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Hands
On The Clock by Frances LaGatta
D/s
maledom, spanking, hot sex
When
his wild and sassy wife gets a little too frisky in bed (the knife was really
TOO much), Gabe has no choice but to give the naughty nymph the spanking of her
life!
Copyright
2003, all rights reserved Not
For Sale
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If
ever a mala feminia was in need of a spanking it was his Italiano
wife, Gabe ruminated. If
Ruperta spoiled what should've been a happy occasion in their lives, a cause for
celebration, she had no one to blame but herself.
Well, the only woman without a past was Eve, he told himself.
And the details of their little argument were history.
But could he ever forget how his wife conned her way out of that
confrontation? Gabe didn’t know
what made him feel more of the fool; the
ease in which Ruperta had gotten him out of his pants; or how easily she had
managed to make him forget who wore them.
How
it irked him to think…all she had had to do was phone him at work and invite
him to meet her later with the promise of ‘the
best sex he would ever have.’ Of
course Bobbino had used her most seductively effective voice to defuse his
anger, and how prettily she had put it to him , but
in short , she needed him in bed. Ready,
willing, and stark naked. BEFORE
she arrived. And the second he
heard that bedroom door open? He
was to spread his legs wide. His
throat had gone dry while his breathing and pulse rate kicked into high gear. And
that she chose that particular tongue-tied moment to beg-off with quick excuse
and hang up no longer surprised him. No
doubt she’d been satisfied the remainder of his workday would be spent
anticipating what every red-blooded male considered their favorite pastime. And
she’d been right. The hands
on the clock couldn’t have moved fast enough to suit him.
Gabe’s
blood soared with unbidden sexual memories. When
Bobbino finally did open the bedroom door that night, before he could blink, she
had ripped open the snaps to her baggy black nylon work smock, revealing a sexy
French maid’s uniform. A
ruffled loincloth of a black apron barely concealed the garter bands to her
smoky silk stockings. And the
frilly white blouse . . . it
exposed the half moon tops of her voluptuous, cocoa brown nipples. Staring
coyly at the ceiling, she proceeded to pin a white cap atop her dark spiral
curls, making that mouth-watering décolleté jiggle enticingly. She
then reached for the wall switch and suddenly all went black.
A
long matchstick was struck, illuminating her lovely Italian features in the
shadows. With a
slow, sensual sashay about the room,
she lighted musk-scented candles until her shadowy figure was bathed in
soft flickering glows.
Finished with that, she brought the flaming taper before her pursed,
hell red lips, bringing
her phone conversation to mind.
. .
the one that had him fantasizing and sporting a hard-on at work
all-the-live-long-day.
On a deep, bosom-expanding inhalation, Bobbino blew out the flame, and as
if in answer to her fondest wish, his thighs fell wide.
Her sultry gaze dropped from his expectant face to scrutinize his proud,
rock hard prong jutting up.
But his lil’ maid. . . she had other things in mind.
From
behind her back, Ruperta magically produced a pink feather duster, and his
respiration rose further, along with his pulse rate.
She reached out, tickling his testicles, playfully dusting at his
erection. He
quickly grasped her torturous wrist to stay her.
Laughing to-beat-hell, he was about to haul his prick teaser of a wife
into bed and fuck her silly,
but she slipped from his grasp and scurried out of his reach.
Lively
brown eyes sparkled with the love of mischief while she waggled her finger and
tisk-tisked him.
And the only thing that kept him from bounding off the bed after
her was the sight of those dainty French manicured fingernails unbuttoning her
blouse, and then each ruffled cuff.
Gabe could almost hear a blowsy burlesque tune playing in the background
while she shrugged out of one half of the blouse. . . and then the other.
She then stretched out a tanned arm and the material fell from her
fingertips, fluttering to the floor like the wings of a dove.
That same dramatic hand swooped to between the cups of her gold satin
demi bra, and with one deft flick of her wrist, the shiny fabric flew askew and
her bountiful breasts sprang free, stealing the breath from his lungs.
When she spun on her black high-heeled pumps,
deliberately depriving him of that delectable view,
his eyelids slammed shut on a savoring groan.
Upon
opening one eye, his
saw that his lil’ maid was bent over the dresser, busy fussing with a silver
service tray. Black
seams ran straight up her shapely ankles and long legs, aiming at a nude derrière
that wiggled sassily below the apron’s big black bow.
