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Sam Stafford is a grouchy old man who lives up the road from us. Well when I say old, he’s probably in his early thirties, but from the arrogant young age of eighteen, thirty is old. Especially the way he acts at times.

He does, I will admit, have a green thumb, and his garden has the best roses for miles around. Come spring he had an amazing display. That’s partly what led to the trouble.

I’d been on my way home one evening and I was walking past his place. The roses smelled wonderful. As soon as I got home I nipped into the garage and grabbed mum’s secateurs. Then it was back to Sam’s garden.

I was quick. I snipped of about a dozen beautiful roses in no time at all. I was just reaching for one last rose when Sam came charging out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you thieving little bitch,” he bellowed, charging down the path towards me.

I didn’t stop to explain. Explain what? I was caught red-handed. Or rose handed, anyway. I just gave him the finger and bolted, carrying my loot with me. Fortunately he didn’t bother to chase me, although some blood-curdling threats came floating over the air.

Geez, I thought. All that fuss over a few roses when he’s got hundreds. I was feeling quite resentful, and if I’d known a way to get at him I would have.

That was the frame of mind I was in when I was putting the secateurs away and my eyes fell on a can of spray paint, aptly coloured Rose Red. My brother had been using it on his bike. A high gloss enamel. Did I dare, I wondered? I did, I decided. Sam Stafford had yelled a few very rude things at me.

That evening I went back and used the spray paint to draw flowers and smiley faces all over Sam’s car. Mean, I know, but he’d really got my goat. He might suspect it was me but he’d never prove it. I thoughtfully dropped the empty can in someone else’s rubbish bin.

Heading to work the next morning I was freshly irritated to see that Sam’s car was spotless. How, I wondered, had he been able to see the paint and how the hell did he clean it off so quickly? I made a note to ask my brother.

Arriving home that evening I was surprised when Sam rang the house asking for me. I thought he was probably going to have a go at me about the paint and the roses, so almost refused the call, but then I realised that he had no proof. All I had to do was deny everything and that would be the end of it.

“Good evening, Karen,” Sam greeted me when I took the phone. “I was hoping that you might see your way clear to coming over later so that we could have a little chat.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr Stafford,” I said regretfully. “I don’t see that we have anything in common to discuss.”

“Really?” came a rather dry reply. “What about such subjects as roses and spray paint?”

“Neither of those interest me in the slightest,” I said rather smugly.

“Hmm. How about closed circuit television, with night eye, full video recording and potential police reports?”

Oh my fucking god. I’d got so used to those silly little cameras on his house I’d forgotten all about them. Could they really see at night? I had no idea but a nasty feeling in my tummy said probably. It explained how he saw the graffiti early enough to clean it off. He probably saw me spray it on. I wondered why he hadn’t barged out and caught me in the act.

“Um, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I prevaricated.

“And I’m sure that you do. I’ll expect to see you at eight. If you’re not here I’ll file an official police report and you can fight it out with them and good luck on that. They’re hot on graffiti right now. So shall I expect you?”

“I’ll be there,” I muttered, cursing the man.

“That’s good. Oh, you might want to bring a chaperon.”

A chaperon? What century was this guy from?

“Why on earth would I require a chaperon?” I asked.

“To make sure I don’t molest you when I put you across my knee and spank your bottom,” came the reply, and the bastard hung up before I could react to that.

Spank me? Who did he think he was kidding? He wouldn’t dare!

I was uming and ahing all evening, wondering if I had the nerve to go and front up to Sam and then wondering if I had the nerve not to go. Would he report me to the police or not? I wouldn’t put it past him, I finally decided, which meant I’d have to go.

I fronted up at Sam’s place right on eight. I was dressed to kill and I’m very attractive when I go all out, even if I do say so myself. He didn’t even bat an eye, blast him. Was he gay as well as old and senile.

Sam escorted me into the front room and we both sat down. Looking at him sitting there it finally occurred to me that the early thirties isn’t really all that old. And while Sam wasn’t film start handsome, neither was he a gargoyle. And I’d never noticed all those muscles before.

“No chaperon?” he quizzed me.

“No. Nothing is going to happen that would require one.”

“Really? Obviously I should have warned you that the spanking would be on your bare bottom,” he drawled. “I see you have dressed for the occasion. A dress is so much easier to lift up compared to wrestling off a pair of jeans.”

