SMARTS!

by Jay Lawrence

  Ho ho. I couldn't help myself but I felt my cheeks flush. The tea had to be ready. I lifted the lid of the pot and stared at the contents as if the secret of life itself lurked within a tawny pool of Liptons Yellow Label.

  "Better get pouring. Don't want it to stew."

  His emphasis on the last word rankled and I almost snapped back at him. Who was he to so readily uncover my vulnerability?

  "I mean, if the tea is undrinkable, I might just have to spank you."

  My mouth opened to emit a gasp then closed sharply.

  "Really, Ken!"

  "Maybe I'll spank you anyway. What do you think?"

  He moved from his casual stance against the kitchen wall and stood before me, smiling down with the kind of expression I'd imagine a fox might use with a hen. The steel edge of the makeshift sink unit pressed sharply into my lower back and I suddenly discovered that I was extremely wet between the legs. Oh, God. What the heck was going on? I didn't do this kind of thing. I didn't have casual kinky sex with tradesmen. Wasn't that some kind of cliché from men's magazines? Ken's capable hands gripped my waist and, inanely, I found myself squeaking "But what about the tea?"

  "How terribly British of you, Mrs. H. Bend over."

  "But I can't do this!"

  "Certainly you can. You know you want it."

  The shocking thing was that he was right. I was so aroused I would have had him fuck me right then and there, tea or no tea.

  Ken's hands moved upwards, appraising my breasts through my sweater. I couldn't speak. It felt incredible. My nipples sprang to attention beneath his capable hands and began to tingle as if his body generated a powerful current and together we formed a perfect circuit. And he wasn't even an electrician...

  "Oh, God."

  "Lovely boobs, Mrs. H. Big and juicy. I'll enjoy coming all over them later. But you're not doing as you're told yet. Turn around and bend over."

  I decided to abandon myself to the fantasy. What were the chances of it ever happening again? I did as he told me, facing the sink and then dipping forwards as far as I could. I imagined my bottom sticking out, broad and plump, and what Ken might think of it. I was hardly a supermodel.

  "Nice ass. I don't go for skinny chicks. Unfasten your jeans."

  My nervous fingers fumbled with the button and then the zipper. My panties were so moist I thought I might have wet myself.

  "I'm going to enjoy this. You can think of it as a replay of the American Revolution."

  Very funny.

  Strong fingers maneuvered my jeans over my hips and down to my knees. I pictured my bottom quite clearly, finely clad in thin white silky panties that would make my buttocks seem even bigger than they already were. Too bad.

  "I love a nice big ass. More fun to spank."

  God, I'd forgotten that he'd mentioned spanking. And there I was, dripping with pussy juice, expecting to be speared by his (hopefully) meaty cock over the kitchen sink. I clenched my buttocks involuntarily, wondering how stingy it would be. I wasn't into pain.

  "First a little warm up."

  I flinched as Ken firmly grasped the rear waistband of my panties and tugged upwards. The effect was extremely exciting, a neat little wad of the fine fabric pressing hard against my already swollen clit. Ken pulled until I could feel the seams straining, making the seat of the panties disappear into the crevice between my cheeks like a G-string. I cried out in pleasure as more and more of my bottom was exposed, the cool air of the house greeting my naked, vulnerable flesh.

  "Brace yourself."

  I didn't know what to expect. No one had ever spanked me.

  A single sharp smack landed on my quivering bottom and I squeaked, more from nerves than discomfort. It wasn't hard, just a tangy little slap. It felt good.

  "Naughty girls get their asses tanned."

  Was I naughty? Not naughty enough, perhaps... If I was truly wicked I'd have more idea what to do in such a situation. I could sense his hand poised to strike above my buttocks and I involuntarily raised my hips, inviting his disciplining palm. My body had decided that it wanted a spanking and it wanted it badly. Instead of another smack, the tips of Ken's fingers made contact with the flesh of my upper thigh, softly tracing the tender place just beneath my right buttock. The devil was teasing me. And it was working.

  "I thought you were going to spank me."

  The words spilled out in a surprisingly petulant tone before I had the sense to check them. To my chagrin, Ken laughed.

  "And give you everything you want right off the bat? You need to learn some patience, lady. Relax. Enjoy."