Beneath her robusto bottom cheeks, her soft brown tail feathers were dewy
with arousal. Any
thoughts of ever punishing that heart-shaped handful evaporated in a steamy
cloud of boiling male lust.
He couldn’t wait to plow into that warm, moist sheath.
. . that
is until Bobbino
spun to face him again.
Hoisting
that tray baring a solitary, rather large orange,
she pointed it out.
. .
but eating fruit was the last thing on his mind!
All he wanted to do now was devour those delectable nipples before he
fucked her brainless. But
he’d be damned if he’d steal the lead scene during her
lil’ show. .
. especially with visions of her ‘hell-yes’ lips closing over his
cock still dancing in his mind.
And her generous hips.
. . they
swayed so saucily as she made her way toward him.
As curious as he was about what she would do next, Gabe wondered how much
longer he could remain passive and restrain himself.
Perched
on the bed now, Ruperta
thrust her pretty face inches away from his own.
Her olive eyes smoldered with a flame that’s sudden intensity startled
him. But before
he could discern what her crazed look was about, his wife pulled out a long
knife, and it
swooped down; the sharp edge placed dangerously and directly against his
erection. Was
she possessed by Elaina Bobbit!
He nearly went into cardiac arrest,
and he scrambled back against the headboard, shielding his rapidly
shriveling manhood and family jewels with both hands.
Was it any wonder he recalled another argument in which he had been
guilty as charged? Ignoring
his reaction, Ruperta shook her long, dark mane wildly about her shoulders and
she gave him a sexy growl totally at odds with her subservient get-up. Still
wielding that wicked-looking knife, she made a slow and deliberate show of
side-slicing, cutting out a quarter section, almost coring that large orange. He
watched in stunned fascination; he couldn’t believe the words coming out of
his normally shy wife’s mouth while she licked juice from her dripping
fingers.
“Are
you going to be a good boy while I suck your cock dry?” she purred and then
smacked her glistening red lips.
And then topless, and still dressed in her ass-revealing apron and sexily
gartered, seamed stockings and pumps, she climbed up between his legs, fully
ready to service him.
What
guy in his right mind would argue?
His traitorous cock had risen again like Lazarus brought back from the
dead. Wild
spiral curls soon thrashed at his torso and throbbing manhood.
And then suddenly she held herself motionless.
Her tantalizing tits dangled, swaying slightly before they settled above
his iron hard rod. She
then enveloped his shaft in that soft, velvety warmth, squeezing her mounds
together with her hands.
Ruperta began rocking to n’ fro with a gentle rhythm and wistful
expression. .
. utterly lost in the act of pleasuring her man. Gabe watched the crown
of his cock vanish and reappear at the apex of her fleshy
décolleté, his
knob knocking under her chin with increasing speed.
The tiny red slit of his penis opened and closed from the action, and a
pearly droplet of cum soon smeared her skin.
When her breasts came away with a sudden rush of cool air, robbing him of
a powerful climax, he
moaned in frustrated delirium.
Ruperta
chose that moment to hastily push a pillow beneath his butt,
and he raised his hips in silent, more-than-willing compliance.
Gripping his thighs tight, she forced them as wide as they would go.
And then she deftly fit and adjusted the side-sliced, semi-cored Sunkist
around his erection, nearly turning his jewels blue with need.
Jesu Chisto!
She began a tortuously slow ride with that tight, succulent fruit, up and
then down the length, all the while licking and slurping the oozing fruit drink
from her clenched hand, and where it coolly trickled down his overheated shaft,
leisurely laving his thoroughly drenched balls.
He didn’t think it got any better than this.
. .
until she burrowed her cap lower.
Her
tongue dabbled along his perineum like a live wire down and dancing dirty on a
rain slick road. And
then suddenly the tip of her tongue darted around and then directly into his
anal bud. The
electric shocks almost sent him careening over the cliff.
Sensing he was about to lose control, she quickly gripped the base of his
stick and back-shifted, squeezing it tight.
Nearly insane with the need to come, he demanded acceleration and
release.
Pistoning
the now mushy pulp, gripping the firm rind tighter, she increased the rhythm of
her hand, faster and faster, greedily lapping the length of his rod,
slurping the puddle at his thatch with her talented tongue.
Then she maneuvered her yawning, warm mouth over the rubbery knob, her
generous lips shielding her tiny, keyboard teeth.
The moment she began suckling and nibbling on the now purple crown of his
throbbing cock; all the while furiously jacking that forbidden fruit up and
down, the
entire act felt. . . incredibly.
