Ron ambled through the quiet house, feeling the emptiness echo around him like a forgotten melody. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to grow louder with each passing second, punctuating the silence that had become his only companion. His wife, Judith, had been gone for a week, visiting an old friend from college she hadn't seen in ages. The house felt foreign without her—like a pair of shoes worn too loosely after a long hike.
He also felt the urge building in his groin again—an insistent throb that had been growing stronger by the hour. It had been three long days since he'd last indulged in the sweet release that was his silent reprieve. The game of "Cum and Go" they'd started playing had brought a new excitement to their lives, but the rules had been clear: no masturbation between sessions. It was a pact they'd made to keep the flame of desire stoked for their rendezvous. Ron had never been one for self-control, but he'd managed to refrain, his need for Judith growing more intense with each passing minute.
The game was simple yet ingenious. They had a box filled with slips of paper, each one a spicy idea to spice up their intimate life—a silent auction of passion, where he could bid for his release. The rules were clear: feeling the urge, Ron would pick a slip at random, perform the act written on it, and then leave, allowing Judith her space without the pressure of reciprocity. It had been a revelation for them both—a way to maintain the thrill of their youthful escapades with the practicality of their age.
But Judith was gone till the weekend, and the anticipation was gnawing at him like a feral beast. The house felt suffocating in its emptiness, so Ron sought refuge in the garden. He tended to the roses with a gentle touch, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the gray in his hair. Each snip of the shears was a silent cry for the release he so desperately craved. The scent of the flowers filled his nose, mingling with the earthy aroma of the freshly turned soil as he planted new life in the beds she'd meticulously cultivated. The physical labor was a balm to his restless mind, but it couldn't quench the thirst in his loins.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the lawn, he heard the crunch of gravel and looked up to see Marianne, Judith's sister, pulling into the driveway. She stepped out of her car, her confident stride a stark reminder of her natural dominance. Despite being older than his wife, Marianne's beauty had always fueled a secret attraction in Ron. Her fiery red hair and piercing green eyes seemed to dance in the fading light, and the way her clothes clung to her body spoke of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. She waved at him, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she approached.
"Judith called me," she said, her voice a velvety purr that sent a shiver down his spine. "Said you might need a bit of looking after."
Ron felt a twitch of guilt. He knew Judith meant well, but the last thing he needed was Marianne poking around his life. "Thanks," he replied, trying to keep his voice even. "But I'm doing just fine."
Marianne's smile grew wider. "Oh, I'm sure you are," she said, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. Her grip was firm, almost challenging. "But it's no trouble really. I insist."
Ron's eyes narrowed slightly. There was something in her tone that didn't sit right with him. It was almost... hungry. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden tightening in his chest. "What can I offer you?" he asked, his voice a tad too eager to be mistaken for genuine hospitality.
Marianne waved him off with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Don't worry, I'll get it myself," she said, her smile never wavering. She turned on her heel and strode towards the house, her hips swaying with a purposeful grace that made Ron's thoughts stumble. He watched her go, his gaze lingering on her backside as she disappeared through the front door.
A few moments later, she re-emerged with a glass of red wine in one hand and a small cardboard box in the other. She approached him with the same predatory confidence, her eyes never leaving his. His heart did a little flip at the sight—not just from the wine, which was their favorite, but from the way she held the box with such intrigue.
"What's this funny thing?" she asked, setting the wine down on the garden table and placing the box before him.
Ron's heart thudded in his chest. The box. He'd hoped it would stay hidden from Marianne's prying eyes, but here she was, holding it out like a cat presenting a captured bird. "It's... it's just a game," he stuttered, trying to sound casual.
Marianne raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "A game?" She took a step closer, the scent of her perfume mingling with the garden's natural bouquet. "Do tell, Ron. What sort of game do you and Judith play?"
He gulped, his mind racing for a believable lie. But the truth was laid bare before them—Judith had left the box out, a silent invitation to Marianne's curiosity. He could almost feel her eyes boring into the side of his head as she studied the box. He felt trapped.
Finally, he sighed. "It's just a collection of dares," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For when... when I feel like it." He hoped his cheeks weren't reddening too much, but he knew the heat was rising to the surface.
Marianne grinned wickedly. "Dares, you say?" She took another step closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "And what sort of dares are we talking about here?"
Ron's heart skipped a beat. He knew that look—it was the same one Judith got when she had a particularly naughty idea for a slip of paper. "Just... harmless stuff," he said, hoping to deflect her interest.
Marianne's grin grew even more mischievous. "I know what you mean," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Like messing with pillows, huh?"
Ron felt his cheeks flush as understanding dawned on him. Judith had told her sister. The game wasn't a secret anymore, and the realization sent a thrill through him that was as potent as the fear of being caught. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing pulse, his eyes darting to the box and then back to Marianne's knowing gaze.
