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Jen winced as the floorboards creaked under her feet. Michael was downstairs in the study, tapping away on his laptop, and she knew he’d have music playing through his headphones as he worked through the night, but she worried about waking Pete. The spare room was uncomfortable enough to begin with, with its fold-out sofa bed and draughty window; further challenging their guest’s ability to sleep by clomping across the landing to the bathroom felt like distinctly inhospitable behaviour.
Jen still wasn’t sure what to make of Pete. He seemed friendly enough, but there was a distance in his eyes, and he rarely sat with them in the evenings, preferring instead to slouch into the tatty old armchair out on the porch and swig from the beer bottles Michael tossed him periodically through the kitchen window. He’d paid for the three weeks up front though, and Jen didn’t believe in turning down good money just to avoid a bit of social awkwardness.
The toilet flushed – why did everything in the house have to be so damn loud?! – and Jen flipped the lid down wearily. A nocturnal husband wasn’t so bad most of the time, but there were nights when she wished he’d go to bed at the same time as she did, so there was someone to snuggle up against after 2 am trips to the bathroom. Someone to go downstairs and fill her water bottle each time it ran dry. Someone to roll over and slide a hand between her legs when…
Jen angrily pushed the thought out of her head. She knew she’d struggle to get back to sleep anyway, without reaching for her vibrator and starting something she’d only want Michael to come upstairs and finish. She picked up the bottle from the bedside table and gave it a rueful shake. Laziness battled thirst, and she considered switching on her phone to message Michael, in the hope he’d bring her a fresh bottle; as she reached for it though, her hand missed her own mobile and knocked against his, sending it skittering onto the floor and quickly making her mind up for her.
The stair runner beneath her feet muffled Jen’s footsteps as she padded down to the kitchen. Cool air crept underneath her nightshirt, tickling the soft wisps of hair above her cunt. Her stomach clenched, and her brain noted with sleep-fuzzed detachment that she was slick and hot; pulsing steadily with a slow-burning need. She glanced across the hallway towards Michael’s study. The door was closed, but pale light leaked out from under it, and Jen thought again about the comforting weight of his body; the hitch in his breathing whenever he shuddered and came inside her.
On the other side of the hall, Pete’s door was ajar. A surge of guilt hit Jen for a second time as she remembered the noise her footsteps had made. Perhaps she’d disturbed him enough that he’d gone back out to the porch to enjoy some silence under the stars; if so, she should take him tea, or even a nip of the Scotch they kept in Michael’s liquor cabinet.
Jen took a step towards the kitchen then hesitated, suddenly torn. Tea was the sensible option, but fetching the whiskey would mean going into the study, and she knew that if he saw her like that, hair tousled and nipples hard against her thin shirt, Michael would find it hard to resist setting his work aside for the night and dragging her off to bed. She summoned a brief, familiar mental image of his eyebrows knotting in mock severity, and felt sure that any exasperation he felt at being interrupted would quickly be replaced by an arousal to match her own.
Her feet pre-empted the final decision, one heel spinning till she faced the study, and propelling her towards it. Jen smiled and reached for the door handle, only registering as she did so that the breathing she could hear against the quiet of the hallway was not her own. It came from inside the room: a low moan that seemed to die as it reached her, raising the hairs on her arms with its quiet urgency.
Jen pressed her finger against the door, half expecting to feel the wood vibrate from the sigh that passed through it. She nudged it off the latch and it eased open just enough for light to stream out. As her eyes adjusted to the change, Jen tried to focus on the source of the sound.
Pete’s head was tossed so far back into the heavy green curtain that it took her several seconds to struggle past the initial, surreal image of a department store mannequin propped up on the wooden desk, being enthusiastically blown by her husband. The grunt he made each time Michael’s head bobbed down to the base of his dick was unmistakably human though, as were the fingers that twisted and flexed in the kneeling man’s hair.