. . as if two
women were working him over.
Simultaneous felletto AND fucking!
Ruperta
cradled his furry balls, rolling the nestled nuggets between her sticky fingers.
Her throaty hums while she vacuumed him sent zinging vibrations coursing
down every engorged vein and nerve to his swollen left sac.
His hips arched violently off the sodden pillow.
His thighs strained and his butt muscles flexed; his whole body
became a tightly strung bow.
Her furiously rough yank from the base to mid shaft hurtled him into a
fevered explosion, until he was shooting jet after exquisite jet into her mouth.
Like a purring cat, Bobbino
swallowed every bit of his sweet cream combined with citrus and pulp in the most
intense orgasm he ever experienced with her.
The
mere memory of that night had the power to tent his trousers… But that was
then, and this was now, and Gabe also remembered that his wife had thoroughly
and effectively used this amazing little trick on him to remove any and all
notions he had of taking her to task.
*
* *
Opening
the bedroom door, Gabe reached for her wrist and swung her inside the room like
so much fluff. Ruperta
staggered back into the bed, and her shapely bum landed with a decided
bounce. “Now.”
He shut and locked the door behind him.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered in a no-nonsense tone, and he
tossed the wide paddled hairbrush on the blue chintz bedspread.
A
thrill of frightened apprehension and odd anticipation coursed through her and
it was impossible to steady her erratic pulse. “Gabe,”
she wheedled in a shaky voice.
“I think maybe you’re over re-act—“
“Do
it!” he bellowed, boldly
intimidating as he stood motionless in the middle of the room with his hands on
his hips. “Or I’ll give you a session with my belt to go along with that
brush.”
Bobbino
flinched at his tone and lowered her lashes, escaping his unyielding
stare. Accustomed
to having the upper hand with her husband, this new Gabe was strange and
disquieting and somehow wildly exciting.
But feeling weak and vulnerable in the face of his dominance made her
angry. Abandoning
common sense, she looked up at him with fire flashing in her dark, carelessly
defiant eyes. “You
wouldn’t dare,” she said leaning causally back on her elbows as if immune to
his feeble threats.
In
a lightening fast motion, Gabe unbuckled his belt, ripped the brown strap free
from the loops, folded the leather in half, and gave it a loud snap that made
her spine shoot up straight.
The second he took an abrupt step towards her, her eyes flew wide and she
ripped open the snaps to her nylon work smock.
He stepped back when she quickly shucked it off her
shoulders.
“I thought you’d see reason.” He tossed the belt on the bed beside
her as a further warning
“Now the rest. ”
Petulant
lips pursed in a pout,
Ruperta inched the hem of her pale pink cashmere turtleneck up her olive
skinned torso. Her
weirdly aroused, flushed
cheeks flamed further, humiliatingly conscious of his scrutiny as he stood
there, tall, and angry, and waiting.
Her emotions whirled.
The mere thought of him whipping her bum with that belt scared her,
made her shiver,
but it also set off a ripple of warm excitement, dampening her core with
a confusing need that froze her fingers.
“What’s
the matter?” he chuckled nastily. “You didn’t have a problem stripping for
me the other night.”
At
that, Bobbino jerked the tight turtleneck off her hot-tempered head, freeing her
dark curls, which cascaded over her heaving bra cups.
Giving him a withering look that could wilt lettuce,
she toed off her black flats,
ripped her trouser socks off her feet, balled them up, and threw them
across the room.
She pushed herself into a standing position, roughly unzipped her
charcoal-gray raw silk slacks, wiggled them down her ample hips, and then kicked
them away. “Oh
this is ridiculous!”
She jutted her chin on a full blown tantrum.
“I will NOT let you spank me!“
Gabe
turned his unruffled back on her, and opening a dresser drawer beneath the
mirror, he rummaged inside. “You better have that
bra and those panties off by the time I turn around,”
his low voice was one used to warn a headstrong child.
“Okaaay,” he heard her whine a few seconds later.
“What I did was thoughtless,” she admitted. . . begrudgingly.
“And-and, you could have lost your job over it.
Yes. I
was a mala feminia. A
bad girl when I lied to you, but—”
“Not
once, but three times,” he reminded her, holding up pantyhose more holey than
a church.
“But
can’t we just forget the whole dumb mess?
I mean, mio arch angelo .
. . just
think. We
should be celebrating with champagne.
We should be making armoire Gabriel.”
“I
couldn’t agree more.
I’d rather be lighting candles and making love.
