by Cyan
Copyright 2002 by Cyan
All Rights Reserved; No Redistribution.
She sure had been moody. Marcia didn't want to show it, but I noticed while she read: sometimes she would drift into thought. I worried about how distracted she seemed during times when we'd normally spontaneously start a conversation. I knew she had been putting in extra hours at work and I wondered if it were getting to her.
I thought she might get over it in a couple of days, but after seeing the same thing for weeks, I decided I really needed to bring it up. I came right out and asked her if something was bothering her.
"No. Why?" she said.
"You just seem, well, not yourself."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Now in the past, she wanted to discuss things that were bothering her. But I guess this time she was taking after my own ways.
"Yes. I'm fine." She sounded almost like she would get upset if I pushed it much more. I let it drop.
But I still worried. She still put in the late hours and just didn't seem happy when she was around. It got so I worried about her even when we weren't around each other. Soon I was convinced I'd have to try once more to see if I could get her to talk.
"Yes, I'm fine," she shot back to my second inquiry, this time sounding a little exasperated. That wasn't quite fair of her: it was so obvious she did need to talk.
"No you're not."
She looked at me. For a second, I thought I detected a look she'd never given to me before: a wild look in her eye or something. Somehow it made me just a little wary. "Listen," I added, "You know I'd do anything for you."
She didn't even acknowledge I'd said anything, but just sat there, staring into space, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "I'd do anything," I repeated.
"Anything?" she said, seeming to snap out of it.
"You name it."
Now her thought seemed more focused. "I..." she started, but paused. I could tell she was trying to work out something. "I want... to... spank you."
I stared at her in confusion at having heard those words from her mouth; then I burst out laughing. We had seen some recent sitcom episode with a sly comment about a spanking.
"No, I'm serious," she said. Even while I laughed, she'd barely smiled.
"You're going to spank me?" This was too much to be believed. I still couldn't quite believe Marcia was talking like this.
"Sure."
I looked at her. I smiled again and waited for her to return it. She did, but her brief tight little smile didn't signal a shared joke. "I'm not joking," she said, as if to answer my thoughts.
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to figure this out.
"I want you to lie right over my lap, pull down your pants, and let me spank your rear."
"No way." It was becoming evident that she was serious: it was time to answer in kind.
"Why not?" She raised her voice just a little, seeming almost belligerent.
"Hell no; I'm not going to do that!"
"So you just refuse?" I was aghast. Were we going to fight over this?
"Why should I?"
She sat there for a moment, then said: "You said you'd do anything."
"Yes, but..."
"And you! Didn't you want me to do something in particular?"
I stared at her. She'd enjoyed it too: well, it wasn't asking that much. I'd wanted to do it outside, and she finally agreed and we'd managed to find a deserted spot in the country. She had enjoyed it. "Didn't I go along with it?" she added.
"But this!"
"So if you want something, I go along with it, but then if I want something, you refuse!" She was definitely mad. I couldn't understand. The business outside had been so long before.
"Listen, Marcia," I said, trying to be reasonable, "you can't be serious!"
She sat there silent for a second. Then she said, quietly: "I see the way you treat me. For you, anything goes, for me, nothing." Then she stood up and walked out.
I stared after her. We didn't fight that much, and I was completely blindsided by this whole thing. How did she get so riled up by this? I remembered the only other big fight we'd had a few months earlier. That time she'd moved right out: not waited a day! This time seemed so different.
Something made me follow her into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, staring into space. She looked up at me and I saw the belligerence in her eyes: it was so out of place--most of the time she didn't even seem to have the capacity to be angry.
"Marcia: be reasonable," I said, a pleading note in my voice.
"I see how it is," she said.
"Marcia!" I felt stuck. I didn't know what to do. "OK."
"What?" she said, sounding like she was trying to gather her wits.
"I said OK. I'll do it."
She stared at me as if she were seeing a ghost. It made me wonder whether she thought it was even possible for me to agree. But I had to do this. I couldn't live without her.
I unbuckled my belt and pulled off my pants. She stared at me the whole time. Then I laid down over her lap. For a moment she did nothing. Then she took the waistband of my underpants and pulled them down. I still laid there.
And she did it. I still don't know how I managed to lie there: it certainly wasn't anything I'd even thought about doing it before. I wonder if she hurt her hand as much as she hurt me. For the most part, it was basically just embarrassment. Finally she stopped, and I found myself just lying there.
"Get dressed," she said.
But she was even quieter that night: she hardly touched me as we lay in bed. I was confused, both about what had happened, and why she was still so moody.
The next morning as we were getting dressed, she suddenly said: "I want to do it again."
