Doubtful. No one with so little sense of humor could enjoy a thorough spanking, though that didn’t mean an ass warming wouldn’t do the woman a world of good.
What did Owen always tell her? Keep her nose out of other people’s relationships and they’d keep their noses out of ours.
It was good advice. She could only imagine the reaction of their neighbors—and family—if they knew she and Owen practiced domestic discipline.
Sure, all the moms at the playground snickered and winked when they had all read That Book which was so popular. Jill refused to read it. Not that she was opposed to the content, but because there were so many better, though not so well known, books available. There were no new shades of grey for her to learn about.
Still, it was one thing to read a popular book and become titillated. It was another thing completely to practice a DD lifestyle, and quite successfully, within a marriage.
The president of the PTA droned on about class parties and fundraisers. Jill fought the urge peek at her phone for Facebook updates but when she heard the ‘ping’ of a new email, she had to look.
It had been two weeks exactly since she had done something daring, brave, and terrifying.
Jill had submitted a book to a publisher. And not just any book. Her first book. A spanking book. A spanking book with bare-assed spankings and naughty, naughty sex.
She had told no one about it, not even Owen. She knew it was a long shot for the publishing company to even consider the book and she hated the idea of having to tell anyone that it had been rejected. She already had a plan. If the book was rejected she would bake herself a pan of Better Than Sex Brownies and eat the whole thing with a giant bottle of wine.
If the book was accepted—she had no idea what she’d do. It was too much to even hope for. But, even if that wonderful thing happened, she could hardly send it in as news for her college alumni magazine. “Jill Carpenter has published a book. It can be found in the erotica and kink section of major online e-book retailers.”
No, that would never do.
But, she would have to tell her husband.
After she hit the submit button on the publisher’s website she had forced herself not to even think about the book for five days. She achieved this by only checking her email a couple times a day and keeping herself excessively busy the rest of the day. She had cleaned all the closets, wiped down the walls, and learned to knit.
For the next few days, she allowed herself to log in to her email three times a day, and after that it was a free-for-all of frantic refreshing. She did not know whether to be glad it was taking so long in hopes that meant they were actually reading it, or whether it was taking that long to find the right words to tell her just how truly horrible her story was.
She hated when others fiddled with their phones during meetings, but this was potentially a monumental email and so when she heard the alert on her phone, she carefully exited the meeting and headed for the ladies’ room to peek at her email.
After all that, the message was just a note from her sister bragging about some award she had gotten at work. Hardly news.
Jill inspected her hair in the mirror and freshened her lipstick before exiting. Just as the door closed behind her, another email pinged into her inbox.
Chastising herself for being so foolish and even hoping for a positive response, she stroked her thumb across the phone, anyway.
She saw the publisher’s name in her inbox and her hand began to shake. She looked around to see if anyone could see her and then opened the message.
She nearly dropped her phone and an involuntary ‘whoop’ escaped her lips. She quickly covered her mouth and scanned the area to make sure she was still alone, stifling more giddy giggles against her palm.
They wanted her book! Said it was good! They wanted to send her a contract. A contract, like a real professional writer.
She knew she couldn’t hold still for anymore of the meeting so she headed for the parking lot, doing her best not to fist pump across the asphalt.
****
Six months later.
“This is what happens to naughty girls. And you have been a naughty girl, haven’t you, Miss Andrews?” Dirk’s dark eyes pierced Lacy’s soft blue gaze until she was forced to look at the floor.
“Yes,” she said, “I have been very naughty. Sir.” She licked her lips and tried to still her breathing which was amping up to an alarming level. She had said this was what she wanted, a man who would take her in hand and show her he was in charge, but now that she was about to get her wish, she questioned her sanity.
“And naughty girls wear their panties around their knees don’t they?” His voice sounded ominous with so many promises.
“Y-yes,” she said and moved her hands under her plaid skirt to comply. She lowered her white cotton panties until they hovered at the top of her white cotton knee socks.
Schoolgirl fantasy spanking. She knew it was cliché, but she still loved it. She devoured any book she could find about naughty schoolgirls and the stern teachers who taught them many different lessons. And when she had saved up her money to spend an evening at Fetish Fantasy she selected just that.
Even within the schoolgirl fantasy she had a wide range of options: slutty schoolgirl seduces shy teacher, schoolgirl goes to the principal’s office, shy schoolgirl learns tough lessons.
And that is how Lacy Andrews found herself standing in the middle of a school room staring at the wooden floor with her panties down, her socks pulled up, and a plaid skirt that barely covered the cheeks of her ass.
Dirk had emailed her earlier in the week. “I know about the naughty thoughts you have been having. Write them in your journal and bring it with you on Saturday.”
Oh lord. She could not possibly write those things down and she most certainly could not show them to a stranger.
But isn’t this what you’ve scrimped and saved and dreamed about? that little voice in her head reminded her. And when Dirk stood before her in his stern schoolmaster pose and held out his hand, she placed a notebook with her naughty thoughts written for all the world to see, in it. Or at least for Dirk to see, which embarrassed her enough.