Jen knew she should swing open the door and stop whatever was happening from going any further. She blinked and swallowed hard, but her feet wouldn’t move; instead it was her fingers that jammed hard between her legs, as Michael spread and splayed his hands on either side of Pete’s dick, like he was offering up a prayer as he sucked it.
With a flush, Jen remembered the evening she’d caught a glimpse of Pete slipping into the bathroom in just a towel. She’d wondered idly what sort of cock he was packing in amongst the bunched muscles and delicate ridges of his wiry frame. He’d half-turned, almost as if he sensed her presence, and she’d seen him in profile; just for a second, but that was enough to reveal the tight bulge he made in the cotton, and to send her scurrying back up the stairs in a mixture of embarrassment and slightly shocked arousal.
This time though the instinct to flee refused to kick in, and as Michael rocked back on his haunches she finally saw it properly, dark and heavy against the white of Pete’s stomach. It was so hard that her cunt ached at the sight of it, and at the thought of her husband’s mouth, hot and bruised from its fierce, swollen throb.
Jen rubbed frantically, and recalled the gentle, careful way that Michael’s tongue had flicked over her clit earlier that evening. As always, he’d been precise and softly percussive in his movements; likewise, whenever she sucked him it was done with a finesse guaranteed to make his toes curl long before she coaxed him to deep, shuddering orgasm.
The contrast with the frantic hunger she saw on Michael’s face as he leaned forward to take Pete’s thick cock deep in his throat once again was enough to make Jen gush all over the palm of her hand. She slumped against the wall, her thighs tight and shaky but determined not to buckle. Inside the study neither man gave any quarter, and Pete’s moans as he thrust up from the desk were matched by the soft hiss of air that escaped Michael’s mouth each time the head slipped back out across his lips.
Jen felt a second spasm knifing through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again in time to see Pete curl a hand around his cock, using the other to hold Michael in place on his knees.
“Yes,” she heard her husband whisper, so loud that Jen thought for a second he must be talking to her. “Yes, fucking do it. Fucking come all over me.”
Pete pumped his length with rough, jerky strokes. Jen could see the strain in his hand as it bumped up over the ridge and covered the head. He kicked a heel against the desk with a violent thud and pulled Michael closer, forcing his mouth open again. Everything seemed to blur for one agonising second, before snapping back into sharp, forensic clarity.
Jen bit down on her lip to stifle a gasp, as blurred ropes of cum flew between the two men, coating Michael’s stubbled skin. He sucked in air, chest heaving and eyes wide in what seemed to her a mix of shock and uncontrolled lust. Pete’s dick still oozed cum, and he brushed it over Michael’s lips like a make-up artist, painting them once, twice, with a sticky smear.
Jen waited, unsure what else to expect. The care with which Pete nuzzled his cock against her husband’s cheek made her wonder how many times they’d played out this scene while she slept. It also fired her curiosity: what else had they done together? And why hadn’t Michael said something?
Pete reached for one of the two glasses that sat side-by-side on the desk. He raised it in a silent toast and tipped his head back, draining the contents in one long pull as Michael looked on, seemingly too exhausted to move. Jen wrenched her gaze away from Pete’s cock – still somehow hefty and solid, even resting limp against his thigh – and crept back across the hallway. She felt like she was intruding on something she didn’t yet fully understand. Perhaps answers could wait for daylight.
Bundled up in her duvet, Jen fiddled with the alarm on her mobile. She set it for 02:00 the following morning and put the phone back on the nightstand.
Perhaps answers could wait for daylight. Or perhaps some things were only understood by embracing the darkness.
The next day was a work day. After all my housework had been completed to J’s satisfaction, i was put to bed early in the spare bedroom. Again tied to the bed, again masked in Her very musky panties. She woke me early, kissed me and told me how pleased my submission made Her. i knelt and thanked Her again for teaching me so well.
Dutifully, i cooked Her breakfast then cleaned up the dishes. i was just getting ready to leave for work, when She told me that i was to have a little reminder before i left. J. ordered me to take off my jeans and underwear, bent me over the counter, and gave me a quick but very vigorous spanking with the wooden spoon.