“Oh, come on,” I protested. “All this fuss about a few roses and your car’s not damaged. Why be so selfish about a few roses when you’ve got hundreds.”

“Oh, perhaps because I may have hundreds of normal roses but only a few prize winning ones,” he informed me. “Someone stripped a dozen of my best roses and now I’ll have no entry to the flower show. Such a pity, isn’t it?”

Prize winning roses. I hadn’t even given the potential value of the roses a thought. They’d been pretty and so I picked some. He apparently saw the shock I felt, because he continued.

“You know, if a young lady had asked if she could have a few roses, I’d have picked out a nice bunch for her. As you say, I have hundreds. I’d have just made sure they weren’t the ones scheduled to be taken to the flower show. Pity about that, isn’t it.

Shall we address the issue of the car?”

“Um, yes, I was way out of line there,” I admitted, eating humble pie. I had to do something because I was in more trouble than I’d expected. How was I to know he showed his roses?

“Damn right you were. If I hadn’t spotted you at your mischief and got out there with some WD40 that paint would have ruined my panels. If that had happen it could have cost up to ten thousand to get a quality repaint job. I suspect that both the insurance company and the police would have been having discussions with you about it. You may thank me for acting quickly and hauling your ass out of a shitload of bad news.”

Ten thousand dollars to repaint a car? Was he kidding me? He was looking at me and nodding his head.

“That’s right,” he said. “Up to ten thousand dollars for a quality job. I googled it earlier as a matter of curiosity. Now do you see why I’m feeling a little peeved?”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, feeling sick to the stomach.

“I’ve already told you that. I’m going to spank you. Just a little something to help get the message across. Now come here.”

That last bit had the snap of a command that will be obeyed and I was on my feet and moving towards him before I even realised it. I faltered to a stop a couple of feet away.

“Now lift up your dress while I take down your panties,” the monster ordered.

“You’re not serious about a bare bottom, are you?” I whispered. “I can understand wanting to spank me, and I’m sorry, I was stupid, but do I have to take down my panties?”

“No, you don’t,” he said smiling and my heart jumped, only to sink when he continued. “I’ve already said that I’ll take them down for you. Lift your dress, please.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Irrelevant, because you’re going to.”

He just seemed to pin me with a look. I swallowed and started easing my dress up. He kept looking at me, obviously expect the dress to keep going higher. I stopped when it was showing the edge of my panties but he didn’t move. Just kept watching and waiting. I gulped again and hitched the dress higher.

“Very nice,” Sam murmured when my dress was nearly waist high. “It would have been a shame to paddle your tush while wearing those. Imagine if they got torn.”

How nice that he should be concerned about my panties. I’ll admit they were a nice pair, abbreviated and lacy, and they suited me, but I would be quite happy to keep them on, and I told him so.

For answer he just reached over and hooked onto them. Then he drew them down. He didn’t just pull them down so I could step out of them, job done. The swine pulled them down really slowly, just edging them over my bottom, doing a slow strip tease. And the whole time he was doing it he had a fine close up view of my bush. His face was so close to me he could probably count the individual hairs in the little tuft I keep.

Finally my panties were down and I reluctantly stepped out of them, my face bright red. I hastily let my dress drop back into position to at least give me the illusion of modesty. Sam was looking at me thoughtfully, shaking his head slightly, and I had a premonition I wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

“You know, that dress will get fearfully crushed, bunched up around your waist while I spank you. You’d find it hard to explain. You’d better just take it off.”

“Do you really expect me to take my dress off so you can ogle me?” I flared.

“I have already seen what you’ve got,” he ruthlessly pointed out, “and very attractively packaged it is. And I’ll see it again when you’re bent over my knee, so why worry?”

Put like that it almost made sense. And he did have a point about the dress getting crushed. Throwing furious looks at him, I unzipped and took it off, standing there in my bra.

The rotten swine laughed.

“You look lost and naked standing there with just a bra on. You might as well take it off and then you’ll just be nude. You’ll find it a lot easier on your nerves.”

I wasn’t going to argue. If I did he’d probably have excellent reasons why I should take it off or just insist that I do so. I reached around and unclipped it and let the bra drop down my arms.

