of honest appreciation.
“What are you doing?” she asked plucking at the sides of her gown but not getting anywhere as I was holding it open.
“Do you remember what I said would follow the spanking?” I asked and she blushed and nodded.
I smiled and shifted my hands to her ankles, lifting them high and wide until she was almost bent double, able to look down and see her own mound. I held her legs there with my shoulders while I dropped my trousers, displaying my erection to her interested eyes.
I’d promised her she’d have to watch what happened to her and now she couldn’t help but see. She was shaking her head slightly as she watched but for all the shaking her eyes didn’t budge from where my cock was pressing against her.
“You see what happens to bad girls?” I asked her and she nodded.
“Yes. This is terrible. Are you really going to do this?”
I didn’t answer, just pressed forward a little, her lips yielding and letting the head of my cock slip past them. I stopped at that point and pulled back a little, letting her see how her lips were clinging to me. In a little deeper and back again, with her starting to writhe a little under me, wanting more. In a little deeper and she’d had enough, giving an irritated cry and pushing firmly up to meet me, taking me fully into her, giving a satisfied groan as our groins came together.
Now I started slowly moving on her, pulling back and sliding back into place. I was surprised at the almost fascinated way Sylvia was watching my cock slide back and forth, disappearing into her and then slowly returning. I wasn’t providing all the action. Sylvia was certainly doing her part, lifting her hips and pushing up to receive me. When I said I’d be making her watch what happened I certainly hadn’t expected her to take me seriously or with such great interest. What was her sex life normally like, I wondered. In the dark and under blankets, maybe?
There was only so much of this slow movement that we could stand, our respective excitement levels rising with every slow thrust. I was holding back, when I wanted to start really thrusting home, waiting for Sylvia to make her move. She finally did, her legs coming down off my shoulders and wrapping around my waist, and she had a renewed urgency in her movements.
Now we were really moving, with me putting some muscle behind my thrusts, hitting home nice and hard. Sylvia had the advantage arousal-wise as she was already hot and bothered by the spanking climax. Now she was heading for another climax and I was working overtime to make sure I got there at the same time.
She screamed and I nearly did the same when her vice-like grip dragged me over the edge whether I wanted to go or not. I exploded inside her and she just lapped it up, accepting it as her due as she climaxed very happily.
“I hope this has been a lesson for you,” I said afterwards. “There’s always a penalty when you misbehave.”
She nodded then gave me an odd look.
“Ah, but didn’t you misbehave as well?” she asked.
“Certainly not. I’m not married,” I said sanctimoniously. “I’m allowed to do that sort of thing. Anyway, this evening I was just providing you with the correction you thought you needed. A good deed on my part.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Just gave me another look and then chased me out of the house. I went home to bed and presumably she went to bed to catch up on the sleep she lost to a dripping tap.
What would happen if I visited again tomorrow evening? Would she still be feeling guilty and need some more correction? An interesting thought.