But unfortunately you spoiled it.”
“I
have a present for you,” she sang in her most effectively seductive
phone voice, and he glanced up from his hunt to eye her warily her through the
mirror. Satisfied
that she had his undivided attention,
Ruperta popped open the front catch on her pink satin bra, freeing her
big breasts, and then hefting them as if in offering with a sexy smile that
could tempt Adam. . . along with the snake.
“Hummm,” she purred, shimmying her satin panties down her curvaceous
thighs and legs and then toeing them aside.
“How I’d love to lick every inch of that lean, hard body of yours.
Dio, Gabe.” She
toyed with her burgeoning
brown nipples. “Your machismo made me so. . . tingly.
So. . .” Clasping
her wispy brown mons, she sank a finger, deep. “Wet. “
He
raised an amused brow. “Did it now?”
With
an impish expression, Ruperta withdrew her dewy finger, brought it to her lips,
and licked it, salaciously, like a lollypop. “After I ride you on the
bed, we can take a shower together.
I’ll soap you all up. . .
from on my knees.
And you will be a good boy while I suck your cock dry,“ she chirped,
and he
couldn’t help recalling. . . she used the same uncharacteristic, dominating
words during her maid’s performance.
The only thing missing was the wicked-looking
knife.
Bristling
anew at her audacity, he
swung around to face her directly and then he promptly dumped his chosen heap of
laundry into her lap. “That
sexy maid's uniform will serve up your bare ass quit nicely when I spank it ,”
he clarified, watching her
seductive expression crash.
“Which is exactly what
I should have
done before you changed my mind with your cute little orange trick.” He fished
inside his pocket and produced an orange,
a much smaller one, which he lobbed in the air and caught.
“Wha-what’re
you gonna do with that?“
“Well,”
he countered snidely, setting
the orange on the nightstand.
“I guess it’s my turn to spring a few surprises on you.”
With a possessive, iron grip on her wrist, he hauled her to her feet.
“Much like me the other night. . . “He sat on edge of
their king-sized bed, settled his back comfortably against the blue
tufted headboard, and stretched out his long legs. “You’re going to play a
passive part.”
Her
breath seemed to solidify in her throat. “Meaning?”
she managed to say with a hard swallow.
“Meaning
if you don’t do as you’re told and shut-up about it,
I’ll increase your punishment from one hour---“ He turned the bedside
alarm clock towards her. “--to two.”
Panic
rioted within in her along with a jangling surge of potent arousal.
“You can’t be serious.”
“You
just added another hour onto your sentence .” He picked up the hairbrush.
“And now you’ve less than five minutes to get into that costume.
Or I’ll
use the belt, too.” While she dressed, Gabe increased her dread and
embarrassment and anxiety.
He demanded to know ‘why she was not-at-all thrilled with the way the
frilly white blouse exposed the tops of her nipples.’
Reduced to a naughty girl, he knew
she was too humiliated and scared to reply.
Even as she accordioned her stockings,
slipped each over her polished red toes, pulled them up with shaky
fingers and hooked the garters,
he repeatedly inquired whether her pussy was becoming wetter.
When she hid her guilty mons with the scanty black apron,
he asked if her
clit was pulsing as fast as her heart! As she reached behind her to tie the big
black bow, he
made a point of reminding her how she had bent over for her man, granting him
more than an eyeful of her pleasantly plump ass. “Now turn around and bend
over!” he yelled, cracking her thigh with the brush to get her moving.
“Yeow!”
Ruperta gasped at the sting and quickly spun,
protecting her ass cheeks with splayed hands
as she bent at the waist.
By the way her thigh throbbed, Lord-only-knew what he would do to her
doomed behind!
“Take
those hands away and wiggle that ass for me like you did the other night,” he
ordered. Now!” He cracked her other thigh,
and she
bit back a cry as her hands flew away. “I said wiggle it!
That’s right!
Shake that thing!”
Feeling
more naked and exposed than she did without a stitch on,
Ruperta clasped her knees and undulated her hips, silently cursing the
ridiculous black bow.
Fully aware that her husband could see the pouch of her labia,
how soaked she was, the knowledge. . . it did nothing to assuage her
shame.
“I
imagine you’re wishing for panties,” he observed like a clairvoyant.
“Anything to
hide that creamy pussy and ass.
Now spread your cheeks apart,”
he instructed, and the silken thread of a
dangerous warning in his authoritative voice unhinged her.
“ I want to see that fuckable asshole of yours.”
