Sunday School

You were standing on the right of her sitting on the queen size bed, she a thirty something lithe foxy brunette with flashing jade green eyes and you a handsome enough blue eyed twenty something who could probably have had any girl he wanted but so far hadn't, for the shyness that was in all the six feet of you.

Your body was young and fit with the male curves and ripples in all the right places and hers the female same with just that touch of feminine plumpness here and there that would have given St Paul himself a diamond tipped drill bit of a boner, if the sight of it didn't give the old wowser a stroke before it barred him up.

Strange what a conversation around a coffee machine can lead to. You'd watch her walk in to the empty bar yourself staff room, firm breasts leading the way, perfect mammalia officiana those, and a rear end like wobbling pork. The breasts pushed against a white cotton blouse, not straining to get out but just firmly enough to command male attention and the behind was one that drew male eyes to it. Even under her long gray pants it topped a pair of what must have been damn near engine-turned legs sitting neatly on platform soled shod feet.

She must have felt your eyes wandering over her five foot nine frame because she set down her half empty coffee cup and told you to put 'em back in. Somehow overcoming your shy nature, you'd made a cheeky remark which she'd topped soon enough. While you were trying to think of another witticism she'd drained the rest of her coffee, tossed the cup in the bin, then glided up to you. You didn't know whether she liked the cut of your jib or not until her eyes had twinkled and she'd asked you out for a drink after work, playfully smacking your bottom as she glided on and back to work. You'd thought that a bit of reverse sexism but hadn't dared to return the compliment.

One thing had led to another and some weeks later you'd got to talking about THAT. When she'd got you to admit how inexperienced you were at it, she'd tossed back her curly ringlets so you caught a glimpse of old burnished gold and laughed. "Well you're in luck my shy blond, I'm between lovers and can't be bothered buying a sex doll, so I might have to see if a young dog can be taught some old tricks, eh?" No luck that night, nor on a few others, but just when you were about to give her up for a prick-tease there came a day's hard at her place, which she was renovating and where she'd conned you into coming over one Sunday to give her a hand here and there.

She wore a carpenter's apron and ragged arsed work clothes as naturally as any soldier ever wore a uniform and a pistol belt, she'd the use of her hands to go with it, and could curse as long and hard as any chippy, all the way from idle swearing to out and out blasphemy. A few times she'd let fly at you, as she did once when you'd looked at her instead of at a cupboard door you should have been planing back. "God fuck a fornicatin' fox you know how to make sheep's eyes, don'tcha? If you'd keep your mind on your work as hard as you keep your eyes on my tits 'n arse, we'd've fixed the whole street by now!" And you had the feeling she'd nearly put words like that into hymns, if, that is, she was ever any place where they'd be singing any.

When at last she'd got a good day's hard unpaid out of you equal to what the worst sweat extractor you'd ever known could have got (and he your old man), all the tools had been put away, both of you'd had a shower and she'd cooked a steak with all the trimmings it was off to the couch in her living room and the rest of a bottle of the roughest red you'd ever tasted.

God that stuff loosened your tongue! You relaxed in your clean pair of old jeans and work shirt and drank in her figure in a whorish red mini-skirt and well worn yellow faded Tee shirt. It wasn't long before she was sitting beside you and the both of you talking all kinds of rot. But when she'd moved to cuddle you you froze. She'd just wrapped her arms around you and told you to relax, tell her what was wrong. It was when she'd patted your bottom that it came out, slowly as you stumbled for the words.

She gripped your shoulders hard, looking deep into your eyes. "You'd like me to spank you, is that it? And by the sound of it, you'd like me to follow that with something a bit harder, wouldn't you? Hey, don't worry about it, you're not weird, not weird at all! It's just your wires got crossed 'cos of a bit of stupid parenting, that's all. Now take a deep breath, and relax f'r chrissakes!"

She'd put her arms around you again, massaging your neck, shoulders and upper back and kissing you, a long slow full kiss. Then she'd taken you into her bedroom with her arm around you and you got your shirt off and stepped out of your jeans as she sat on the bed, nipples erect against her Tee shirt. There was a sofa hard up against the end of the bed, and some things hidden under a towel on the bed but just as you vaguely wondered what all that was about ...

"Leave your undies on," she'd said as you moved to take them off. "You're a little too old to be spanked completely bare ... but there's no reason why they can't ride up a bit eh?" And she'd quickly reefed your jocks up right into your crack as you lay across her lap, feeling the contact between her silky thighs and yours, longing to plant your mainmast straining to escape into her brilliant breech.

CRACK! CRACK! Right out of the blue she smacked first your right and then your left cheek HARD, her left hand holding your undies tightly. "Did THAT take your mind off sex? Good, that's the right way to start a spanking!"

"Aargh! Please! Not so hard!"

The smacks rained down so quickly you couldn't count them nor establish any pattern to them nor evade them however much you bucked and reared. This wasn't like any spanking you'd got as a child, you'd had many, but they were just pain and tears. THIS was pain but something else besides.

Oh it was the same old valley you remembered being driven into by your old man's belt, him reinforcing each lash with religious ranting just to make the valley more wretched, but with her it was like gliding along the valley floor with the hope of going up to a peak every time she lightened up which neither he nor your mother ever did.

She stopped somewhere between thirty and forty, then squeezed each cheek in turn slowly while her left hand let go of your jocks and stroked your hair and neck. Then you felt her right hand start sliding between your knees and working its way up your inner thighs, what was the word you'd come across in some French novel once?

"Pas d'arraigne" she said, "Spider pats in English".

As her left hand got hold of your jocks again and pulled them slowly back into your crack. Then you felt something cold between your thighs.

