Her new mood. (It's F/M)
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Posted:Feb 24, 2016 5:54 pm
Last Updated:Feb 24, 2016 7:42 pm 27902 Views
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Things had changed. At first the differences seemed subtle, but new freedoms were available. Or, put another way, old freedoms had returned. With their completely out of the house for the first time, either in college or away with summer programs, they had more time to themselves, and sometimes that meant the two of them together, and sometimes, well, also, just having time to themselves, alone, without anybody else in the house.
It was sort of refreshing to be able to be alone now and then. For a change, after years of a busy household.
His wife was working days at the office, he was working from home Mondays and Tuesdays and spending the rest of the week on the road or, rarely, in the city office.
On Tuesday afternoon he got home from a trip to the hardware store to find the wife home already.
She was sitting at the kitchen counter, still in her work clothes. Today, she'd gone to work in a light-blue suit--the skirt/jacket type--with the tight skirt's hem down just below her knees. She looks so professional and managerial even though she's sitting on a kitchen stool leaning into her magazine and iced tea.
"Oh, you're home early," he said.
"Yes, where have you been?"
Holding up Ace Hardware bag-- "Took a break, went to get some hardware, want to hang more tools on the garage pegboard."
She nods. She's looking at him, but he can't quite read her.
He went on, "Got more time for this sort of stuff, you know, with the away."
"I see. And you were working earlier? This wasn't a time-off day?"
"Yes dear. Why?"
"Oh, just curious. I had to stop at Office Depot and the order wasn't ready so I ended up getting home early."
"Yes I see that."
A shoulder gestured toward the living room but her eyes remained steadily on him, watching his face.
"I sat down and was going to watch my show or some news, but the screen came up on that new streaming thing you got, and it was...interesting."
He remembered. The Streaming BoxTV. He'd been fooling around with it that morning before he went to the hardware store, and he'd noticed that it had a Youtube channel, so he…looked around at some stuff. Stuff he would normally keep to himself.
"Oh...” he felt himself blush, and a pit of nerves started to form in his stomach.
"Why don't you come into the living room and sit with me and we'll talk about it."
She phrased it as a suggestion, but it wasn't.
She stood, smoothed her skirt, picked up her iced tea and magazine, and walked toward the living room. Her heels clicked on the hardwood. He followed, watching the sway of her hips framed snugly in that tight blue suit skirt, appreciating her shape even as he was still trying to discern her mood.
Their living room has a 42" screen and entertainment center, facing a long pink sofa and a pair of dark-blue stuffed arm chairs. There's a little breakfast nook off to the side, still within viewing range of the television.
His wife centered herself on the sofa and waited as he found his place. Her eyes directed him to one of the other chairs. She crossed her legs and sat back.
"And what have you been watching, honey, on that Streaming Box thing?" she asked as he sat on the front edge of the nearest armchair.
"Well, it makes Netflix more convenient, of course, and lots of other things, music channels, Youtube, some PBS and NPR--"
"Wait..." she interrupted. "Back up, what was that...Youtube? Tell me about Youtube. Now that we have separate computers, our laptops, I haven't seen what you've been up to there lately, have I?"
"Oh, you know, it's a bunch of amateur stuff, people falling off cars and swingsets, and talking dogs and oranges, babies dancing like they’re Baryshnikov..."
He fidgeted as his wife reached over the line of remote controls scattered on the coffee table. She selected the one for the LG TV, and leveled her gaze at him as her thumb found the power button.
The screen came to life, bright and high-definition, its input set to the new Streaming BoxTV interface, and the pit at the center of his stomach grew very dense suddenly, and did a couple flips, and his nerves seemed to swirl from there outward. He feels his skin squirming a little but he thinks his outward involuntary motion is minimized.
For a moment, he almost relaxes, because the top row of images shows popular videos, popstars and film previews and such, and the row below it shows some recent activity, but he sees no evidence of what he'd been viewing when he'd been alone earlier in the day.
But then she scrolls down, and the next row brings back the stomach quease. Somehow the box has gotten the idea that he would want to easily and conveniently get back to the Iwaylegs channel, and the whole row displays little screenshots of the featured specialty of this amature videographer.
His wife looked at him, with a blank and unreadable expression, and slowly slid the remote back onto the coffee table, then sat back, crossing her legs, then her arms.
That row of little images looked so big on the screen all of a sudden, sharp, clear squares capturing curvy women, their pretty legs in tight dresses or full skirts, with their wavy hair and pretty faces and high heel shoes. Not so bad, really. But further along the row, more images, but not in dresses or skirts but wearing stockings and girdles, basically half undressed in 50s-style lingerie. Actually multiple images of just two women, but both very pretty, one a darker brunette and the other nearly blonde.
"You know, Frederick, it isn't so much that you look at...content like this, although it does disappoint me. But it's your lack of courtesy and consideration for others...well, for me--"
"I, um, well, Dear, I didn't realize--"
"Let me finish," the irritation in her voice was palpable. "Why must you always interrupt?
