(NOTE: I apologize for introducing a new story before finishing others. I have no choice but to obey the muse!) -- A.C.
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Part One
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| Image from Time Out! |
That device was quite simply the best investment of my life; it makes the man absolute putty in my hands. I may be almost half his age, but I am very much in charge of this relationship.
I smell the delicious aroma of dinner warming in the oven; a quick survey of the house and the mild whiff of pine scent tells me he’s cleaned thoroughly. I smile. I told him he might be allowed a release tonight if he followed my instructions to the letter and went over my lap for a long, hard spanking. Clearly, my behavior modification plan is working well. I decide to test his resolve in a somewhat devilish way.
“Well done, little boy. You’ve proved you can follow directions; you are well on your way toward receiving a reward this evening.”
“Oh, thank you, Ma’am!”
“I have several things to carry in from the car. You don’t mind if I leave the front door open, do you?”
I see him go rigid, and his blush extends to the back of his neck. With great effort, he manages to croak out, “N-no, Ma’am.”
I chuckle and close the door. “Just testing you, darling; I want that backside all to myself tonight. But should you fail to please me, do not imagine I’ll hesitate one moment to spank it cherry red and put it on public display. The front porch ought to do nicely. With the light on, of course.”
I remain silent for a moment to allow that mental picture to sink in. Then I breezily go on.
“You may go make me a drink and bring it to me in the living room.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he says, huge relief evident in his voice. He turns, his face flaring delightfully, and gulps in the sight of me. I’m a 5’ 5” slim redhead with a creamy complexion dotted with a few freckles. I love the hungry way he looks at me these days. The fact that I am so much younger and smaller than he--yet completely in charge of him--thrills him beyond all measure, and I take full advantage of this. The fact that he’s been locked up for a week and a half--and has been servicing his young wife nearly every night--renders him obedient to my every whim. I hold the key to his...heart, so to speak.
Well aware of the intensity of his foot fetish, and fully enjoying my ability to mesmerize him, I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes as he stares. Then I put my hands on my hips and fix him with a look. He scurries off to pour me a Scotch and soda on the rocks, and I laugh as I head for the living room.
I turn on the TV and sit in my favorite chair. I’m wearing a tight pair of black slacks and a fuchsia top that was just barely safe for work. My breasts are medium-sized, and they also bear the cream color and freckles of my Scotch-Irish heritage. I pull down on the blouse slightly to reveal even more of them, put my feet up on a hassock, and find a program to watch.
Moments later, my husband appears with my drink and gazes with undisguised longing at my chest. Before accepting the beverage, I pull the top down with exaggerated slowness; as I am braless today, both breasts are soon on display to him in all their glory. He literally gulps at the sight, and whimpers when I readjust my clothing.
I laugh, take the drink, and say, “Well done, little boy,” pushing the hassock away with my feet and pointing. He knows what I expect. In no time at all, I’m sitting comfortably, sipping my drink with my feet on a human footstool. I quietly giggle at the sight of this 50-year-old business executive--naked and stock-still on all fours--so desperate to please his wife. I watch a half hour of TV in this fashion. I then swing my legs off his back, and he goes rigid with expectation: could he be about to get what he’s been dying for for so long? I decide to ratchet things up a notch.
“Before we do anything else, we need to close up your back door, darling.” He whips his head around to face me, and a momentary flash of macho defiance crosses his features. He’s certainly no fan of that large, vibrating plug. It's been the main point of contention in the establishment of this new regimen, and I know it’s pure torment for him when he’s been locked up so long!
“Oh, I see. I guess you don’t want your reward after all. Very well; you’re still going over my knee, though.” I pat my lap meaningfully.
“No! I mean, uh, please, Ma’am. I’ll get the plug, Ma’am.”
“Hmm...I don’t know; you didn’t obey right away...” (I don’t really intend to be mean; I just enjoy teasing him!)
“Please...” His crestfallen expression is a heart-melter.
“Oh, alright, then; you may get your plug. Be quick about it!”
“Oh, yes Ma'am, thank you, Ma’am!”
“Off you go, little boy.” I swat his bare tail, and he scurries off as I giggle at the sight of his twin moons in retreat. They will soon bear a most delightful hot pink hue. This is going to be an enjoyable evening indeed.
[End Part One]
Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved
“Yes Ma’am,” he says, huge relief evident in his voice. He turns, his face flaring delightfully, and gulps in the sight of me. I’m a 5’ 5” slim redhead with a creamy complexion dotted with a few freckles. I love the hungry way he looks at me these days. The fact that I am so much younger and smaller than he--yet completely in charge of him--thrills him beyond all measure, and I take full advantage of this. The fact that he’s been locked up for a week and a half--and has been servicing his young wife nearly every night--renders him obedient to my every whim. I hold the key to his...heart, so to speak.
Well aware of the intensity of his foot fetish, and fully enjoying my ability to mesmerize him, I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes as he stares. Then I put my hands on my hips and fix him with a look. He scurries off to pour me a Scotch and soda on the rocks, and I laugh as I head for the living room.
I turn on the TV and sit in my favorite chair. I’m wearing a tight pair of black slacks and a fuchsia top that was just barely safe for work. My breasts are medium-sized, and they also bear the cream color and freckles of my Scotch-Irish heritage. I pull down on the blouse slightly to reveal even more of them, put my feet up on a hassock, and find a program to watch.
Moments later, my husband appears with my drink and gazes with undisguised longing at my chest. Before accepting the beverage, I pull the top down with exaggerated slowness; as I am braless today, both breasts are soon on display to him in all their glory. He literally gulps at the sight, and whimpers when I readjust my clothing.
I laugh, take the drink, and say, “Well done, little boy,” pushing the hassock away with my feet and pointing. He knows what I expect. In no time at all, I’m sitting comfortably, sipping my drink with my feet on a human footstool. I quietly giggle at the sight of this 50-year-old business executive--naked and stock-still on all fours--so desperate to please his wife. I watch a half hour of TV in this fashion. I then swing my legs off his back, and he goes rigid with expectation: could he be about to get what he’s been dying for for so long? I decide to ratchet things up a notch.
“Before we do anything else, we need to close up your back door, darling.” He whips his head around to face me, and a momentary flash of macho defiance crosses his features. He’s certainly no fan of that large, vibrating plug. It's been the main point of contention in the establishment of this new regimen, and I know it’s pure torment for him when he’s been locked up so long!
“Oh, I see. I guess you don’t want your reward after all. Very well; you’re still going over my knee, though.” I pat my lap meaningfully.
“No! I mean, uh, please, Ma’am. I’ll get the plug, Ma’am.”
“Hmm...I don’t know; you didn’t obey right away...” (I don’t really intend to be mean; I just enjoy teasing him!)
“Please...” His crestfallen expression is a heart-melter.
“Oh, alright, then; you may get your plug. Be quick about it!”
“Oh, yes Ma'am, thank you, Ma’am!”
“Off you go, little boy.” I swat his bare tail, and he scurries off as I giggle at the sight of his twin moons in retreat. They will soon bear a most delightful hot pink hue. This is going to be an enjoyable evening indeed.
[End Part One]
Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla
All rights reserved
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