Loading...The idea is that you get home from work, take off your shoes, grab a beer from the fridge, turn on the TV, sit down, and relax for half an hour.
What you do not want is to come home from work, walk in the door and find all your furniture has been tossed about. Neither do you want to hear swearing and clattering and banging coming from further in the apartment, apparently in the kitchen.
Now for some people this might be considered normal. They have a wife who is subject to extreme PMS, or a girlfriend who is just subject to extremes, but this doesn’t apply to me. Or not right now, anyway. I don’t have a wife and am currently between girlfriends, the last having departed amicably, but with tears, as she forced herself to leave me for a better paying job interstate.
If I had a burglar, then she seemed to be a significantly inept burglar. I say she because the voice I could hear calling down curses and damnation upon someone, presumably me, was female. Not knowing who I might have offended I naturally went to investigate.
I reached the kitchen and a young lady (I use the word lady, advisably) was there, talking to herself (I assume cursing counts as talking) and trashing the kitchen.
The kitchen and the young lady were quite a contrast. She was neat, sweet and petite. A redhead (why wasn’t I surprised) clad in a very nice lacy blouse and a very becoming short skirt which left surprisingly long legs on display. Very shapely legs they were, too. And the lacy frills on her blouse did not conceal the fact that she had a lot to conceal.
The kitchen, on the other hand, was a mess. Food was scattered everywhere. Dry foods were just scattered around. Liquids had been poured in the resultant mess. Fortunately, from what I could see, my beer was as yet unbroached, the cans just lying scattered around in the mess. Neither had she yet got around to hurling china and glassware around, currently being engaged in dumping pots and pans and other utensils into the growing mess.
Not liking to interrupt someone who was so hard at work I just leaned against the doorway, waiting to be noticed. It didn’t take all that long. She must have sensed that someone was watching her and she looked up.
“Who the hell are you,” she snarled at me, “and what are you doing here?”
Not quite the reception I’d been expecting.
“I’m James Denton,” I said affably. “You can call me Jim. Not Jimmy. I find that rather belittling. More to the point, who are you? I won’t ask what you’re doing here as the answer is rather obvious.”
“Well, Jimmy, I’m Natasha. You can tell Charlie, when he gets home, that I dropped in to see him. I think he’ll get the message.”
“The message being that you’re displeased. Ah, by Charlie, I take it you’re referring to Charles Denton?”
“Well I’m sure not referring to Charlie Sheen,” she snapped.
“I see. The problem I have here is that I don’t know a Charles Denton. Or a Charlie Denton, either. As a matter of fact, I can’t think of any of my friends who go by the name of Charles. As the owner and occupier of this apartment I find I’m very interested if some person unknown had been using my apartment to entertain his lover.”
“He is not my lover and he never will be,” came the very fast reply, the things that mattered to her foremost in her mind. Then the rest of the message sank in.
“Your apartment? And you don’t know Charlie?”
I inclined my head in acknowledgement.
“So, when did he bring you here, for whatever reason it might have been?”
“Ah, he didn’t,” she said, sounding worried, as she damn well ought to be. “We were driving past and he pointed out this building and said that was where he lived. I saw the name Denton on the board and came up.”
“Which begs the question of how you got into the apartment.”
“Um, the doorman let me in. I smiled at him a lot and explained it was going to be a very special surprise for you and to not let you know I was here.”
We have a doorman to keep out intruders. Not to escort them into out apartments. I would have a few words to say to a certain doorman.
“So you’re mad at someone named Charles, whose last name may, or may not, be Denton, and who may, or may not, live in this building? Have I got that right?”
She nodded.
“And as a result of this my apartment has been trashed. What did he do? All this angst and you say he’s not your lover?”
“We’ve been going steady and he’s been doing his damndest to get me into bed. Then I found he’s two timing me. His girl-friend came around to warn me off, as though I was some kind of vamp. He’s been chasing me, not the other way round, and then he puts me in that sort of position.”
“Calm down,” I said. She was looking at a fruit-bowl with malicious intent and I liked that bowl.
“Why didn’t you just ring him and leave a message?” I asked, curious.
“Not personal enough,” she said, glaring at me.
“But a lot easier to deliver,” I pointed out.
I turned and surveyed the wreckage and then looked at her. She looked around the kitchen, looking quite pleased with herself. Then I saw the full understanding dawning on her.
“Um, this is your place, not Charlie’s.”
I nodded.
“Ah, I’m, um, sorry about this. I suppose you’ll want me to clean up.”
“You would suppose right. Unfortunately for you, I’m very upset over this. So I’m going to insist on a little retribution. After you clean up I’m going to put you across my knee and paddle your pretty little backside. Just as a reminder to you to not lose your temper. If you had kept a little self-control you’d have found out that this was the wrong apartment. You need to learn a little self-discipline. A spanking will encourage you to learn it.”
“The hell you are,” she said, fire in her eyes. “You can have me arrested. No way are you spanking me.”