  Ironically, my body only tensed at his words. I could feel a faint steady throbbing in my clit, where the soaking wedge of silky panty pressed hard against my swollen flesh. I knew I couldn't come from that alone, I'd need strong stimulation to reach the orgasm I so badly needed. I didn't want to "relax and enjoy". I wanted spanking and hard, animalistic fucking. The thought shocked me.

  "Like it rough, do we?"

  Christ, was he reading my mind?

  "No! I mean, I'm not sure..."

  God, I sounded like such an ingénue! Suddenly, Ken's breath was hot and moist against the nape of my neck, his tormenting butterfly-soft caresses swiftly replaced by the solid bulge of his erection. Groaning, I pushed my hips against the front of his jeans, inviting him to undo his fly and slide his rigid cock deep inside me.

  "You want me to shaft you good and hard, don't you, Mrs. H? You want me to fuck your pretty brains out."

  "Yes!"

  Pleasurable sensations filled my pussy until it overflowed, seeping sweet musky juice. His cock felt big and thick, straining at the leash to capture my slick cunt.

  "You want to feel my massive ten inch prick bang you 'til you beg for mercy?"

  "Yes!"

  I wondered if he was being truthful about the length but it was no time for tape measures. His hand pulled even harder on the waistband of my panties, actually lifting me up on my toes. I waited for the seams to start rending but they didn't. The pressure increased on my clit and a tight rope of bundled panty insinuated itself into the tender crevice of my ass. Ken's taunting voice was hot mist against my ear.

  "Feeling violated?"

  "Yes."

  "Can't have that. It's against the constitution."

  His cock moved away from my squirming hips and I squawked in horror.

  "What? What are you doing?"

  "Warming you up."

  Something metallic clicked on the steel sink unit and I realized that Ken had picked up a kitchen implement.

  "What are you doing? No, don't do that!"

  My cries went unheeded. He placed the cold plane of a spatula against my grinding bottom and began to spank me with it, hard and fast. This time it did hurt, sharp and stingy as an insect bite. I yelped and tried to pull myself away but his grip was absolute. Helplessly, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and clenched my bottom tight. I could feel heat in my naked ass as the blood rushed to the surface. I could feel throbbing. I wanted cock. I wanted huge meaty ten inch cock, filling my dripping cunt and fucking me into oblivion. Instead, I received a royal spanking.

  "Ow, Ken! That hurts!"

  "It's supposed to."

  On and on he spanked, delivering short sharp shocks with the spatula that made me squeal and beg and cry out in a mixture of fury and arousal. I couldn't deny that it was beginning to have an effect. After a minute or two, the slicing edge of the pain seemed to dull a little like a blunted blade, leaving heat and the rhythmic slapping of the implement against my writhing hips. The heat intensified, becoming a deep throbbing glow. Suddenly, I realized that I was welcoming the spanks, pushing my bottom up to meet the implement. It began to feel good. Really good. I clasped the faucet and moaned, the first delicious harbingers of sexual release swirling in my vulva.

  "Mm!"

  "Feeling good? Time to stop."

  "Ken!"

  The bastard had ceased again. My orgasm retreated abruptly, le
aving a tick-tick-tick of sensation in my bursting clit.

  "Too much of a good thing isn't good for you, Mrs. H. You British know all about that, don't you? You're so restrained."

  "I thought you wanted me to relax and enjoy!"

  I stared at the dirty dishes in the sink. My teeth were gritted. I was ready to swing for Ken the tiler. He sensed my anger and grabbed my ponytail, pulling my head up and back as if I was a pony and he held the reins.

  "Now, you're going to go upstairs and put on those stiletto boots you have lying out in the closet."

  I gasped. The bedroom was unfinished, the closets had no doors. My husband's fetish for thigh-high stiletto boots had not gone unnoticed. I didn't know what to do. I needed to come. Surely, he would reward me with an orgasm. Eventually.

  "Skip along. How much of a break do you think I can take? Your old man's paying me to do your bathroom not screw his lady wife. Put on the boots and that short dress. The red one."

  My face and bottom equally scarlet, I decided to do as I was told. I couldn't just end it all without hope of some release. Awkwardly, I stood up and dragged my jeans over my throbbing, red hot rear, not pausing to untangle my panties. They formed a tight reminder of my spanking as I climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom, aware of Ken's cool gaze following my every move.