"I was just--" His voice sounded a little whining and defensive, and he was feeling defensive.
"Stop," she said, holding up a finger. He saw the pale blue-green polish of her lacquered manicure. "It wasn't really a question. It was an instruction not to interrupt me again."
She reached out with those slender, manicured fingers and picked up the remote again.
"Let's look at this one, shall we? We'll see, perhaps, an example we can discuss." And she thumbed the cursor down to the first image and selected it.
They watched. On the big, flat screen the blonde with long wavy hair, wearing a tight black top and a full blue skirt, opened the door and came into a living room, her white pumps clicking, a teasy smile on her face. She didn't speak, but turned, modeling her outfit for the camera, then she stood facing the lens and gathered her hems in her hands, with her eyes and smile flirtier. She lifted her dress to expose her tight, full girdle, with its garter straps holding up her dark nylons. Turning, she showed a rear view, the white girdle tightly hugging her full hips and bottom, then she let the skirts fall again and stepped toward the sofa, and turned to face the camera again.
An hour ago watching these pretty gams and undergarments in feminine motion had been one thing. Now, under his wife's watchful eyes, he was squirming inside.
The woman on the screen sat down on the sofa, pulling her hems up again to tease, and she curled her legs, smiling and batting her eyes with naughty intent, and his wife thumbed pause just as her legs aligned with the camera angle, giving a clear glimpse up inside her open girdle, between her thighs showing her lacy red satin panties.
"Do you have anything to say about this?" his wife asked. He gulped. He said nothing. He couldn't find his voice.
He still had the hardware store bag in his lap, and he noticed that he was clutching at it firmly. Perhaps desperately. He held it up, and started to speak but his voice was thin and high..."I think I'll--"
His wife interrupted. "You're not going anywhere until we've finished our talk. Put that down and come here," she said.
His wife was displeased. Very displeased. But she couldn't be thinking...? No, she wouldn't...would she?
Her eyes were focused, penetrating, but held him in their grip with a resigned intensity, with disappointment rather than the steady anger he had seen her use to wilt the . The expression below her eyes was still unreadable; her lips relaxed but almost smiling--but grimly, not a thin line indicating anger but something almost smirky...was it disgust?
It made him tremble, and he fought to hold down the loss of power he was beginning to feel rise up, like a scared caught being bad.
"What...I, you...” he stammered.
His wife continued to stare at him with her level, unemotional gaze, and something gave way somewhere inside him. The scared became a wave of emotion that simply closed over his head, a wave that somehow rose within him, from that pit of nerves in his belly. It took over.
"I said come here, Freddy," she said.
Her voice was terrifying. Not because it sounded angry. Because it didn't.
It was feminine power. It was pure mother, in control, instantly turning him into pure bad little boy. Instantly.
He looked at her, and realized that they had somehow together slid past a key moment, a moment when he might have been able to remain a grown man, husband, a moment that he could, perhaps, have laughed, or commented with sarcasm, to assert his masculinity and his man-of-the-house authority. And her look, her even stare back into his eyes, was challenging him to try it. She didn't move.
He heard a bird chirping outside in the yard, trees leaves brushing against each other in the unsteady breeze. A car's tires on asphalt. He swallowed. He blinked. He looked at his wife, taking her in, her relaxed pose seated in her blue suit, her legs in sheer beige, emerging crossed from within the thigh-wrapping skirt hem, her crossed arms, her half-smiling lips, her staring eyes.
She didn't move, but there was a final signal. He couldn't actually see any movement, but there was a slight freezing of her shape, a slight change in her face, which amounted to a nod, a last-chance wordless command. He knew he couldn't do anything. He couldn't stop this.
"Yes, mm..." He said, looking down.
Keeping her gaze fixed on his face, she uncurled herself, uncrossing her legs and arms but not changing anything else. "What was that?" She said.
"Yes...yes mm...ma'am," he said. He felt his face flush then.
His wife, businesslike now, pushed the coffee table away from the front of the sofa to make room, then scooched and wiggled her bottom forward a bit on the cushion. She used the toe of one shoe to dangle the other, removing both and using her nyloned toe to push them out of the way under the coffee table. Sitting up straight now, she started to arrange her hem, then stopped and stared at him.
He realized that he hadn't moved. Now her face was angry.
With small, quick steps he went to her.
She continued to prepare. She pushed her iced tea far across the table, to be clear of their business, and was pulling the hems of her skirt and slip up to her knees. Yes, he thought of the woman on the Youtube video, for a flash of a second.
How do women read mens’ minds? His wife looked at him just then, and he knew right away that she somehow knew exactly what he was thinking. How?
"You bad boy!" she said, and then she grabbed his hips and pulled him in close.