He pointed to a tall stool in front of the blackboard and said, “Sit.”
She complied, her bare bottom against the cool smoothness of the wooden seat. It was a bit challenging with her panties tethering her legs together, but she managed. Dirk did not watch her ascend the stool and she was relieved since she had been none too graceful about it. Instead of watching her, he flipped through the pages of her journal. Her stomach did a few flip flops as he turned back and reread a passage.
“Your handwriting leaves much to be desired, Miss Andrews.”
“I-I am sorry, sir.”
“You will have to read this passage to me since I cannot make out your chicken scratch.” He handed the book to her and pointed at the top of a page. “Begin here.”
Lacy’s eyes scanned down the page. Oh no. Not this part.
“Miss Andrews, I am waiting,” he said. His voice made her toes curl and her stomach knot.
Lacy licked her dry lips again, cleared her throat and began. “I have had naughty thoughts about Kevin. He works in the cubicle next to mine. He is so sexy. Sometimes I pretend that I am working but I just sit in my cubicle and listen to his voice while he makes phone calls. My favorite fantasy is that he finds me working late at my desk and…” Here Lacy faltered, her face the deep crimson of shame.
“I did not tell you to stop,” Dirk said.
“I am embarrassed.”
“As well you should be. Having such thoughts about your coworker. I had no idea how very naughty you were Miss Andrews, but I can see I have gotten here just in time to prevent you from living a life of shameful, sexual degradation. Do you want to be a woman who is guided by her unbridled libido?”
“N-no?”
Crack. A cedar rod landed on the teacher’s desk and the impact echoed around the room. “Is that a question
or a statement, Miss Andrews?”
“A statement. Sir.” Lacy was breathless and to her shame, a trickle of moisture escaped the lips of her sex and puddled on the hard seat of the stool. She moved her leg in an attempt to cover it, but Dirk was too fast for her.
“Did I say you could move your legs?”
“No.”
“What are you hiding from me, Miss Andrews?” Dirk stood in front of her. “Lift your skirt, young lady.”
Lacy’s gaze snapped to his face. His dark eyes were molten with passion. Lacy’s fingers trembled as she grasped the hem of her skirt and raised it. She wished it was long enough to cover her face.
She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. There it was, right there between her thighs, the evidence of her naughtiness.
“It would appear, Miss Andrews, that you are excited by reading your naughty thoughts, is that true?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure if it was the contents of her journal or the tone of his voice, but her nipples puckered and pushed against the bra and white cotton blouse she wore. Lacy clenched the muscles of her sex together in an effort to stem the tide of moisture.
“I believe we will need to alter our lesson plan, Miss Andrews, in order to account for your atrocious handwriting and unbridled libido. You are clearly a young lady who cannot control her base urges, is that true Miss Andrews?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice came out as a whispery breath. She glanced down at the buttons of her blouse that strained against the pressure of her swollen and throbbing breasts.
Dirk held his hand out to her. When she placed her slightly trembling fingers in his, she felt a zing of desire flutter through her body and straight to her tingling sex. She bit her lip and alighted from the stool as gracefully as she could given her naked ass, steaming pussy, and lowered panties.
He guided her to the blackboard that spanned the front of the room and placed a piece of chalk in her hand. “You shall write ‘I am a naughty girl with terrible handwriting and impure thoughts’ on this board twenty times. And you shall start here,” Dirk said pointing to a spot at the very top of the writing surface.
“Bu—” Lacy began to protest that she could not reach that high, but the look on Dirk’s face told her that protesting was futile.
She took the chalk in her hand, stretched up on her tiptoes and began to write.
The shortness of her skirt made it impossible for her to comply with Dirk’s instructions without exposing her entire bottom to his view. Her panties had fallen down around her ankles and she hoped Dirk would not order her to raise them to her knees since it would be difficult to keep them there while she stretched to reach the top of the blackboard. She began to write. The squeak of the chalk against the blackboard and her labored breathing were the only sounds in the room.
She wondered where Dirk was and what he was doing, but she dared not glance around.
Her upper body pressed tight to the chalkboard and she feared that the stiff peaks of her nipples would etch themselves into the surface as she wrote.
She focused her attention on her writing and making sure she got the words right. A quick slap from the birch rod landed across the center of her exposed backside and she stiffened and turned.
“Eyes front, Miss Andrews. You are most certainly the naughtiest young woman I have ever disciplined and I can see that you are going to need an excessive amount of correction. Are you not heartily ashamed to be so poorly behaved?”
Lacy rested her forehead against the cool blackboard and inhaled deeply. Unfortunately, she ingested a puff of chalk dust and began coughing uncontrollably.
Dirk handed her a bottle of water and rubbed her back. “Are you okay, Lacy?” he asked, his voice soft and warm and completely different from the stern schoolmaster. She glanced up at him and he winked, then took back the water and gave her backside a swat with his hand. “Back to your lesson, young lady.”
No wait, Jill thought, I can’t interrupt this sexy scene with something funny. That totally breaks the mood.