  Curious to see what such a shocking experience had done for my appearance, I looked appraisingly in the bedroom mirror. My face was very pink, my eyes bright and shiny. Slowly, I turned round and lowered my jeans, revealing my well-spanked bottom. It was crimson. I touched the fiery flesh with cooler fingers, traced the contours of scorched flesh with pleasure.

  "Don't keep me waiting."

  Ken's voice echoed up the uncarpeted stairs. I began to undress. What should I leave on? What should I take off? I ended up nude, discarding my undies in a crumpled moist heap. I looked into the closet. The thigh-boots stood side by side, tall, black, shiny and spiky, their six-inch stiletto heels fit for a stripper or a streetwalker. I thought of Ken's cock. I pulled the dress from its hanger, a micro-mini slut-dress, with a cleavage that plunged almost to my navel. Nervously, I slipped the dress over my head and wriggled into it, its scarlet fabric clinging to my full curves. The boots felt cold as I slipped them on and a crop of goose bumps ruffled my skin. Ken's work boots sounded on the stairs and I glanced in the mirror for reassurance. My cheeks were still as red as my dress. I looked like a bashful, first-time streetwalker. Hastily, I loosened my ponytail and ran my fingers through my hair. A shadow fell across the bedroom floor.

  "Get on the bed. On your hands and knees."

  Submissively, I did as he instructed. Something about the firm, level tone of his voice excited me in a way I couldn't explain. I walked over to the new bed, a king sized affair with black wrought metal curlicues. Crouched on the bed like a dog, my bare bottom was fully exposed as the tiny dress rode up over my hips. What was he going to do? Spank me again? Take me from behind? I waited in an agony of suspense. There was the quiet metallic click of a belt being unbuckled. My stomach turned over. Another painful thrashing or a doggie-style fucking? Which was it to be?

  "Do you like anal?"

  My heart lurched.

  "I've never done it. I don't think I'd like it."

  "Really? My wife loves it."

  "I really don't think..."

  "Then don't think. It's not good to think too much. Let's see your ass."

  His hands appraised my bottom like I was some form of livestock and I prayed fervently that he wouldn't subject me to anal sex. The concept scared me.

  "Let's try a finger or two. Relax. I'll stop if it hurts you."

  Without waiting for my response, he dipped a finger in my dripping pussy and insinuated it deep within the tight confines of my anus. Once in, he began to rotate slightly and thrust in and out and it wasn't long before I was moaning in pleasure. It felt absolutely wonderful.

  "Honey, your ass is made for it."

  "You'll find condoms and lube in the drawer there."

  I hoped I wouldn't regret my decision. I closed my eyes, imagining I was a porn star and had my ass royally rodgered every day. Ken rummaged in the night table drawer. There was a crinkling sound of jeans being removed, then I heard the rustle of the condom packet being opened and a familiar stroking pause. I tried not to be terrified. Was it going to hurt?

  "Let's get you going, open you up."

  He sounded like a car mechanic and I wanted to laugh, hysterical in my fear.

  "Spread your thighs. Love those boots, by the way. They look fantastic."

  I started to thank him but my words were carried off in a groan of pleasure. He was rhythmically massaging the rosebud of my anus with lube, pausing from time to time to push a finger inside my body, constantly opening and stretching me. I concentrated on relaxing, accepting, trusting his practiced hands. He felt as if he knew what he was doing and that reassured me, calmed my nerves. My clit pulsed in time to the mini ass-fuck and my boobs threatened to spill out of the scandalously skimpy dress.

  "Two fingers. Relax. Open for me. You want Uncle Ken to fuck your ass."

  "Yes!"

  I gasped as he pushed another well-lubed finger inside me. The first had been easy to take but I could feel a bit of pressure and stretch with the second.

  "I'm going to fuck your tight little virgin ass."

  He talked dirty to me as he continued to coax my bottom to open for him. I began to grind my hips and thrust back against his pumping hand. The sensations were incredible. My crotch was awash with juice and lube from my clit to my anus. Helplessly, I grasped the metal curls of the headboard and cried out.

  "Fuck my ass! Fuck my ass!"

  The fingers were replaced by the fat head of his cock. I raised my bottom like an animal and pushed back against him, desperate to feel his erection slide deep within the taboo recesses of my back passage.