Actually, he was a little surprised at her choice for the first order of business. She pulled/pushed him to a seated position, balanced a little awkwardly, half on the ends of her thighs and her knees, and partly on the edge of the coffee table. He was off balance, off guard, and at her mercy. She basically had him in her lap, where she really had his attention and he couldn't look away, or avoid her in any way. He felt awkward and under control and vulnerably boyish. In the grip of a strange regressed humiliation, he wanted to shake it off, but somehow he'd become virtually powerless.
Taking the point of his chin firmly between the thumb and index finger of her left hand, she turned his face up, just a little, and then he was watching her lips, her eyes boring into him, as she spoke firmly.
"I'll ask you what you have to say for yourself after your spanking, Freddy," she said.
He couldn't meet her eyes. When she said that word, spank, he felt a further shrinkage, all over, and did a little moaning gasping intake of breath. He was looking sideways and down, eyes averted, even though she was holding his face between her palms to hold his attention, and speaking to him close enough that he felt her warm breath on his cheek. It was hard to breathe normally because suddenly that pit in his belly had flared into strong emotions, into distress, into sorrow and shame. Feeling the need to say something, he took a quick breath and began to blurt:
"But, but Mommy, I mean Fay, it wasn't porn, it's just Youtube it's not even restricted to adults, no, it's not fair, you can't..."
"What did you say?" She tightened her grip on his chin, and turned him to face her again because he was trying to not face her, in his shame. And, if he looked at her, he knew he would not feel any strength return; and she would see him shrivel further in her gaze.
"It's not fair," he said. It was a whine. What was happening to him?
"No," she said. "Before that....what did you call me?"
"I slipped. I called you..., well, you heard me."
She had a caring but serious expression. An expression that waited. That demanded.
"Freddy," she said. He felt her eyes boring into him. Into his soul. He felt her fingers on his chin. Her eyes and her fingers were both telling him, without using the words, that he had to look at her. He looked at her, and her eyes captured him and he felt instantly smaller and weaker, and she was so strong and beautiful, in that moment.
"’Mommy’, I said." His voice was very soft and he swallowed, and looked down.
"Come here, honey," she said, and he felt her arms gathering him in, and he shrank into her, a little awkwardly, into her very firm hug, and he had to catch his breath. Right then he almost lost it emotionally. "It's okay, I understand. I know my attentions have been elsewhere, and perhaps you've been left, well, unsupervised a bit lately. We'll have a good look at that, honey."
She released him from her hug, and held his shoulders, looking at him with that maternal seriousness.
"Okay?" she said. She grasped his chin again, turning his head to look at her, and he looked at her and felt his face flushing again. He looked down. He knew she wanted a response from him, but he couldn't say it. His tongue was stuck.
He squirmed. It was like a shiver.
Her face hardened. "Get up," she ordered. And she took hold of the material of his shirt, hands at his shoulders and push-pulled him to his feet. She remained seated and he stood helplessly, watching her as she set to work on preparing him for his punishment.
As his wife unbuckled his belt, he was thinking about the freedom he'd been enjoying, lately, yes, but also to a much lesser degree, the leeway he’d enjoyed during these years when she'd been busy with other household and family responsibilities.
As she unzipped his fly and lowered his khaki's to his knees, he was thinking about the fun he thought he'd be having when she was out of the house, by himself watching Youtube, looking at the videos of pretty women in their short dresses and tight skirts, in their tight girdles and pretty bras and panties. He'd been thinking about other things, too, lewd content that made iwaytab look tame, and now he knew it was going to be off limits. All of it.
"When we're done here," she said, as if she'd been reading his mind, again, "I'll want you to show me the parental controls for your new video toy," she put her hands on his hips and briskly turned him around, facing away from her, "So we can keep an eye on you and put restrictions on, as needed."
His khakis fell to around his ankles, his belt buckle making a tinkling sound in the otherwise silent room. Silent now, but not for long.
He felt her cool fingers invade the back elastic of his jockey shorts, then slide around inside the waistband to his hips. He looked at the television screen, seeing that frozen image, still there, of the smiling blonde sitting on her sofa holding her skirt and slip, the coy expression on her face, the view angled right between her knees where the red satin of her panties gleamed within the larger dark triangle of shadow surrounded by her tight-stretched white girdle.
A shudder went across his shoulders, like a wave, and down to his belly as wife pulled his underpants down, and he felt like he might cry right then, because he felt so sorry for himself, and ashamed, and what she'd just been saying was so upsetting because he'd just that morning, as he watched this very video, been anticipating his solo pleasures, time spent masturbating with these high-definition erotic moving images, the coy teasing expressions and rustling slips and dresses and tight girdles and panties and upskirt views. With brisk efficiency she pulled his underpants down to his knees.
"Okay?" she said, and now her voice had become gritty with irritation. Feeling sorry for himself and losing privileges he'd not heard her the first time. She tugged up her skirt a few more inches and quickly clamped her knees around his legs.