She deleted the last few lines and continued.
Lacy rested her forehead against the cool blackboard and inhaled deeply. She was a jangle of sexual longing. She knew the fee she had paid for her fantasy had clearly not included sex. That would be illegal, but gawd she was so horny.
The naked flesh of her shaved mound brushed against the chalk tray and she pressed further into the cold metal hoping for some relief for her aching pussy. She managed to make a couple strokes back and forth across the chalk tray before Dirk noticed and chastised her with a firm application of the birch rod to her butt.
“Honestly, Miss Andrews, I have never had a student who was so wanton and, well, frankly, slutty. Yes, I believe that is the term I will have to use when I fill out your report for the headmaster. Is that what you want? For me to write on your permanent record that you are a wanton and slutty young lady?”
“Oh god.” Lacy gripped the chalk tray, shocked at the affect his words had on her. She was on the edge of a screaming orgasm.
Me too, Jill thought. She took a long sip from her iced tea and got up from the computer. The rest of this story would have to wait until she got some relief for herself.
Chapter Two
It was summer and the kids were at day camp. Jill had dropped them off at the bus stop that morning then rushed home to get some writing done. Now that she had committed to being a writer, she had lots of deadlines and she had one looming fast. No matter, her need was looming faster.
She held the cool glass of iced tea against her forehead. The air conditioning was cranked and her own nipples pressed against the white tank she wore, though whether they hardened from the cold air or her own writing, she was unsure.
She returned the beverage to her desk and went in search of Owen. She found him in his office, deep in thought while he worked on lesson plans for the next school year. She went and stood near him, hands clasped behind her back.
When he did not notice her, she cleared her throat.
“I know you’re there,” he said, not looking up from his task. “I am teaching you patience.”
Jill wiggled in place and pressed her thighs together, enjoying the pressure the action created against her sex. How could she be patient when she was burning up with need?
****
Ah, sex scene day. Owen always made a point of hanging around the house on the days Jill wrote sex scenes. Wasn’t that what a supportive husband would do?
Although he’d been surprised when Jill told him she’d written a book and that it was going to be published, he was very proud of her. Thinking back to the day she met him at the door with a bottle of champagne and news that the kids were staying with their grandmother, he smiled at the memory of how very excited and proud she had been. And horny. Apparently, writing got more than her creative juices flowing.
Since then he’d seen a new spark in her for everything in life and he wondered at this new aspect of his wife that blossomed before his eyes.
Owen always asked about her plans for the day’s writing. Fortunately, she wrote sex scenes about every two days, and that suited him just fine.
This must be a good one because she was a quivering mass of desire waiting as patiently as she could for his attention.
“Have you been writing?” he asked, working the muscles of his lips to keep from smiling.
“Y-yes,” she said. She licked her lips and when he stared at the rosy tips of her breasts poking through her thin tank top, she drew her shoulders back to focus his attention there. As though he needed any help.
“Did you finish your writing for the day?” he asked, all innocence.
“No,” she said. “I needed a break.”
“I suppose sitting at the computer for a long time makes you want to get up and walk around. Would you like to go for a walk? We could go to the park.”
“No, it’s not a walk that I need.” She said and he watched her rub her thighs together.
“What do you need,
my little writer wife?”
“I need you to fuck me. Please.”
Were sweeter words ever spoken? He put away his work and gave his full attention to his wife.
“You appear to be in pretty desperate need.”
“Yes.”
“What brought this on?”
“I was writing a spanking scene and I got turned on.”
“I guess it’s a pretty good scene.”
“Seems that way.”
“And so you’re saying that if I had sex with you now, I’d be doing my part to support your writing career?”
“You are a very supportive husband,” she said, unbuttoning the cut-off denim shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. She slid the zipper down and he could see the lacy pink triangle that covered her mound.
Since Jill had begun writing, her lingerie had taken a decidedly sexy turn and he definitely approved. The tiny denim shorts slid down the length of her toned legs and pooled around her bare feet.
She stepped out of the shorts and pulled the skimpy white tank top over her head and tossed it on the floor as she stepped toward him. Her breasts, unencumbered by a bra, swayed with her movements and he felt a definite strain against his zipper.
His wife stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her mound which in turn, forced her breasts together in a luscious way that made him think about having both peaks in his mouth at once, his tongue swirling back and forth over the pebbled nubs. He licked his lips at the thought.
Jill looked down at the floor, then up at him through her lashes, innocent as you please. “Please, Owen, put me out of my misery. I need you. I need a good fucking.” She slid her fingers around to the almost non-existent waistband of her thong and slid the wisp of lacy fabric down her thighs and onto the floor.
He watched, barely able to contain himself, as she opened the folds of her sex and stroked across the wetness there. “Can’t you see how much I need you? Your big cock. Fucking me. Like the naughty girl I am. Please?”
She slid a finger into her pussy and Owen nearly burst inside his jeans.
“Whose pussy is that?” He stood and gazed down at her, mesmerized by the movement of her fingers in and out of the pink swollen lips of her sex.
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