  "Slowly."

  His hands were on my hips, guiding and steadying. I felt pressure. A lot of pressure. And pain. Stretching far beyond the size of two fingers. God, how big was this guy?

  "No!"

  I yelped as he pushed inside me, grunting with the effort.

  "It hurts!"

  "Relax. Ken's a big boy. You can take me. I know you can. You have a good ass for it. Christ, that feels good."

  My face was prickling with perspiration. I wanted to tell him to withdraw but, hell, he was in there, he might as well enjoy himself. Maybe it would get better. I concentrated on relaxing, opening. His fingers found my boobs, eased them out of the dress and fondled my nipples. Good move. The sensory distraction helped. My clit throbbed in appreciation and, miraculously, Ken's large cock slid deep inside me right to the hilt.

  "Oh, yes! Oh, that's good!"

  He groaned in response, slowly beginning to stroke in and out of my slick asshole.

  "Great ass! Just made for it."

  I could smell his body as he began to heat up, a warm musky pheromone-laden scent that drove me wild. Harder and faster, his powerful hips thrust against my wriggling, squirming bottom, pounding my slippery, no longer virgin, ass. My orgasm began to rise. I gripped the headboard and squealed, fucking him back, as hard as I could. His cock grew harder inside me. I'd never felt such a hard cock. It was like being reamed with an iron bar.

  "Slut! Ass-fucking whore!"

  His fingers squeezed my nipples and his breath was hot in my ear, calling me his slut, his whore, his cunt. I loved it.

  "Fuck me! Fuck my ass, you bastard!"

  I joined in the name-calling and he rewarded me with an even harder pounding that almost pushed my face into the headboard. I was coming. Ken was coming. On, on, hard, deep, pound, pound, pound, bastard, slut, ass, cunt, fuck, fuck, fuck. The bed creaked frantically as we orgasmed, yelling insults and tearing at each other like a pair of tigers.

  "Oh God!"

  "Jesus, Mrs. H!"

  I collapsed on my stomach, my arms aching from clutching the headboard. Carefully, Ken eased hi
s softening prick from my well-pummeled bottom. I began to think of cushions and ultra-soft toilet tissue.

  "That was..."

  "Amazing."

  He finished my sentence and I smiled, wryly. Yes, it was, but I wasn't sure I would be repeating it in the near future. I rolled over gingerly and watched Ken pull on his jeans. For a fit guy, he looked like he'd had quite a work-out. I looked at my shiny, spiky boots, at my naked breasts with their swollen, rigid nipples. I felt oddly powerful and supremely satisfied.

  "And that, dear Ken, is how we British built the Empire!"

  "On all fours with your asses in the air?"

  "Ha, bloody ha. We never did have that tea."

  "Thank God. I'd rather have coffee."

  "Philistine colonial."

  Laughing, I threw a pillow at him.

  "Get back to work. Christ, are we paying you to fuck my ass?!"

  PAINTED INTO A CORNER

  "Want to paint?"

  The tiling guy playfully offered me his brush and I shook my head.

  "No thanks! I've done enough painting."

  I looked at the deep yellow wall of the bathroom and hoped he didn't think I'd done a poor job. I had done a lot of painting. Kitchen, bedroom, great room, bathroom... I'd been at it for weeks.

  "Would you like some tea?"

  My Britishness kicked in and I hurriedly left the enclosed space of the bathroom, leaving Ken and his pot of bright blue whatever-it-was to seal the joins in the drywall around my tub.

  "Tea or coffee or whatever you have. I'll take a break in a minute."

  He kept walking very purposefully from the bathroom to his van outside, the heels of his sturdy work shoes clicking on the bare plywood floor. Something in me responded to the sound, to the decisiveness of the rhythm. There was no messing about with Ken. I liked that. I put the kettle on. It was going to be tea because tea is what I drink all day long, old country-style black tea with milk. I wondered if he'd like it.

  Click, click, click. I busied myself with the teapot, making it properly, no teabags in mugs, even warming the pot with hot water first. Ken passed behind me as I stood in the makeshift kitchen, being domestic, and I had a strong intimation that he wanted to pinch my bottom. It took me a full minute to gather courage enough to ask him how he liked it. His tea, that is.