He felt the sting, and heard the harsh smacking as her open hand spanked his bare bottom, hard. The first spank made him jump and a little whining cry escaped involuntarily from his throat and his lips.
"You're...not...even...listening," she said as she spanked him, the words fitting perfectly between spanks, her hand alternating between his left and right cheeks.
"Yes!" he said. "Okay, okay."
But she'd already launched his punishment, and what might have started with some sense of pacing, if he'd been attentive, had been propelled by her impatience and irritation into very, very naughty boy territory. Maybe she'd intended to direct him over her knee but she wasn't waiting for that ritual. He glanced sideways at her, and watched as she pressed her lips together with a slight shaking of her head; and then she spanked, hard, fast, and humiliating, while her knees held him tight.
"Ow Please ow Honey," he said, with a gulp in the middle of his voice, and a touch of whine that he wished wasn't there.
"Please what?" she said, as she slowed down a little but took bigger swings, landing the flat of her hand every second, now concentrating on his left cheek.
And at that moment he knew, from seeing how she’d handled the in similar circumstances, that his emotions were no longer his own. His eyes blurred, filled, and he sobbed once, then began to cry.
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A Daddy's Guidance
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Posted:Jun 1, 2014 12:44 pm
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2020 9:28 am 44347 Views
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I had answered his ad on craigslist, on Tuesday or Wednesday, and in his short reply he wanted me to call him. The ad too was fairly short, and intriguing because he was the right age, and mentioned role play, parental authority and firm guidance. Enough general indication to get my interest, but that lack of detail that makes one want to hear more. So when I was alone on Thursday evening, I called him, using the cloaking to keep my cell number anonymous. He had a very deep voice, and was in his early fifties he said. Right away, he called me . So I called him Daddy. This was what he had said he wanted in his email.
He interviewed me. So, I needed adult guidance. Yes Daddy. Do you feel that you need a father figure to explore your behavior and help you correct and improve it? Yes Daddy. Sometimes you miss the youthful feeling of having to answer to parental authority, of needing the wisdom and guidance that comes from a serious adult male? Yes. Are you willing to give that power to me? Yes Daddy.
Again, not a lot of specifics, but enough about the general idea that there was a feeling of mutual interest, and trust. I think perhaps we both felt that too much detail--even too much discussion of the concept of specifics--spoils the spontaneity.
I had to cut the conversation short so he asked me to call him again the next night.
I did, and we made a date for Saturday. I was to call him at noon for instructions. Again, he called me , and said he would scrutinize my behavior and determine my guidance. He said he knew what I'd been up to. He asked my height and weight (5' 7" 140 lb). Small penis? Yes. He said to call him at noon on Saturday and we'd make the meeting arrangements together on the phone.
Saturday morning I tried to get some work done but I was pretty nervous. I spent a fair amount of time playing with myself. It had been two weeks since my last ejaculation, so I was pretty ... let's make that very very horny. I looked at some freetube videos, and read some erotic stories and blogs. I edged, but of course I didn't ejaculate. I wasn't sure if Daddy knew I liked to crossdress. We hadn't discussed it, our vague conversations had been about the giving and taking corrective supervision, but maybe he'd hinted at it when he said he knew what I'd been up to. So I wasn't sure how he felt about that, one way or the other, and I was a little apprehensive about whether to bring that "part" of me.
By the time I had a quick lunch of cereal and peaches, and got a shower and dressed in my khakis, socks and flipflops, and plaid button down shortsleeve shirt, tucked in, and got out to the car, it was almost noon.
I was about to start the car, when I changed my mind. I went back inside, quickly changed certain articles of my clothing, and hurried back out and got underway.
I knew I was supposed to call him at noon. It was12:10. Maybe I was late on purpose. I put my earpiece in and called Daddy.
"Hello ," he said. "How long will it take to get to the parking lot on the west end of the mall," he asked. "15 minutes," I answered.
He said he'd take a shower and meet me there at 12:30, which was our agreed time.
It was summer, so due to thunderstorms there was a tree down on the road, so I had to go the long way around, but I did get to the rendezvous at about 12:30. Maybe a minute late. His black Buick was already there. We both got out.
He was heavyset, an inch or so taller than me, graying, with a close cut beard. With his build and frame and stockiness he probably had 80 pounds on me. Wearing cotton jersey shorts and a t-shirt, and sandals. We looked at each other. He said, "Well what do you think?" I said, "What do you think?" He said, "You look like you've been a bad boy." I blushed. I should have arrived first. Damn that thunderstorm. I nodded. He said, "You know what happens to bad boys who disobey Daddy?" I said yes. He looked at me again, and said, "Okay, follow me." He instructed me to park in front of his house, not in the driveway. I followed him, it was only about 15 minutes. It was a small Cape Cod house, typical of the neighborhoods on that side of town.