Ruperta’s
tearfully ashamed eyes suddenly smoked and
she straightened up and spun to face him. “You’ve gone too far!
I’ve had just about enough of your b-bossiness --” Stammering mad,
ready to call him an asshole, tell him to fuck off,
stomp away, the
breath left her lungs when her husband hauled her across his spread thighs.
Ruperta’s
heart hammered in her chest with her breasts pressed into one rock hard thigh,
her mons mashed into the other, and her legs angled down with her toes touching
the carpet. If
she was embarrassed before, she wanted to die at how the maid’s costume
completely bared her bottom to his probing stare.
In the mirror, was that her pouty expression fearfully resigned to this
fate? And the
ridiculous bow above her cleft. . .
she buried her face into the pillow with a mortified groan.
It showcased her bottom like two basket balls. . . just begging to be
deflated. She
felt, rather than saw him raise the dreaded brush on high.
Anticipating the first blow, she squeezed her buttocks, bracing herself
for the worst.
His slow sensual massage to her mounds was an unexpected surprise. . . .
Gabe
loosened her cringing skin with his masterful hands,
heard her dreamy sigh, saw her juices flow and dampen her inner thighs.
He played with her bottom for such a long time, he knew she wondered if
he had changed
his mind about spanking her in favor of sex, and sure enough,
her thighs fell wide open, inviting him to sink his tormenting fingers
inside the folds of her drenched cavern. His own crotch was warm and his cock
throbbed against her tummy, staining against the zipper of his trousers.
Tamping down desire, he concentrated on the task at hand.
Holding her around the waist, he brushed the bristles over her fearfully
clenched cheeks and then brushed her damp pussy hair.
“Do you remember how you pulled a knife out as if to un-man me?”
“Yes,”
she mewed with shameful trepidation.
And her eyes flew wide when the pink duster appeared beneath her
nose. Through
the mirror she watched him coat the black handle with Oil Of Olay taken from her
handy bedside
bottle. Ruperta
felt and saw him splay her ass cheeks with one masculine hand.
Gabe began to tickle her anal rose with the feathers until she thought
she’s go mad, the pleasure was so intense.
Skimming the lubed handle between her cheeks, he began a furiously fast
sawing motion. Spreading
her furry hood, he tickled her clit, and against her will, her cries of delight
rose in octaves, building higher and higher.
On the verge of tumbling into blessed oblivion, the feathers vanished,
cruelly robbing her of an explosive climax.
The second she raised her hips in frustration,
seeking more, the well-greased handle was pressed directly to her anal
bud. She
grunted as a curious swooping coursed inwardly through her and straight to her
engorged clit. Oh
my. . . he slowly inched the handle past her rebellious sphincter.
In the mirror. . .
it slid
it into her rectum until the pink feathers protruded lewdly
at the split of her ass.
“Now,” he said,
“I want you to shake your tail feathers.”
Oh
god, she couldn’t , wouldn’t do it.
That she enjoyed the entry at all had been mortifying enough.
“Well,”
Gabe said, ripping tissues from the beside box and succinctly
wiping his greased fingers clean. “I just guess I’ll have make that
ass shake with a good spanking until you do as you’re told.”
He picked up the brush, and it descended with a lightning force and
thunderous crack, searing her skin with a spreading wave of pain.
She shrilled, legs shooting straight out behind, reflexively expelling
the rude intruder.
“Nice,”
he commented, mortifying
her further as he pulled it completely free from her rectum, and tossed it
aside. Any shred of control was soon lost as he
began steadily peppering her ass with the hated brush.
Her orbs bounced
and jiggled and flattened again and again, left cheek, right cheek, he repeated
blows, each one gaining in strength and speed.
She kicked up her heels and he locked her against his middle and
imprisoned her flaying wrists in an iron grip.
When he delivered two dozen more swats on the same tender
hot spots, her lingering arousal vanished, replaced by agony.
Thwack!
Thwack! Thwack!
Thwack! On
and on it went, only slower. Was it
more than an hour ?
Like the monotonous beat of a metronome,
strong, persistent,
maddening , her
bottom cheeks bounced
and swelled throughout his scorching punishment. Even worse. . . he lectured,
listing and punctuating each of her sins with a harsh smack; as if to drive his
point home.
“Owh!
Owh! Oh!
Ahh! Damn
you stop!” she wailed, incensed.
One fierce crack was applied to another and she feared he would not stop
until her bottom boiled like a volcano.