Oddly enough, I did feel a bit relieved to have taken it off. I’d been feeling decidedly naked and exposed while it was on, and now I was just nude and a little relieved.

Sam was giving me an odd look. For the life of me I couldn’t work it out.

“What?” I said, crossing my arms across my breasts.

“I’m just a little surprised,” he said. “I’ve always assumed that you wore well-padded bras. A bit of harmless deceit. Apparently not. You have a magnificent pair of breasts.”

Just like that I was feeling naked and exposed again. And, just to be contrary, flattered that he’d admired my breasts.

Now the monster patted his lap, wanting me to bend over. Oh, god, my poor bottom. Look at those damn muscles on him. I was very nervous as I edged towards him and nearly screamed when he took my arm and coaxed me over his knee. I was lying there, bottom up, breasts swinging below me, very conscious that he was looking at them.

“Tell me, Karen, are you still a virgin?”

“What has that got to do with things?” I demanded, infuriated.

“Just answer the question.”

“None of your business, but no.”

“That’s fortunate,” he said.

“Why?” I was feeling awfully suspicious.

“If you were a virgin I would have to spank you and let it go at that. As it is, I can now happily seduce you afterwards.”

He had to be joking. Seduce me? In his dreams.

“There is no way I’m, Ow, that hurt.”

The brute had spanked my bottom. He really had. Until his hand landed on my bottom I hadn’t really believed that he would. And he wasn’t stopping. His hand kept on coming down, hard, and I was yelping and protesting. Fat lot of good that did me. He was really giving me what-for.

He seemed to have been spanking for ages before it slowly dawned on me that he was also playing with my breasts. His non-spanking hand was running lightly over my breasts, and my nipples were being dragged lightly over his palm.

I tried to protest, but that hand bouncing off my bottom was effectively stopping me from getting my thoughts together. When he finally stopped my bottom felt as though it was on fire.

I was crying and my hands were hovering over my bottom, wanting to touch it but scared to. I was almost relieved when Sam started to very gently run his hands across my bottom, soothing it. I just relaxed a little letting his fingertips glide across my bottom. I didn’t even mind when he accidentally brushed against my mound.

It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned his hand playing with my breast. I hurriedly brought it up.

“Your hand. It’s touching my breasts. You’ll have to move it. Not like that!”

As soon as I said to move his hand it closed firmly over my breasts and started massaging.

“You said to move it,” he said, continuing to gently massage me. And he was good, I’m quite willing to concede. My breasts were taut and my nipples were thrusting out and I could feel excitement in them.

“Oh, god,” I groaned. “Shift your hand.”

“Not that one,” I wailed, when he let go my breast. “I meant the other one.” The hand that had been gently rubbing across my bottom and had drifted down to my mound and was massaging me there. That was the one I wanted moved.

Stupid me. As soon as I said not that one, his hand glommed back onto my breast, effectively with my permission. I was squirming back and forth, breasts and pussy both under assault. I was feeling hot and bothered.

When Sam suddenly swung me to my feet I was lucky to be able to stand. I was trembling and I had been stirred up considerably. I wasn’t sure what would have happened if he’d kept going. He stood up and then he undid his trousers. I mean he just undid them and dropped them and his undies and he had this erection and I nearly died.

Then he sat back down on the couch, took my arm and lowered me across his knee again. There I was, back in the spanking position as before, while his hands were making free of my body. And it was worse now. He had his erection out and it was pressing against my side. I mean, it was just there, leaning on me, and I knew what he wanted to do with it. What the hell was I supposed to do?

I was just a quivering wreck. My bottom was smarting, my breasts felt full and heavy, with peaked nipples, and fingers were intruding inside my pussy, poking around and exploring inside me. I wanted to scream but when I tried all I could do was let out a little squeak. And I could still feel his cock pressing against me.

I had to do something. I wasn’t a toy for him to just play with. I twisted my bottom and pussy away from his groping hand, sliding my legs off the couch and down to the floor. Now I found myself kneeling between his legs, his erection just inches in front of my face, swaying gently from side to side, like a snake trying to hypnotise me.

Sam, the swine, was laughing at me.

“Ah, what do you intend to do now?” he asked, and I could hear the amusement in his voice.

What was I going to do? I’d show him what I was going to do. My hand closed over his cock and my mouth descended upon it. The startled squawk he gave was music to my ears, and I don’t care what he says. He squawked.