He opened the door to let me in. He pointed up the stairs. He followed me up, I felt his eyes on me as I marched up the steps. He pointed down the hall and let me into a bedroom, and closed the door after us. It was cooler there, a small bedroom with an air conditioner running, a large bed, made with a bedspread, and a low dresser alongside the wall next to the bed, with a large mirror above it. He didn't waste any time. He went to the foot of the bed and kicked his sandals off. He told me to go stand in the corner opposite the foot of the bed. I did so. I really felt like a bad, ashamed boy.
"Unzip your pants," he said, "and pull them down." I felt very apprehensive all of a sudden. I may have made a big mistake. My hands trembled, I unfastened my belt and the waist button and unzipped my pants, and slid them down a foot. There was no reaction. He was very quiet. Too quiet. Finally after what seemed like a very long time, but was probably about a minute, he spoke. "To your ankles," he said, in a flat voice. I pushed my pants down again, until the belt and waistband were at my knees, then let them fall to my ankles.
"What is that?" he said.
"I'm sorry Daddy," I said.
"Is that a dress?" he asked. At the last minute before leaving for our appointment, I had put on a very lightweight, dark blue sundress under my man clothes. It didn't take much more room than a t-shirt so I didn't have that stuffed look.
"Yes, Daddy I, uh, I don't know what I was thinking."
"I guess not. Take your shirt off ."
I stepped out of my pants and kicked them aside, then unbuttoned and pulled off my shirt and dropped it in the pile with my pants. Now I stood there in the dress and my flipflop sandals.
"Nose in the corner," he said. I took a step so I was right in the corner with my face on the wall.
For a long time he stood at the foot of his bed and looked at me. I was nervous. Uneasy. After all, I was standing in my little blue sundress, and he was looking at me, standing in the corner, in a humiliating, submissive position. I peeked back at him every now and then. Finally, he began to talk in his deep voice.
"First things first. You were supposed to call me at noon, weren't you ?"
"Yes Daddy."
"So what happened?"
I looked back at him. Big belly, knit shirt with a collar, untucked, long loose drab green shorts, black leather sandals with socks. He was unsmiling, still standing by the foot of the bed, about 6 or 7 feet behind me.
"I don't know. I was getting ready. I had a few things I had to do."
"So what's your excuse?"
"I figured I could still be here by 12:30."
"That's not an excuse for not calling."
"But I called. I didn't not call."
"You know what I mean, now this is just disrespectful back talk, ."
"I'm sorry."
"So you're 15 minutes late calling your dad, and you have no excuse at all?"
"No sir."
"No Daddy."
"No Daddy"
"You know you're going to be punished?"
A deep breath. "Yes Daddy."
When he said "punished" I felt a surge of emotion in my center, nervous energy.
"You've been a bad boy and you're going to get a spanking," he said.
"Yes Dad," I said.
The bed creaked slightly as he sat down.
"Lift that dress," he said.
"Daddy, I--"
"Don't talk back, . When I tell you to do something, does that mean I want you to start talking?"
"No Daddy,"
"Lift it."
I reached back and lifted the hem of my dress. I had never really realized the power of that gesture, the erotic emotion and surrender of lifting a hem, for somebody, until then. It’s part of what I envy of women’s side of the sexual equation.
Again, a long, long moment when he just looked at me, standing, now, with my dress held up.
"Those are panties. Girl's panties. Is that appropriate for a young man?"
"...um, uh sorry Daddy, I uh--"
He interrupted me. "You like pretty little panties. So you want to be Daddy's little girl."
I didn't say anything. I hung my head. I dropped the hem of the dress.
"You're a sissy aren't you? I told you to put your nose in the corner, pick that head up. And, did I tell you to stop holding your dress up for me to see your sissy panties?" he said.
"Come over here," he said. Blushing, I lifted the dress again. I turned and went to him. I was selfconscious about my panties, exposed as I walked holding my dress up.
I stood looking at him, he was looking slightly upward at me because he was sitting. He looked me up and down. He remained stern and serious, and so did I. Well, contrite and serious.
He lifted the front of my dress so he could look at my panties from the front. He glanced coldly up at my face, then put both his hands on my hips and, with businesslike firmness, turned me. "Turn around," he said. But he'd already turned me. I faced away from him. I was very conscious that my bottom, with me holding my dress up, was right in front of his eyes.
His hands left my hips, then I felt him touch my bottom, both hands, not cupping with his palms, but with his fingertips touching through the fabric of my panties, then at the top where the lacy elasticized band stretched around my waist, and wandering to the sides and below where the pale yellow satin circled my thighs.
Instinctively I dropped the dress and reached back, a feeble and belated attempt to ward off his attentions.
"Stop that," he said, firmly but not loud. His hands grabbed my wrists, then he stacked them, both my wrists, against the small of my back and wrapped them there in the strong grasp of one hand, his left, while his right hand went back under my dress and palmed my bottom through my panties. "Daddy needs to thoroughly inspect, hun."
It was the first time he hadn't called me "."