Marianne held the box out to him, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Why don't you go ahead and pick one?" she suggested, her tone playful but with an underlying current of seriousness.
Ron stared at the box for a moment, his pulse pounding in his ears. He'd never done this with anyone but Judith—it was their thing. But something about Marianne's confidence made him want to prove himself. He took a deep breath and reached for the box, his hand trembling slightly as he plucked out a slip of paper.
Marianne leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Go on," she urged, her voice a seductive whisper that seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. "Read it out loud."
Ron cleared his throat, the words on the paper feeling like they were burning his fingertips. "Over her knee spanking," he murmured, his face flushing a deep shade of red that matched the roses he'd just been tending. He crumpled the paper in his hand, mortified. It was indeed his idea, but in his mind, it was a playful thing with Judith, but now, with Marianne, it was something totally different.
Marianne clapped her hands in joy, her laughter light and musical. "Oh, this is going to be fun!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July. She pointed at the bench nearby, her voice taking on a commanding tone. "Down with the pants, up with the bottom, Ronny!"
She always called him Ronny instead of Ron, just like his mother did and he tried to hate her for this, bringing up his old insecurities and weaknesses.
"Look, Marianne..." he started in a futile attempt to talk himself out of it but a sharp look of her told him that there was no leeway.
Ron's mind raced, but his body obeyed. He felt like a teenager again, caught in the thrill of the forbidden. Something in him wanted to prove himself in front of her. He shuffled his feet, his cheeks hot as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Marianne's gaze was unwavering, a mix of amusement and something... else. He pulled his pants down, exposing himself to the cool evening air, his face hotter than the sunburn he'd nursed from last week's beach trip.
Marianne sat on the bench with the poise of a woman who'd done this before. She patted her knee, the fabric of her summer dress shifting to reveal more of her toned thighs. Ron's eyes lingered there, tracing the lines of her legs up to where they disappeared beneath the hem.
"I just... I don't know," he stammered, his cheeks aflame. "Could we maybe do this inside?"
Marianne's eyes sparkled with delight at his shyness. "Don't be silly," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "There's nothing embarrassing about a bit of discipline in a household. Besides," she added, a wicked smile playing on her lips, "the neighbors might enjoy the show."
Ron's eyes darted nervously around the garden. The thought of someone watching them was both terrifying and oddly thrilling. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he approached the bench, his heart thudding in his chest like a drum at a rock concert. Marianne hiked her summer dress up, revealing more of her strong, shapely legs. The sight was so unexpected, so tantalizing, that he had to remind himself to breathe.
"Now, bend over," she instructed, her voice firm and unyielding. The command sent a jolt of excitement through him, and he found himself obeying without hesitation. His knees hit the soft grass, and his palms pressed against the cool wood of the bench. The anticipation was palpable, a heady scent that hung in the air like the sweetness of the roses.
"Who told you to keep on these boxers?" she asked, her tone teasing and playful. Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she took in the sight of Ron, half-exposed and trembling with anticipation.
Ron felt a jolt of embarrassment. He'd been so nervous, he hadn't even noticed he was still wearing his underwear. "Sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. And somehow, he felt an erection growing, adding to his humiliation.
Marianne leaned back, her gaze lingering on his tented boxers. "Don't be shy," she said, her voice a purr of amusement. "There's nothing better than a bare-ass spanking." Her words were a challenge, one that Ron felt compelled to accept. With trembling fingers, he pushed the fabric down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, standing at attention as if eager to join in on the fun. Marianne couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, the sound of it sending a shiver down his spine.
The cool evening air kissed his bare skin, sending goosebumps racing across his backside. He felt incredibly exposed, but also... alive. The thrill of the moment was like a jolt of electricity, zapping away the last of his inhibitions. Marianne's eyes took in the sight of him, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Now, that's better," she murmured, patting her knees again. He carefully bent over them, his cock brushing against her warm, soft thighs. The sensation was almost too much, sending a shiver down his spine. He gripped the bench tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to compose himself. Marianne closed her knees, trapping his cock firmly between her strong thighs, making Ron twitch and gasp.
"Keep still now! - Ready?" Marianne asked, her voice a seductive whisper that seemed to tickle his ears.
Ron nodded, his voice a strained murmur. "Yes."
The first slap landed with surprising force, and he jolted forward, gasping at the sudden sting. Marianne's hand was firm, the impact echoing through the quiet evening. "This is," she began, her palm rising and falling in a steady rhythm, "for ruining" - slap - "my pillow," she continued with each smack, her voice a blend of teasing and authority. Ron's cheeks grew hotter with every strike, not just from the spanking but from the humiliation of being caught in such a vulnerable position.