“There you go, reacting instead of thinking. Do you realise the charges you face? Fraud, from when you told the doorman you were a friend of mine, illegal entry, vandalism, home invasion, theft. You’ll be surprised at what a long list of crimes you’ve committed. We’re not talking slap on the wrist. We’re talking time behind bars, lawyer costs, compensation cost, notoriety, you may even get some TV time, probably in one of the funny spots. You know, frustrated lover attacks wrong man.”
“You’re joking. You said theft. I didn’t steal anything.”
“Depends on how you look at it. You took my milk and tipped it on the floor, depriving me of the use of it. That is considered theft. Trust me, a spanking is getting off lightly. So are we agreed to the first condition?”
She glared at me, furious, but gave a quick nod.
“Also, if you’ve actually broken any of my things I will probably ravish you. The food stuffs won’t count. I mean actual personal property. As it will be ravishment you don’t have to agree to this condition. Just so that you’re aware of it.”
“I haven’t broken anything,” she protested indignantly. “I’m not a vandal. I just made a mess.”
“I noticed,” I said dryly. “If you haven’t broken anything then you don’t need to worry about that condition, do you?”
More nasty looks but she didn’t comment.
“Finally, I want you to take off your panties while you clean.”
“Are you mad? Why?”
“So that you’ll have an ongoing reminder of the coming spanking.”
“I won’t do it,” she stated flatly.
“You will,” I stated just as flatly. “If you’re worried about me standing behind you perving while you work, don’t. I’ll be in the front room with a beer, watching TV.”
I paused for a moment.
“Maybe,” I continued before she could say anything, “I should insist that you clean up naked. It would protect your clothes. They might get a little soiled cleaning that mess up.”
“Alright. I’ll do it,” she groaned. Bending over she picked up a beer from the mess, wiped it down with a cloth, and handed it to me. “Here. Just go away while I get to work.”
I took the beer, smiled, thanked her, and waited.
She glared at me for a minute then sighed. Reaching up her skirt she took down her panties, making sure that she wasn’t flashing anything while she did so, and dropped them on the kitchen bench.
“Thank you,” I said. “Please let me know if you find that you have broken anything, won’t you.”
I went to the front room. It didn’t take me long to right the furniture. I don’t have a bunch of knick-knacks decorating the place so with the furniture tidied up I could sit and relax. Fortunately the TV was mounted on the wall. It could have been disastrous if she’d tipped that onto the floor.
Half an hour later Natasha sort of sidled into the front room, looking guilty. She was holding a broken picture frame in her hand. I recognised it. It was, or used to be, the picture of my sister that I’d had sitting on top of the fridge.
“I, um, forgot about this. I was so angry seeing another of Charlie’s girlfriends that I picked it up and smashed it on the floor.”
I gave her a displeased look.
“She’s my sister. Fortunately, I can print out a fresh copy of the photo. Come here.”
Still looking guilty she came over to stand before me. I calmly reached out and lifted the front of her dress, contemplating what was now on display.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in an outraged whisper, not quite daring to knock my hands away.
I tapped lightly against her mons. “I’m trying to decide if I should give you a couple of spanks now. I can finish the proper spanking later, but right now, possibly a little something to give you a reminder that you’ve been a bad girl.”
Natasha looked horrified which made me even surer that it was a good idea. I dropped the front of her skirt, an action she certainly approved of, but then placed my hand on her back, coaxing her forward.
“Just relax. Think of it this way, two smacks now mean two less later.”
The look on her face seemed to indicate that she didn’t want to look at it like that. She didn’t want to look at it at all. Despite this she found herself bending forward over my lap. She gave an outraged gasp when I flicked her skirt up but this was to be shortly followed by and even more outraged gasp.
My hand came down quickly with a couple of firm spanks. I’d overlooked how petite she was, especially compared to a man my size. As a result of this my hand reached around a little too far, the spanks landing firmly on her mound. It was a good thing I had my hand slightly cupped or it might have hurt instead of just stinging.
She was pushing away from me almost before the second spank landed, rising to her feet with a look on her face that was almost farcical.
“You, you bastard,” she gasped out. “You said you’d smack my bottom.”
“I just did,” I pointed out innocently.
“That wasn’t my bottom and you know it,” she yelled.
“It wasn’t? Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”
She glared at me and swung away, getting back to the cleaning, her face flushed.
It wasn’t all that long before she finished. All she really had to do was mop the floor clean of all the stuff she’d dumped on it. Messy, but not too hard. And, of course, pick up the scattered pots and pans and such she’d scattered around and clean them. With no cooked on gunk they only really needed a rinse.
She came in to tell me she was finished, trying to look defiant but only succeeding in looking nervous. Did I want to inspect what she’d done?
“No,” I said, standing up and stretching. “If you say you’ve finished then I’m prepared to take your word for it.”
I turned her towards the couch, indicating I wanted her to bend over the end of it. She twisted back to face me.
“You’re not really going to spank me, are you?” she asked, giving me a pleading look.