Now that I wasn't holding my dress up for him, it had draped down and in his way again. But he didn't ask me to hold it up like before, I think maybe he liked keeping my hands out of play, or felt he needed to.
"This dress..." he said. I felt his right hand leave my bottom, then I felt the dress rise in back as he lifted it himself.
Briefly he let go where he had my wrists pinned together, and he slid the dress fabric in there, and he pinned both the dress and my wrists with his left hand again, to keep the dress up and out of the way. Then I felt his big, warm hand on my bottom again.
"These pretty panties are in the way too, honey," he said, and I felt his fingers slide into the lacy elastic and pull, working the waistband down, first in back, then moving his hand to the left and right so my panties were soon bunched down around my thighs. I shuddered. I blushed again. I could feel the heat in my face.
His warm hand touched my bottom, then palmed it firmly. I snuck a glance over my shoulder, and saw his face, evaluating, appreciating as his hand moved across the rounded smooth skin of my behind. His face registered, he felt my eyes and suddenly looked up before I could look away. He had sort of caught me, he knew I had seen his lust. His grip around my wrists tightened and I felt a sharp sting and heard the sudden shocking smack as his hand hit me fast, hard. I jumped, once, twice. Three times he spanked, while I stood helpless with my hands pinned, my dress lifted, and my panties around my thighs.
"Come on, then, honey, get over my knees for your punishment," he said. Now there was a hint of irritation in his low voice. Without relinquishing his grip on my wrists, he used his other hand, warm from the recent spanks, to pull me back and position me aside his knees, then he pushed. I bent over his lap and rested my weight on his knees. He pushed again, and slowly I sprawled into position, and my feet left the floor and I was over Daddy's knee. My chest and head were on the bed. When I looked to my right, I could see him reflected in that big mirror on the low dresser next to the bed.
As soon as I was settled, he touched my bottom, then began spanking me.
I was right to left over his knees, so he was spanking me with his right hand.
As he spanked, I moaned into his bedspread, telling him I was sorry. He scolded me, telling me I was a bad boy and needed to be spanked and shamed, that I had to listen and behave. When I looked into the mirror to my right I could see his hand swinging, and my red face, and him, and his face intent on punishing me. There were also things on the dresser, some of which made me shiver and moan a little more as he continued to spank.
His spanks, so far, were medium although he was a heavy and powerfully built man. After a while he told me to stand up. I slid back off his knees and stood in front of him. My small penis, not erect but starting to gorge with blood, stood out a little, plump now, no longer shriveled into my pubic thatch.
"Your punishment isn't over yet," he said, looking me in the eye. "There on the dresser is some lube, get that and bring it to me."
I stepped out from between his knees and moved, still with mincing steps for my panties had fallen down near to my knees, over to the dresser and picked up the little clear plastic squeeze bottle, which was laying on a small folded white towel. It had blue writing on it, and was the clear water soluble lubricant, the KY brand. I brought it to him and he took it and lay it next to him on the bed.
"Hun, assume the position. Get back over my knees," he said. I started to lay over his lap again, but he stopped me. "Take your panties the rest of the way off first, honey." I pushed my panties down to my ankles, lifted my left leg free, then set it back down and freed my right foot, and kicked the panties aside. Daddy nodded, and pushed my back, and I again went over his lap.
He pushed my dress up out of the way and started spanking me again. His spanks on my bare bottom made me feel ashamed, and now with my panties all the way off, I could move and squirm a little more. On the bed I turned my head back and forth, muttering "sorry Daddy," now and again as he spanked me.
"You know when you misbehave you have to be punished like this," Daddy said in his deep voice, "and shamed."
"Yes Daddy," I said.
He stopped spanking me, and I could hear and feel him moving, picking up the little plastic bottle.
Daddy adjusted me on his lap, so that I was laying over just his left leg, and he pushed my legs apart a little with his hands, and with his right leg he held my left leg back, so now I was splayed a little over his right thigh. He hand-spanked me again, harder now, and repeatedly, and I moaned and moved on his lap, and I let my legs spread a little more.
"I'm sorry Daddy," I said. He stopped spanking me and a moment later I heard the squish noise as he squirted a little lube. I felt the cold lube on my ass crack, his fingers spreading it up and down, and then directly on my anus.
"You should he sorry, disobeying Daddy, not calling when you promised," he said as his fingers slid, slippery with lube, between my cheeks. I moaned when his fingertips touched the lips of my anus.
Then, one fingertip poked against my hole, and he slid it inside.
I breathed out all of my air and then gasped as his finger slided into me, then back out. He slid his finger up and down my crack again, then slid it into my anus again. I was squirming and moaning...
"Oh Daddy," I said. "I'm so ashamed."
"I have to humiliate you, ," he said, sliding in and out of my ass, "When you misbehave. Especially when you dress like a sissy, wearing these girlie panties and dresses."
"Yes, Daddy," I said. "I'm sorry Daddy."