This I knew how to do. My first boyfriend had insisted. This or bed, and I wasn’t going to bed with him at that stage, so I learnt this. I applied a gentle suction while my tongue and teeth raised havoc with his cock. I’d found that the head of an erection is especially sensitive and teeth rasping over it is likely to drive a man nuts.

It certainly worked on Sam. When my teeth grazed him and my tongue teased him I thought he was going to explode. His hands closed either side of my head, but that was all – he wasn’t game to try to stop me.

Oddly enough I found it exciting. Big muscular Sam was at my mercy, and I was enjoying it. He finally gave a groan and pulled my head away. I looked up at him, smirking. That had showed him what I was going to do.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” he told me, and his voice sounded oddly hoarse. “You can finish what you just started, grab your clothes and run away, or lie back on the carpet and get ready to be ravished.”

One for my side, I thought. He was no longer dictating the terms but asking. What did I want to do? Common sense said, grab your clothes and run. The little devil in me said, finish what you started. So I went with option three and lay back on the carpet, looking up at him, smiling confidently.

Sam settled onto the floor next to me. He pushed my legs wide, bending them up and moving between them. Looking along my body I could see him there, his erection poised near me. Suddenly, all that bright confidence was draining away.

When I had admitted that I wasn’t a virgin I’d been telling the truth, but that wasn’t saying much. The first time had been in the dark and quite painful. The second time it had also been dark and, while not painful, it seemed awfully messy. This would be the third time and the lights were on and I could see everything that was happening and that thing of his seemed to be getting bigger the more I looked at it.

I’m not an overly large girl. Quite petite, in fact. Sam on the other hand seemed to be a very large man. At least twice my size, or even more. And he was getting ready to stick that thing in me. My insides were curling in fright while I waited.

Sam eased my lips apart and slipped inside me with a motion that was almost delicate in its gentleness. I was barely aware that he had started and then he was easing down my passage, which was relaxing and stretching, eager to accept him.

All my trepidation just died away as I felt him gliding smoothly into me, filling me. Then he was rocking gently against me and I was instinctively moving against him. Heat was filling me and that gentle rocking was both soothing and arousing.

I wouldn’t have thought that such a big man could be so gentle, and I just lay back, eyes half closed, going with the flow and wanting it to just go on and on.

Was I using words like gentle and soothing and rocking? How silly of me. As we moved together there was a subtle change, so subtle I didn’t really notice it happening. I was just responding naturally and eagerly to the demands Sam’s body was making on mine.

When Sam started moving a little faster I just adjusted and moved with him. When I found that I wanted him to go deeper it was just right that I wrap my legs around him, giving him easier access while I pressed up against him. And of course, with my legs around him I could help pull him in faster and harder when he wanted to go that way.

It finally dawned on me that Sam was making free of my body in a big way. His cock was pounding down into me, and it was long and hard and making its presence known. I, on my part, was clinging to him, bucking under him, urging him on, demanding he do more, more, more.

The wildest sensations were running through me. I couldn’t keep my head together. All I knew was that Sam was there and passion was raging and I had no control and didn’t want any and would Sam please go harder.

Go harder was what he did and I lost it. I climaxed, having an orgasm, my first orgasm caused by a man screwing me. Far better than anything I’d achieved on my lonesome, I assure you. I simply shrieked when it hit me, boiling over me and simply sweeping me away.

When I got myself together again Sam was dressed and relaxed on the floor next to me. He saw me looking at me and frowned.

“I hope you take this little reprimand to heart,” he said. “No more pinching my roses.”

“No, Sam.”

“Definitely no more graffiti.”

“No, Sam.”

“If you want a few roses, you knock and ask, like an adult should.”

“Yes, Sam.”

“And you’d better be prepared to pay for the roses.”

“Pay for them? I can’t afford to pay for roses.”

“Easy terms will be made available,” said Sam, his eyes running over me. “Have you ever been ravished on a lawn while surrounded by sweet smelling roses on a bright sunny day?”

“Ah, no, Sam.”

“Well, if I see you tomorrow, you will be.”

“Um, your front lawn is in plain view of the street,” I pointed out.

“True. Have you seen the roses I have in the back yard? You’ll like them.”

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