When the buzzing started you realised that was a vibrator and she an expert, slowly running its slim tip all over your inner thighs then softly pushing it into your crack, tracing it teasingly around the inside of your bottom until your erection returned with such a vengeance as to nearly blow you off her lap.

Suddenly she flung her right leg over your legs, then CRACK CRACK CRACK again, making you gasp and your eyes water.

"A little pleasure and a little pain and more of the same to get your bottom nice and flamed", she'd rhymed.

And so it continued until at last she stopped, and in between some more creepy crawly finger work said, "H'mm that's really nice and red, and hot too, but as you know, a good spanking should end with just a little more, shouldn't it? You'd not learn anything otherwise would you?"

"No", you'd said, "But please don't use a belt!"

"Agh, I don't use a belt, they are crude and useless for this kind of thing ... I have something much better than that". Two last stinging firecracker CRACKS and, "Now get up and go stand in the corner while I get it. Nose to the wall and don't you dare look around or rub!"

She rustled around in a closet and afterwards got you to walk to the end of the bed, to the sofa. She'd fetched a few pillows and arranged a couple of them on the back of the sofa in the middle of it. When you saw what was lying on the bed, you were taken back a bit, because it was a straight cane just under three feet long and three/eighths of an inch thick.

"Meet The Tigress", she said sardonically. "Now kneel on the sofa in front of the pillows for me".

"But I've never been caned before".

"Good! Be a new experience for you then, won't it?" Despite yourself, you'd knelt on the sofa and she sat down on your left, then suddenly jerked your jocks halfway down your thighs. "Ooh, you're a REAL blond" she said as she looked at your pubic hair. "Don't see them very often, and by the way, the cane is always given bare bottom. I should know, I got enough of it at boarding school". She felt your eyes on her tits and laughed a bit, "I'll take my Tee shirt off and give you a good look if you like, but that'll cost you extra".

"Meaning?" you'd asked.

"Well the standard punishment for naughty boys is six hard cuts, at least the first time, but if you want to look at my tits I'll make it twelve, OK?" You'd agreed, and she'd ripped her Tee shirt off and flung it aside, then sidled up closer to you. "Look but don't touch for now". At the same time she grabbed your semi-erect cock and balls, lifting them while her right hand pushed against your bottom, making you lean over the pillows with your bottom in the air. "Spread your thighs just a little wider, that's it, perfect, now relax and hold that position for me".

She got you to bury your head into another pillow after another bit of hand play between your thighs and bottom. Then she walked behind you and gave you a body slide so you could feel her breasts all the way up your back. Her hair caressed your neck as she slowly murmured, "I'm going to give you three sets of four cuts each, OK? It will really hurt but I don't want any yelling or too much bucking around. If you feel like crying, cry into the pillow. Just concentrate on going into subspace".

You didn't know what that meant but you weren't long after finding out. She walked behind, to your left, then paused. "Just imagine you're about to get it for something really naughty". She swished the cane as she spoke. "As in, for example", she chuckled, "For being a lazy idle sex crazed little boy who's finally got himself bent over the Headmistress's desk, and not before time either!" She added, more as an afterthought, "And you're getting off light, the old bitch I had never bothered with warm-up spankings ... she didn't know much of anything beyond what the Wholly Babble said, but b'Jesus Christ she knew how to use a cane!"

She'd tapped your bottom lightly with the cane, just on the fleshy part below your tailbone. Then there was a swish and you felt a thump.

"Aargh! Fuck that HURTS!" you'd yelled, and your bottom bucked as a burning pain seared across your arse.

"Well it's bloody well meant to," she said. "And that, pet, has just cost you one extra. Mind you, that behind of yours is so delicious I wouldn't mind starting over again, would you like me to?"

"Oh Christ no!"

"Then friggin' well keep it still!"

Just as the pain from the first was subsiding, SWISH! THUMP! again, and a few seconds later again and then a blinding flash of pain as the last of the set crashed in, right in between your thighs and bottom. You'd let out a low moan and started crying into the pillow. She paused, ran her left hand over the welts like a craftswoman proud of her work and teased inside your thighs with the cane. Another long slow body slide, "You took that very well for the first time, that's only the one extra ... so far".

Thus subspace, crying into the pillow as the cane burned in eight more times, desperately trying not to buck or clench as each cut landed, still crying during the interval between the last two sets, despite the teasing and the body slide and her hands massaging your neck and shoulders. Deep in the valley. "Just five more pet, four and one extra, you can take it"

You did, but you nearly couldn't. The last one went right where the very first had gone and your bottom bucked right into the air under it

"ARGHH, OW!" and you cried again.

Then the body slide, and you heard the cane being tossed to one side, "That's it pet, it's all over, no more. I'm just going to rub something into those welts", and you heard her skirt and panties come off as she straightened up. When she took your jocks right off, it was time to climb the mountain again.

"Must say your bum looks good in stripes" she said as she gently massaged in some soothing cream and used the vibrator again. This time your erection nearly threw you upright as she slowly worked the vibrator tip into your anus. Crying was forgotten as you shot from the deep valley onto the peak and you had to do everything you knew not to come.

Then before you knew it you were lying on the bed, with a pillow under your bottom while she sprayed your cock with some numbing substance from a can marked Stallion Spray sold by some outfit called Priapus Ltd. She'd laughed when you asked just who or what Priapus was ...

And then she'd mounted you, deliberately squatting away from you so's you saw her Rock of Ages beam ends you'd been dreaming of and you KNEW who Priapus was several old dog's tricks and one Vesuvius of an orgasm later, both of you coming together and you falling asleep in her arms.

Next day at work she winked as you winced when you sat down during a coffee break. That had certainly been one hell of a Sunday school lesson.

And one interlude on the long slow road to becoming the manager and manageress of a Priapus sex shop.