"And this," she said, her hand rising and descending with increasing force, "is for" - slap - "lusting" - slap - "after me," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr, "even though" - slap - "I" - slap - "am" - slap - "your" - slap - "sister" - slap - "in" - slap - "law." The words stung more than the slaps themselves. How did she know? Had Judith talked? Or had he been that transparent in his glances? Each slap seemed to hammer home the reality of his desires.
The glow in his bottom grew hotter with each smack, and the friction between her legs was not lost on him. Despite the sting, the sensation was... intoxicating. His cock grew harder, nestling between Marianne's thighs with a need that was impossible to ignore and she must have noticed. The spanking had become something more—a dance of power and desire that had him panting like a schoolboy. He could feel her warmth and smell her perfume, and with each strike, the line between familial friendship and taboo desire grew thinner.
Marianne's hand continued its steady rhythm, her words painting a picture of his darkest fantasies. "And dare you," she said with another firm smack, "making" - slap - "a mess," she emphasized with a particularly hard slap, "between" - slap - "my" - slap - "legs," she finished, her voice a silky threat that sent his thoughts spiraling. He could feel his cock twitching with every stroke, his body betraying his desires even as he tried to maintain some semblance of control.
The dam broke with a grunt that was part pleasure, part relief. He couldn't hold back any longer, and his release soiled Marianne's thighs with sticky evidence of his need. He felt the warmth spreading, a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze that kissed his skin. Marianne's rhythm didn't falter; if anything, it grew more intense, her hand coming down harder and faster as she watched him lose control.
When his spasm ended, she held him down firmly, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman her age. Her voice was calm and collected, a stark contrast to the storm of passion that had just ravaged through him. "Now, now, Ron," she chided, "this isn't just about your pleasure. It's about learning to behave." With a dramatic flair, she reached into her handbag that sat next to them on the bench, pulling out an object that made him swallow hard—her hairbrush.
Marianne's eyes gleamed with something more than just amusement now—there was a glint of authority, a hint of the dominatrix. "You're going to get six of my best," she informed him, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "To remind you of your place, and to teach you that sometimes, you need a firm hand to guide you."
Those smacks were like a crescendo of pleasure and pain, each one more intense than the last. Ron's breath hitched with each impact, his body tensing and releasing in a symphony of sensation. He felt like he was being reborn in fire, every nerve ending alight with a fiery need that only Marianne could quench. When she was done, she didn't stop immediately; instead, she caressed his reddened ass with the same hand that had just delivered the punishment, her touch tender and soothing. It was a stark contrast to the firm slaps of the hairbrush, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine that was more erotic than he could have ever imagined.
Marianne's hand lingered on his skin, her nails gently tracing the contours of his bottom. It was a possessive gesture that made him feel both vulnerable and desired, a strange mix of emotions that had him panting like a teenager after his first kiss. The sound of the camera's shutter in her phone was a sharp snap in the quiet evening air, a reminder that this moment was real—a secret shared between them that would never be forgotten and her holding the evidence.
When he finally managed to stand upright, his legs wobbly like a newborn foal, they both stared at the mess he'd made on her thighs. The sight of his own cum on Marianne's skin was like a living painting, a masterpiece of passion and transgression that made his heart race. She met his gaze with a knowing look, one that said she hadn't missed a beat of his thoughts.
"Oh no," she said, her voice a sweet symphony of mock horror. But her eyes were gleaming with mischief, a grin playing on her lips that spoke volumes. "Judith told me about your cum fetish, but you are not going to lick me there, Ronny," she teased, her finger swiping up a bead of his release.
Ron's face was a picture of shock, his eyes wide as Marianne held her digit out to him, glistening with his cum. He could see the challenge in her eyes, the devilish grin that spoke of her control over the situation.
"Open up," she cooed, her voice a siren's song that he found himself helplessly obeying. He parted his lips, and she placed the tip of her finger inside, the tangy, salty flavor of his own release coating his tongue. His cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and arousal as he closed his mouth around it, sucking gently. Her eyes never left his, holding him in a gaze that was both intimate and overwhelming.
Marianne chuckled as he swallowed, a knowing glint in her eyes. With a graceful movement, she hiked her dress back down, covering her thighs once more. She stood up, her movements fluid and in control, leaving him kneeling there, his trousers around his ankles.
"Now," she said, her voice still carrying that seductive edge, "you've had your fun." She took a step back, her hand lingering in the air for a brief moment before she turned to leave. "Remember, Ronny," she called over her shoulder, "I'll be watching."
The words hung in the air as Marianne strutted back to her car, the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement echoing through the quiet neighborhood. Ron couldn't help but watch as she slipped behind the wheel, the engine purring to life as she drove away.