"Do what?"
"Spank you. Right now."
"Marcia, this is..."
"Right now," she interrupted me. I looked at her. She looked determined. I had just my underwear on. I felt myself sigh and I did it: I laid myself across her lap once again. She didn't do it as long or as hard: I know she was saving her hand. Then she let me up and we proceeded as before.
And that evening, right after work, she was demanding it again. Then when we went to bed. And when we awoke. She was still moody and didn't talk much, but now we did this three times a day every day. I was still confused.
Then on Saturday, she spanked me in the morning, then when I was getting dressed, she said: "I want Jeff to do it."
She'd just been sitting there, staring even though we were done. I looked back at her. "What?"
"You know Jeff." Jeff was a guy she worked with. What did she want Jeff to do? Spank me!?
"What do you want him to do?"
"Spank you."
"No way!"
"Yes."
"You're crazy. What is this crazy business about spankings anyway?"
"Are you going to refuse?" I saw the anger in her eyes again. What was happening to us?
We hardly talked that morning. Around noon, she brought up the subject again: "You going to let Jeff do it?"
"Marcia, please get off this kick!"
"Well?"
"Marcia..."
She just stared at me. Her eyes were fiery. What was I going to do? "Tell me right now. Are you going to do this?"
She'd called him. I stared at him sitting in the chair. Why was he doing this? Was he gay or something? Or was it to humor Marcia? I wondered what I should do.
"Pull down your pants," she said. I'd wondered whether we'd skip that. She was still determined. Somehow I managed to do it, right in front of Jeff.
"And your underpants," she said. I stared at her. In front of Jeff? That's not the way we'd been doing it. She didn't bat an eye. I did it: slipped off my underpants. And stood there, in front of the two of them, wearing nothing below my waist.
They glanced at each other. She nodded at me. I did it: I laid myself across his lap.
It was definitely more painful than what Marcia did. He seemed to want it to hurt. I thought about what I was doing: lying across a man's lap, letting him spank me. This was impossible. How could this be happening?
Then it was done. They watched me dress: somehow that was just as embarrassing: standing in front of them, trying to get my clothes back on.
She spanked me again, two more times that evening. And the following morning.
That afternoon, we were at a picnic in the back yard of one of my friends. She was still in her brooding mood, but she did seem to perk up to talk to the others. Somehow it was comforting to see her while she was still in her more natural state. I felt that afterward, I could catch her in this conversational mood and really talk to her, at least for a while.
Then as I was talking to my friend's wife, I found her at my elbow, and turned to her, actually feeling happy that she'd made a move to talk to me. She pulled me away for a minute.
I was all ears. "I want to do it now," she said.
"Do what?"
"Spank you."
This was absolutely crazy. Was it possible? We might find a room in the house where no one would be. Sneaking out of the party for that? "Too risky," I said.
"You refuse?" She had that look in her eye. I didn't want to do this.
"OK," I said. "Let's check out the house." I started in, taking her arm.
"No." She stood there, planted. "Out here."
"What!?" I almost said it too loud.
"I want to do it right here. In front of everyone."
I'm sure I made a sound. I found myself walking away. What had come over my Marcia? Of all the crazy things!
She caught up to me. "Well?"
"Marcia, what is this business? What's come over you?" I did manage to keep it to a whisper.
"Will you?"
"Marcia, you're crazy. Absolutely not!"
"You refuse."
"Yes!" She walked away. And she was livid. But I couldn't figure out why. Why was she doing this? What did she hope to accomplish?
I stayed away from her for a moment, briefly trying to talk to someone, but only managing to look back at her. She was nearly stomping around, she looked so angry. She looked like she might leave, though that would be impossible since we came together. I wanted so much to get things back on track. I just had no idea what to do next.
"I'll do it." I'd cornered her, not knowing what I was going to say, and I found myself surprised when it came out.
"What?" she said. She sounded shocked.
"I'll do what you want."
She stared at me. "OK," she finally said. She took my hand and started dragging me along. We reached a picnic bench and she sat. "Get ready," she said.
I looked around. These were my friends! And some friends of theirs I hardly knew! I looked back at Marcia. She looked at me intently.
Could I do this? Marcia was demanding I do this. It was impossible.
Not quite. I unbuckled my belt. And unbuttoned my pants. I focused on Marcia: I couldn't think about the people's reactions around us. My pants were off. Even though I kept my eyes glued to Marcia, every pore of my being was thinking about all those people around. My pants were off. She nodded at me.
I could tell she meant my underpants. I looked at her staring at me. Why, Marcia, why? My thoughts just echoed themselves.