In the mirror, her
bum resembled
two ripe tomatoes nested in pink cotton candy.
He covered every inch of her rear flesh, from the summit to the valleys,
to between her thighs until her skin began burn hotter than a Bunsen burner.
“No! No Moooore! “she shrieked, babbling in Italian as her fleshy hillocks
jiggled and swelled with deeper,
bruising aches.
Alternately begging him to stop, promising him she would behave,
apologizing to no avail, her attempts fell on deaf ears. The forceful,
unbearable smacks continued, until she wiggled like an insane eel. Her voice
grew even more in volume, if that was possible,
and she cussed him again.
“Watch
your mouth!” he growled, but she couldn’t help it, her ass was ablaze!
When
he stopped,
she caught her breath,
sweating and dragging in deep breaths as if she had run a marathon.
But when she saw Gabe reach for the bedside clock, and then set that
blasted alarm for another hour,
she screamed; “Pleeeasse I can’t take any more!”
With her lips wide open for another full blown, air raid-like wail, he
stuffed the orange into her mouth,
immediately muffling her caterwauling and making her eyes bug wide.
“This
will remind you that you will never again resort to sexual manipulation
in order to finagle your way out of future punishments.
And starting today?
There WILL be further punishments
whenever you either
lie, misbehave, or disobey me.”
Taking up the brush again,
he cracked her cheeks dead center,
and she bit down on the orange.
Juice dribbled down her chin onto the pillow.
Mortified, she thrashed her hair and grunted her protests around the
humiliating gag.
He began a harder, faster series of
skin scorching smacks that sounded out like
rifle shot at a shooting range.
If
only the hands on the clock would
move as fast as
his! Her poor
bottom was raw! Smack! Smack! Smack!
She bounded up and down in his lap to the rhythm of his wrist, her
keening muffled. The
plastic paddle end of the wide brush splattered her blubbery bum until her eyes
watered.
And
then mercifully, finally,
the bedside alarm went off, and the spanking stopped.
Gabe
smacked the button
off, silencing the wake up call. And without warning, she felt him peel apart
her ass cheeks and sink his index finger into her vagina, wetting his finger
with her juices. He
then placed the tip of his finger to her anal bud
and slowly rimmed her cringing rectum. When he inserted his digit to the
knuckle, right before the sphincter ring, the muscle twitched uncontrollably,
reflexively trying to expel the uncomfortable intruder.
With his finger planted thus,
his other hand rose and fell in
a fierce tirade, smacking her lower orbs, peppering her ass like a man
possessed.
The
fight drained from her body.
She endured and accepted the nasty stings, and while the queer sensation
of his finger inside her bottom hole set off
electrifying sensations to her very core, it barely overrode the meted
pain. And
like the orange in her mouth,
it did nothing to assuage her humiliation—which was considerable.
His lecture, his dominance,
the orange and his persistent finger, all of it combined toppled the
walls of her will. When
Gabe stabbed his masculine finger deep inside her rectum,
just once, before he withdrew it completely,
the flood gates burst open.
She began to cry, silent, choking back tears. The next thing she knew. .
. the orange
was gently wiggled from her teeth and free of her mouth, and she yielded to the
compulsive sobs that shook her insides.
“I
was wondering when I would get through that stubborn Italian hide yours,” Gabe
comforted her. Then he gathered her up into her arms. Seated in his lap, Ruperta
buried her face into his shoulder, soaking it
with remorseful tears while he soothed the sting and burn on her bottom,
rubbing her hot flesh in a gentle
caress. Her tear-stained lips
rained hungry kisses over his neck and ear and cheek.
And then her hungry mouth found his, and her citrus flavored tongue
danced over his own. Tasting the fruit of his wife’s submissively sweet
surrender, his hand skimmed between
her thighs, his feathering fingers
searching and finding the center of her pleasure.
But Ruperta removed his hand, slid off his lap, and scrambled on her
knees to the foot of the bed.
His rock hard cock strained in his trousers while he watched her lower
her forehead and scoot her knees up, arching her lovely back and raising her red
hot bottom on high.
A
willing slave to his every passionate desire, his misbehaving maid then reached
behind with faltering fingers, splaying open her fiery red cheeks, exposing her
anal rose in an unmistakable, subservient appeal.
Feedback is welcome at: lori111c@worldnet.att.net
Other work by this author can be found in Pink Flamingo’s Paperback
and Ebook title: NO
TURNING BACK. Frances also writes for Wicked Velvet.
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