It didn’t take much to make my still sore bottom even more sore and i was soon doing a little dance over that counter. As a token of obedience and as a constant reminder of my place, She made me put on my ‘training panties’ and an old pair of control-top pantiehose under my work clothes. This sure worked! The double layer seemed to retain the heat of my spanking for hours, and i was constantly reminded of my place by the humiliatingly feminine feel of the tight hose and lingerie on my skin. In addition, i was terrified someone would notice somehow.
i didn’t sit down for long that day, either. Even sitting down to pee on the toilet with my panties around my knees was a reminder of my new ‘status’. At lunch time, She phoned me and asked me how ‘my poor smacked bottom felt in those tight little panties.’ i was so embarrassed that i could feel my face glowing. Then She told me in detail what was in store for me when i got home. You could have grilled hamburgers on my cheeks! Luckily, i was alone in the office because i was also as hard as a rock inside those pink panties. i shuffled into the washroom and splashed cold water on my face.
i spent the afternoon in an agony of anticipation, as i’m sure She intended. By the time i got home, i was in quite a state- very excited and very scared at the same time. This relationship was progressing very fast, spinning out of my control. Which, of course, was the whole point, although i was barely aware of it. J was the sexiest, most exciting Woman i had ever had the privilege of knowing and i would do anything to please Her and She knew it.
i arrived home before Her and quickly showered and shaved as per Her phone call. i struggled into my panties and pantihose again and waited for Her in the lounge, kneeling in the corner by the fireplace. i was literally shaking in anticipation and, perversely, semi-erect. After what seemed like an hour, i heard Her car door slam and the front door open.
Her heels clicked slowly across the hardwood floor and stopped. i could sense Her presence and smell the sweetness of Her scent as She stood behind me, inspecting me. Silently, She gathered my long hair into a ponytail and tied it back with a scarf, then, using it as a handle dragged me on my knees across the floor to the long brown leather couch.
She sat down, crossed Her legs then offered me Her foot to kiss. i did so lovingly, i regarded it as a privilege. She looked wonderful in Her dark, no-nonsense business suit and white silk blouse. Smiling, She opened the shopping bag She’d placed on the couch and showed me the oval wooden hairbrush She’d told me She was going to buy for me (with my money!). “Do you like it?”, She mocked. i stammered some reply; my mouth had gone dry and my legs felt like rubber. ‘you look so cute in panties, and I’m sure this will be an excellent pantie-warmer.
Shall we try it out?’ She stood up, slowly removed Her jacket and bracelets, sat down and ordered me across Her lap. She stroked my upturned bottom- Her hand felt so soft and warm through the nylon. She placed one of my arms between Her bottom and the back of the couch and firmly bent the other up into the small of my back, Her long nails digging into my wrist.
The spanking began- slow, hard and deliberate. This wasn’t so bad, i thought. The double layer of panties and pantihose dulled the impact and the long pauses between smacks gave me time to recover. Then She rolled the pantihose down, and began beating my panties harder and faster. This hurt! Especially when She hit the spots the spoon had bruised that morning. Soon i was bucking and squirming across Her knee, which was just what She wanted. ‘Do you like my pantie-warmer? Feeling macho now?’ She teased. i had never felt less macho, but it felt so right lying there across Her lap.
The spanking continued, now slow and hard, now fast and furious. There was no rhythm or pattern. No set number of strokes to endure. My legs were kicking involuntarily and, despite my best efforts, each smack forced a squeal or moan from me. i was losing what little control i had. Then She lowered my panties! i heard myself begging Her to stop, that i would do anything She wanted, that i would be Her slave.
She said, ‘ you already are my slave! Now raise your bottom high and ask me nicely to spank you.’ i did in a shaky voice and She spanked me until i lay there still and submissive across Her lap, raising my bottom obediently for each stroke, sobbing loudly and unashamedly, tears flowing freely.