I heard voices. I stood there, for all to see. Marcia said something: one word, but I didn't catch what it was. Then, suddenly she stood up and left.
I don't know how I managed, but you just have to. I managed to get my clothes back on and to the front yard. She'd taken the car.
I finally got back to the apartment. She was gone and so were all her things. Everything.
I found out the next day she was living with Jeff.
And that's the story I told my wife about why I didn't want anything to do with Marcia. It was years later and Cheryl took it all in her way: she enjoys the opportunity to laugh at me, but I knew I could trust her: we'd already shared intimate stories about our earlier relationships.
"You really did that? Took your pants off at a picnic?" She was incredulous.
"Should I have told you?"
"Oh yes! It's just that I have to find it hard to believe. You really were willing to go a long way for that bitch."
I guess that's one way to put it. But Cheryl is a good sport, and was willing to let it drop. But that night, before we went to bed, Cheryl came out with: "Would you let me spank you?"
She was grinning. I laughed. "You think I'd fall for that twice?"
"You don't like me as much as you liked Marcia?"
"Of course I do."
"OK." She sat there looking at me, cheerfully as if her point was made.
"But you wouldn't make me do that."
She looked at me slyly. "Get your pants off."
"What!?"
"Now. Get them off now."
"Cheryl!"
"Come on. Get 'em off right now." She was still smiling, but I saw anticipation in it rather than the sharing of a joke.
"Cheryl, no. None of that."
"Yes. Get your pants off right now and come here."
"Cheryl!"
"You love Marcia more than me?"
"That's silly."
"Do you?" Even as she smiled, she managed a no-nonsense voice.
I stared at her. She just stared back. "Now," she said, quietly.
I definitely had a sense of deja vu as I approached her, stripped from the waist down. But when I laid myself over her lap, I knew it wouldn't be so bad. This was Cheryl. "Don't hurt your hand," I said.
"Shh," she said.
She sat there for a moment, with me draped over her lap. Then she rubbed my rear for a moment. Then I felt from her movement that she wanted me up. I was confused: all this for no spanking.
When I reached for her that night, she said: "Did Marcia do it with you after she spanked you."
"No."
She giggled. "Good night."
"Cheryl!"
"Good night." I touched her again, but she pushed my hand away. And no giggle. Much as I hate to admit it, I probably was stimulated from our earlier doings and I found myself lying there, frustrated.
The next day, in the middle of the morning, out of the blue, she said: "Bill's coming over. He's going to spank you."
"What!?"
"Just what I said: Bill's coming over to spank you."
"Did you tell him?"
"He wouldn't be coming if I didn't." I stared at her in shock. What had gotten into her?
"No," I said. I had to put my foot down. She didn't answer immediately, but gave me a look. I don't know how to describe it: amused determination, I suppose. "No!" I repeated.
"Yes you will," she said. "You'd do it for your Marcia and not for me?"
"Honey, this is so crazy!"
She didn't answer, but just smiled. She looked so self-satisfied I couldn't stand it. Then he was at the door. She had him sitting down. "OK, it's time," she said.
I stared at Bill, sitting there. He didn't seem to care one way or the other. "Get undressed. Now!" she said.
I'd done it before. I figured I could manage to do it again. She insisted I be completely naked. Fortunately, Bill didn't laugh or anything, and soon I was lying over his lap. "Go ahead," she told him.
It wasn't the pain: not at all. You probably can't imagine doing what I was doing, and I tell you, I felt every ounce of the embarrassment. He didn't spank me too many times before he stopped.
Believe me, I was ready to get up, but she said: "Just a minute!" Bill and I both froze. "Is he hard?" she asked. Neither of us moved, and she said: "Check him."
And he put his hand right between my legs and wrapped his fingers around my cock! I could have died right there. Then she said: "If he's excited, he'll harden up quickly. Rub it a little." And he did!
And to my embarrassment, my cock did grow. I'm positive Bill could tell. "OK, stand up and let's see it," said Cheryl. He'd withdrawn his hand, but I still lay there, not wanting it to show. I looked at her, and she looked right back at me and said: "Stand up, now! Push him off."
Yes, it showed: it wasn't completely hard, but it was partially hard. She smiled. "Well, Bill, I guess you have a new friend."
He did look at it for a minute, but then didn't seem interested, and left. Cheryl left me alone, too, going in the other room and I quickly dressed. When we saw each other again, she smiled at me and kissed my cheek, but she didn't say anything about it, and soon went out. I can tell you, I was distracted.