For four or five minutes, while he scolded me and I moaned and squirmed and apologized, he finger fucked me and rubbed my anus. It felt so good to have his fat finger sliding into me. It was really very loose and sliding freely in and out of my ass. Finally he stopped and told me to get up. This time he stood up too.
He was squirting more clear lubricant on his hand as he asked me;
"Did you get an erection while I was spanking you, hun?"
"Yes sir," I said, my eyes lowered. My penis was hard, sticking straight out but not up, at it's normally erect length of 4 inches or so.
"That's wrong, too , you know that?"
"Yes Daddy, I'm so ashamed, Daddy." He reached out and took my penis in his hand, and with his lubed fingers started stroking me, and I moaned and squirmed and felt it getting harder and stiffer in his hand.
He looked at me and I looked at him, as I was getting harder, my little 4-inch cock sticking out, twitching in his hand as he stroked it, getting a little longer and starting to stand straight up.
His other hand, his right, reached for my left hand, and moved it. I was a little surprised. He put my hand on his crotch, through his shorts. Now I first noticed that they were soft sweatpants type shorts, and I felt his cock and balls through the soft cloth. It felt like a large package, and his cock was already swelling. I felt it and squeezed, and his cock got harder and started poking out against his shorts. He stopped stroking me for a moment, and pulled his sweats down quickly, and then I was stroking his cock and his big balls in its nest of curly brown pubic hair. He didn't have underpants on. His cock was thick and fairly short, maybe two inches longer than mine but really fat, and didn't come out much more as I stroked it.
This was all a surprise, because his Craigslist ad had indicated that it was unlikely that I would even see Dad's cock. He kept stroking me with the lube, and I kept stroking him, standing there in front of each other, kind of at 45 degrees.
Then, he stopped and said; "Okay now, I want you to lie on the bed, facing down, with your head on the pillow up there."
Wondering where this was going, I continued to play the (now) obedient sissy .
"Yes, Daddy," I said "Should I take my dress off?"
"No, , just get on the bed." He looked a little irritated at my questions, and I must have hesitated, because he suddenly got angry, his face scary as he looked at me shaking his head. Quickly and roughly grabbed my hips and turned me to face the bed. He yanked up the back of my dress and spanked me, hard, standing there, one, two, three, four times, alternating between my left bottom cheek, and the right, five, six, seven. Then pointing at the bed, he said, "Just listen and do as you're told."
I whimpered a little at the sudden power of his anger. As he spanked me, I fell forward so I was leaning on my hands on the foot of the bed. I climbed onto the bed and lay face down with my head on the pillow, my dress still on but bunched up around my hips.
"Put your legs together." I put my legs together, and he climbed onto the bed next to me. I heard him squeezing the lube bottle again, and then he was spreading lube between my bottom cheeks and between my thighs. Then, he climbed on top of me and lay on me.
I felt his hard cock slide between my thighs, and he began humping me, sliding it between my lubed thighs, sometimes up higher, between my lubed buttocks too.
He was fucking my legs, and my clenched buttocks. It was a sort of safe way to do it. I liked it. He started talking to me, telling me what to say.
"You're a bad boy. And a little panty sissy. I have to humiliate you, like this, and by taking off your panties and spanking you and fingering your bottom. You know I have to punish you?"
"Yes Daddy."
"Yes Daddy, I'm sorry Daddy," he said.
"I'm sorry Daddy. Yes Daddy."
I moaned and turned my head back and forth, and moved my bottom and wiggled as he continued to thrust his cock between my lubricated thighs. And I kept muttering, in my soft, bad-boy whine;
"I'm so ashamed, Daddy," and "I'm sorry Daddy." and "This is so embarrasing, so humiliating, Daddy," and "Please, Daddy, I'm sorry Daddy, Oh Daddy." I could tell he liked the talk. I'm not sure how I could tell, maybe his body language as he got more excited, as his humping increased in intensity, as his little moans and grunts grew stronger.
And finally, I felt him spurt. He moaned a little and spurted his warm semen all over my thighs and my bottom and my dress and the lower part of my back too. After he was done he lay there very briefly, then climbed off of me and I lay there with my head turned and watched him pick up that white towel off the dresser and wipe off his cock and his big belly which had semen and lube on it. He leaned over and gave my buttocks and thighs a quick towelling too.
"Ok, , now get dressed. You can go now. And think about what happens, about how you behave and what happens when you're a bad boy."
"Yes Daddy." He watched as I took the dress off and put my shirt back on, and then my panties and khakis. He left the bedroom, and was standing, still naked from the waist down, holding the front door open for me. He gave me quick directions for getting out of his neighborhood, and I left.
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What about me?
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Posted:Aug 6, 2011 10:03 am
Last Updated:Oct 22, 2023 7:26 pm 49502 Views
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um…well, I sometimes put on pretty clothes. And when I do, I feel very naughty, very much the misbehaving, bad bad boy indulging in this forbidden, yet irresistable private playtime with the silky nylons, the short dress, the satiny lacy panties, the wig and high heels. I become she...