For answer I lifted the front of her skirt again. She was still without her panties. I brushed my knuckles against her nakedness.
“It appears to me that you expect me to,” I said gently, once more turning her towards the couch.
Reluctantly she leaned over it.
“I thought you said you were going to put me over your knee, anyway,” she grumbled.
“All in good time,” I murmured, moving up behind her.
My hand flashed down and closed firmly over her mound. I spread my fingers, her lips moving with them, opening the way for me. My erection pressed against her and my hand withdrew, allowing her lips to close over me.
Oddly enough she was a damn site wetter than I expected. Apparently working without panties and anticipating what I might do had got her somewhat aroused. The earlier slaps to her pussy wouldn’t have hurt, either.
“Stop! What are you doing?” she wailed.
“Remember the condition if you broke something, like a picture frame?” I prompted her.
“But I didn’t agree to that condition,” she gasped.
“You didn’t have to. You knew about it. I said at the time you didn’t need to agree but that it was a condition, and you stayed to clean up.”
I pressed a little harder, my erection advancing smoothly. It was plain she wasn’t a virgin. There was no barrier to my cock taking her and I pressed steadily forward.
Natasha said a number of rude things to me while I slowly took possession of her but she didn’t try to stop me entering. As a matter of fact, after my initial entry she was pressing back towards me. Not hard, but definitely pushing to meet me.
Fully sheathed within her silken scabbard I paused and waited.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to go,” I told her.
She just stayed exactly as she was, not moving, breathing hard. I have to admit my own breathing was a little on the heavy side. I waited, silently cursing her stubbornness. I wanted to take her right then, plundering her honeyed passage while she screamed for more. And I had to wait.
I was about to say the hell with it and just take her when she finally yielded.
“Oh, fuck you to death,” she snarled. “Just do it, damn you.”
I relaxed and pushed lightly against her, pulled back and drove in firmly. She gave a soft groan and pushed back hard to meet me. I took it slowly at first, testing her responsiveness, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around me and pushing to take me deeper. I could feel her trying to hurry me along and was quite happy to oblige.
It wasn’t long before I was taking her at a fine pace, one that I felt I could maintain for hours. (I can dream, can’t I?) Natasha stayed with me, responding smoothly, making appreciative sounds as her pleasure built.
We moved smoothly against each other, my pleasure and arousal increasing in leaps and bounds. From the noise that Natasha was making she had no complaints. I could hear the excitement in her voice. I kept on, trying my damndest to stretch things, knowing I was doomed to failure but having fun trying.
I could feel my need increasing rapidly and the end run was calling me. Now or never and I had no choice but to go with the now. I started driving in harder, faster, no longer in control but just along for the ride, and what a ride it was. Then I was ejaculating, listening to Natasha gasp and feeling her climaxing right along with me, which was a good sign for any future relationship.
I eased myself down onto the couch, bringing her with me, lying her across my lap, rubbing her back while she purred.
“OK, now?” I asked, pleased when she nodded lazily.
“Then we can get on, can’t we,” I said, bringing my hand down firmly on her backside.
She shrieked, sounding most upset. Sounding even more so when my hand came down with another smart spank.
“Cut it out. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Spanking you, remember? We agreed that you’d earned one. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d forgotten a promise.”
I spanked and she squirmed and abused me. How could I do this to her? As easily as she’d trashed my kitchen, I told her, which, for some reason, didn’t seem to impress her.
I gave her bottom quite a firm paddling before swinging her back onto her feet. She stood there, looking murder at me, rubbing her pretty tush.
“If you’ve quite finished tormenting me, do you mind if I leave now?” she asked.
“Ah, as a matter of fact I do.”
“Why?”
“There’s the matter of the broken picture frame and the promised ravishment,” I pointed out.
“You’ve already done that,” she flamed at me.
“What, that little episode earlier?” I asked, trying my best to sound shocked. “You can’t count that. It was just a warm up. What I’m going to do now is take off your clothes so I can see you properly and really admire that figure of yours. Then, seeing you’re probably feeling a little sweaty from all the work you were doing earlier, I thought I’d take you and give you a nice warm shower, washing you carefully before patting you dry with one of my big fluffy towels. After that I’m going to lay you on my bed and touch you from your head to your heels, following it up by tasting everywhere I touched you.
You will then be tickled and teased until you won’t know which way is up, and when you’re finally a mass of nerves, lying on the bed, quivering, then, and only then, will I commence a slow ravishment of your person.
On a practical note, we’re both going to be hungry. What say I order in some Chinese? It will probably arrive by the time we’re out of the shower and we can eat before moving into the bedroom.”
She muttered something about being trapped in a madhouse, but it was said softly enough that I could ignore it. Seeing she didn’t seem willing to commit one way or the other I reached over and started on the buttons on her blouse. That got her attention.
“Wait,” she said quickly. “You’re being impossible. I hate Chinese. Make it pizza, margherita for mine.”