It was after supper and I opened the front door to find Jeff and Fran. They walked in and I looked at Cheryl. "Oh, Honey, I invited a few friends for drinks tonight. Can you get them something?"
Well, inviting friends for after-dinner drinks is not an everyday pastime of ours! I looked at Cheryl. And thought about the Picnic! Cheryl let another couple in. I pulled her aside. "Cheryl, forget it!"
"What are you talking about?" she said, but her mock-serious face didn't hide a thing. I think I sighed, I felt so put upon.
"You! Your little scheme!" More people were at the door.
"We'll see," she said. Like a mother trying to put off her son's nagging. I just turned away, exasperated.
I mingled. But I knew what was coming. Then she was in the middle of the floor, announcing. "OK, everybody," she said. "It's time for my husband to show all of you what he's made out of."
The whole crowd was watching us. I shook my head no at Cheryl. She smiled a gleeful smile at me. "Go ahead, honey, show them."
I was closer to her now, and whispered a "no," as if it prevented anyone from seeing our little debate.
"You're gonna do this," she said, once again in that determined voice of hers. "You wouldn't do it for your own wife?"
"Cheryl, no!"
She just stood there, watching me. Then she said: "do it."
"No."
"Do it for me."
I stared a little bit more. And then right in front of all of them, I started unbuttoning my shirt. I saw a few smiles and thought they'd all start clapping and yelling or something, but Cheryl held up her hands for everyone to remain calm. The whole room was perfectly silent. And everyone's attention was focused on me. And they all had a pretty good idea of what was expected of me.
My mind is still a blur about it. Naked. Cheryl sitting on a chair she'd pulled into the center of the room. Everyone still absolutely silent. Then Cheryl: "OK, boy-slave, how many?"
I didn't answer. She didn't seem to want one. Once again, the pain really wasn't a part of it; it was laying there over her lap: the complete center of attention. The only sound, the slaps of her hand on my ass. Then she stopped.
And the whole place erupted with clapping and cheering. I swear, she sat there grinning away, then stood up, getting me to stand, taking my hand, and doing a little curtsy, making me feel a little strange for not taking a bow with her. Then as they still applauded, she lifted my cock and dropped it, grinning the whole time.
Then she was saying "Everybody out: show's over," and they were all gone in a minute.
There I was, naked, with Cheryl. "You did good," she said. "Let's go to bed." And she was off, obviously ready for it, and despite the humiliation, I knew I was too and was in there, right after her.
But in the bedroom, she stood there, looking at me. "Wait," she said. "Marcia wouldn't do it afterward, would she?"
I had a sinking feeling. "No, but Honey, what is this obsession of yours with Marcia?"
"Let me think," she said, and stood there, obviously lost in thought. Then she suddenly came alive again and said: "I'm going out."
And she was out of the room like a shot. I followed, but she was out the front door. I couldn't believe this! I started to get dressed. I didn't know what I was going to do. The front door opened again. "You stay home," she said. She looked at me. Determined.
It was impossible staying there. I did. It was hours: midnight came and went. I sat there, not believing this.
Finally, about one AM, the door opened. There she was, grinning away at me. "Honey..." I started.
"Not a word," she said. And grinned. "Don't say one word. Come to bed."
And we were both in bed in minutes. But she wasn't touching me. And I still didn't know what was going on.
I awoke to find her holding my cock in her hand. She was sitting next to me. I reached for her.
"No!" she said, withdrawing her hand. "Tonight."
She was teasing me! "Honey,..." I said, starting to protest.
"Tonight. If you want, I'll spank you now." And she was sitting on the side of the bed. She looked at me and I stared back. "Tonight: I promise," she said.
I can't say why I did it. I guess it was doing something for me. She was so smug afterward, I almost couldn't stand looking at her that morning. But that night was everything I could have hoped it would be: she was as wild as I felt.
I hate to say it, but since then, she sometimes makes it clear that a spanking is all I can have, and it seems that now, I always take her up on it. She hasn't forced me into any more public scenes, though she seems to enjoy discussing it with a couple of her girlfriends right in front of my face. Her boy-slave, as she says. They grin.
And she does invite Bill over sometimes. He seems perfectly willing to sit there, watch me strip and lie across his lap and spank me. And she does have him hold my cock for a minute afterward. Or massage my ass. One time she told me to wait in the living room and she took him into the bedroom. They were in there for nearly an hour. When they came out, she just grinned at me.
She'll never have sex with me right after I'm spanked. But she's always ready the next night. And it's always absolutely great. But I do hope she doesn't take Bill in the bedroom any more.
Cyan Stories
Erotic fiction, sex stories, for erotica lovers.