Yes Maam/sir she's a bad boy/girl, and she is, so very, very naughty... Do you think she needs correction, discipline, “attitude” improvement?
Scolding her? Making it clear that you disapprove of this behavior, yet wish to explore its details, find out more deeply what I do when I dress, and why....
Inspection and interview?. Make me show you my pretty clothes, my extras, make me do shaming things like show you my underthings, show you how I walk like a girl, when I become her...tell you how it feels, what she thinks about when she's naughty...the naughty things she does?
Make me anticipate and keep me off balance? Discuss physical punishment, make me wonder, squirm.
Make me stand before you while you sit and inspect me, telling me to turn this way, and that way, then you're behind me, and lifting my skirt, continuing to scold, telling me how bad I am and what you're going to do about it...
Spank me...
Observe my reaction.....
Comment on it.
Continue my punishment, continue to spank, and escalate it if I am insolent or uncooperative....
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When I got Caught
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Posted:Aug 4, 2011 7:13 pm
Last Updated:Oct 11, 2017 6:47 pm 49821 Views
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When I was just starting to dress up in women's clothes, I got caught red handed this time. I think I wasn't even 20 yet.
I was home from college. I had snuck into the basement, because it seemed more secluded. The problem was, I couldn't hear him when he came in. And, I had nowhere to go when he walked in on me, and I was in the old playroom.
I had been sort of prancing around, looking at a full mirror we had down there, and suddenly I heard him coming down the steps.
He was a neighbor, friend of my parents, 30 years older than me. Nice guy, nice family, over six feet, black hair half gray now.
I had managed to straighten up and smooth my dress down, and tried to hide behind the old ratty red sofa.
He had come over to see if he could borrow some tools or glue or something from my dad. He told me to stand up straight, come out and show him what mischief I was up to.
Then he sat down on a chair, and shook his head. He scolded me. He told me how naughty I was, that he knew what I'd been doing. But, chuckling a little in a way that made me uneasy, he said he liked my pretty dress, the way I did my hair. Come over, I want to see what you're wearing under that dress, he said.
I hesitated.
Come here, now, he said sternly. When I was close enough he grabbed my arm and he pulled me close and stood me between his knees. He pulled up the back of my dress, and said it's time for the little sissy's inspection. For a long time, he just looked, and made me turn left and right, and bend a little then straighten up. Then, I felt his hand on the backs of my thighs. He played with my garters, the tops of my stockings. He played with the elastic of my panties, first the waistband, then around my thighs.
He told me he was going to have to spank me. I gasped. He felt the back of my satin panties. No, I said, and struggled a little. Do I have to tell your parents about your dirty little sissy secret? He said. I calmed down, but felt like I was about to cry. Then, he spanked me through the fabric.
I started moaning and whimpering. He told me to be quiet. I quieted down, but started to jump and wiggle. He told me to be still. Holding up my dress with the one hand, his knees clamping me sideways to him, he kept spanking me through my panties with his bare right hand. Steadily, not fast. It really started to hurt, and I couldn't keep quiet or still.
I was starting to whimper again, and trying to wiggle away. Stop it, he said. He started spanking harder. I'll have to pull down your panties and spank your bare bottom if you can't calm down, he said. But he was spanking me harder! I started moaning and reaching back, to try to stop his hand.
Well, he stopped. and scolded me severely. Told me I was very naughty and uncooperative. He made me reach back and hold my dress hem up in back. Then he slid his hands up the backs of my legs, slid his fingers into the waistband of my panties, and slowly pulled them down to just below my bottom.
I whimpered. he shook his head and made tsk-tsking sounds. He took a long time, very quiet, just looking, doing nothing. Then I felt his hand, spank my left bottom cheek. Hard. Then the right. Over and over.
Oh yes, it was jumping, the flesh bouncing and turning pink. And he kept scolding as his hand kept spanking it pinker. After a while, he stopped. I went and sat on the sofa. My bottom hurt. He came over and stood in front of me. I saw that his jeans had a bulge in them.
I asked him if I could touch it. He said yes. I reached out, and touched it. It got harder. I undid his jeans. I wanted to feel his penis. He moaned as I slid his pants down and felt it through his white briefs. I stroked it for a minute, and smiled up at him as I slid my hand inside and my fingers circled and stroked it for the first time. It was 7 inches or so, and thick.
I slid his underpants down, and stroked him softly for a long time. Then I did it a little faster, with both hands. After about ten minutes, I was watching his face, and it got crazy looking, and he moaned and his hips moved. Then it started to squirt, and squirted on me over and over as I kept stroking it.
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shower head
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Posted:Aug 30, 2010 5:48 pm
Last Updated:Aug 30, 2014 8:50 am 47544 Views
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just installed a new shower massage and tried it out.
Very interesting tickly setting, little strong streams
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