She was right, Her will was stronger than mine. i was Her slave. With shaking hands, a tear-stained face and an incredibly sore bottom, i cooked Her dinner and served Her. Then i cleaned up, and spent the rest of the evening kneeling in the corner with the hairbrush shoved down the back of my panties. She calmly read magazines, sipped tea and phoned a friend as if nothing unusual had happened.
i spent the night curled up under a blanket on the floor at the foot of Her bed, chaste and obedient.
After my first hairbrushing and cold, lonely night on the floor of J’s bedroom i realized that this was my true destiny. i belonged to J, to do with as She wished. i truly wanted and needed to be the submissive partner.
In the morning, i made Her breakfast and got ready for work, wearing my panties and pantihose without being told. This pleased Her, and She stroked my sore bottom through my panties as She kissed me goodbye. i spent another anxious day at work, still terrified someone would be able to spot my feminine clothing somehow. But now i was almost enjoying the symbolic slavery; the constant reminder of silky nylon against my shaved legs and sore, marked bottom.
J. phoned me at lunch to tell me how much She had enjoyed pulling my panties down and thrashing my bottom. i blushed madly, and one of the secretaries teased me about it all afternoon. If only she knew!
i hurried home that evening and was making dinner when J returned , carrying another shopping bag. ‘you make such a good little wife!’, She teased, standing behind me at the sink caressing my butt. Her hands felt so good, and i arched my neck back as She kissed my neck. She slipped Her hands inside my shirt and pinched my hardening little nipples as She pressed Her groin hard into my bottom, pushing me against the counter. Her stockinged leg forced my legs to part and She whispered into my ear ‘Bend for me.’ i felt as if i was melting, i could only obey.
She grasped my hipbones and started to pump me from behind, slowly and gently at first then faster and fiercely. i could feel Her heat of Her passsion right through Her skirt and my jeans. i pushed back eagerly, wiggling my bottom sluttishly- this felt so amazing. She was symbolically taking me from behind right here in the kitchen and it felt SO right!
The blood was roaring in my ears and i could hardly stand when She finally released me. ‘Good girl’ She said. i couldn’t look Her in the eye but She tilted my chin up with Her gentle fingers and kissed me softly. ‘I’ve got something for you’, She said, handing me the shopping bag.
My fingers trembled as i took it and looked at the pretty lingerie inside. ‘No, i can’t,’ i said in horror. Panties were bad enough, but i was terrified of the feminity in the bag. ‘You can and you will’, She snapped. ‘Don’t you think your mates at work would be interested to hear how I dress you in panties and put you over my knee? Now go and get changed and serve my dinner!’
i knew i had no choice and slowly started up the Cuckquean Sex Stories stairs. ‘Oh, and bring me down the Cuckquean Sex Stories hairbrush, too. I will NOT tolerate Cuckquean Sex Stories disobedience.’ i slowly and clumsily changed into the matching Cuckquean Sex Stories soft pink Cuckquean Sex Stories lingerie in the Cuckquean Sex Stories bag, struggling with the Cuckquean Sex Stories bra and Cuckquean Sex Stories garterbelt. i felt SO Cuckquean Sex Stories foolish but it did feel wonderful against my Cuckquean Sex Stories skin as i slid the Cuckquean Sex Stories slip over my head and smoothed it down over my slim body.
Mmmm, it did feel so Cuckquean Sex Stories sexy. i primped in the Cuckquean Sex Stories mirror, brushed my long, soft Cuckquean Sex Stories hair until it shone in the evening Cuckquean Sex Stories light, then gently kissed the back of that Cuckquean Sex Stories innocent-looking, Cuckquean Sex Stories ladylike Cuckquean Sex Stories hairbrush. i had delayed as long as i could- trembling, i carried that Cuckquean Sex Stories fearsome hairbrush downstairs to where my Cuckquean Sex Stories Lady waited. i had taken another Cuckquean Sex Stories big, Cuckquean Sex Stories irrevocable Cuckquean Sex Stories step.
Last line of Cuckquean Sex Stories.