A Life With Erin
Chapter 1 – A Female Led Relationship
By Jonathan Quincy Graves
{ NOTE: This is the first chapter of a novel describing the evolution of a Female Led Relationship. The entire series was first published on my website jqgraves.com, and also on literotica.com. It is now consolidated into book form and available for purchase here: jqgraves.com/ebooks. }
I first introduced Erin to spanking when we were dating. We enjoyed an active and adventurous sex life, and one night I initiated spanking as foreplay. Mine was not the first palm to land on an unprotected buttock, but my thighs were the first to host a naked torso for an organized session. Erin was game from the outset.
It was the first cold day that fall in Aspen, Colorado. The leaves were turning from green to yellow, on their way to the fiery reds and oranges people come from hundreds of miles to see. A front was passing through and the temperatures dropped more than twenty degrees in a few hours. I’d spent the afternoon working in the yard and garden, coiling and storing hoses, uprooting tomato plants—heavy with green fruit to ripen on my enclosed porch—dying annuals and corn stocks to throw on the burn pile. It was just a start on the myriad of things required to get a small property in the mountains ready for winter.
I was in the shower that evening when Erin let herself into my house. She lives in a small one-bedroom apartment in town with the cliché paper-thin walls. Her neighbors can hear whatever we do in her bedroom, so we mostly get together at my house. When I ask her why the apartment, she always tells me it’s near her office, and she does not have the time to maintain a place like mine. She’s a successful executive in telecommunications, so it’s not a matter of money.
Hearing the shower running, she stripped and stepped into the bathroom. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, opening the shower door. The question was rhetorical, there was no doubt of my answer, and she did not wait for one before she stepped in behind me. I’ve often thanked whoever designed this large bathroom and especially the shower—there is plenty of room for two people and it has heads at both ends. Having warm water strike you from both front and back is wonderful on a cold winter morning, and having another warm body in the shower with you is even better.
I started to turn toward Erin, but she clasped my hips and turned me back. She selected a loofah, lathered it up and began to scrub.
“That feels so good,” I said, hunching my shoulders to stretch the muscles she worked across my back. I paused in washing my chest, to concentrate on the tactile sensations Erin created.
While Erin worked on my shoulders, she moved up close behind me, sliding her soapy tummy against my bottom. “Your muscles are so tight. Relax,” she commanded. That was easy to do with the help she gave me.
Erin worked her way down my body, scrubbing my lower back, which felt great, then down to my buttocks.
“Spread your legs,” she said. I did so, allowing her to slide the sponge between my cheeks and under to the back of my balls where she lingered with a delicate rub. While she worked my backside, she produced the predictable effect on my front side.
Erin squatted and washed my legs, then stood, handed the loofah around my side and said, “Do me.”
By then, ‘doing her’ was foremost in my mind, but Erin calls the shots when we are together, so instead, I soaped up the loofah, turned and went to work. She’d done up her hair to keep it dry, uncovering her long, arched neck. I started there with the vow to return to that part of her later. Erin loves it when I kiss and nibble from her shoulder up her neck and fasten on an earlobe with my teeth.
I worked the loofah across her shoulders. Some of the shower spray hit the tops of those shoulders and washed the soap down her back in fantastic patterns. Waves of suds slid down her back, slowing and speeding with the terrain, to break into three streams when they reached her buttocks, diverted to the sides or the center cleft. Just an occasional wave front of suds would take the longer route over her perfect female bottom.
My hands worked their way in pursuit, gently scrubbing her lower back and then her bottom. I did not have to ask her to spread her legs, and I moved the sponge into the valley and under to just short of her labia, where I paused for effect.
I squatted behind Erin, much as she had behind me, but took much longer to wash her legs. My posture put my lips at the level of her cheeks, and I took the time to kiss around those excellent features. Erin bent at the waist to enhance my efforts.
After a few minutes, Erin bent further, reached back with both hands and pulled my face in tighter. I continued to kiss and nibble with my lips, my mouth and nose buried between her mounds. I could not breathe, and water was flowing down her back into my face forcing me to close my eyes. Neither of those problems caused me to interrupt my ministrations. Only continued optimal performance was likely to earn my release. I knew this, and I loved it. With a shudder Erin let go of my head, turned to face me and pulled me back to my feet. “Give me that,” she said.
Erin took the sponge and slid it across my chest and down to my abdomen. I used my soapy hands to massage her breasts. She pursed her lips gazing at my heavy member. She looked thoughtful and asked, “Did you get much done today? It didn’t look like you spent any time on the flower beds in front.” She knew my plans for the day, but this seemed a major change in topic and it caught me by surprise.
“No,” I answered, “spent most of my time hacking down the plants and pulling up the drip system in the garden. I was writing this morning, and got a later start than planned.” She reached around me and delivered an unexpected smack to my wet bottom with her soapy hand. “What was that for?”
“For not keeping to your schedule… No, no reason, just thought that cheek needed attention. And,”—smack—“we would not want the other cheek to be neglected.”
“You are asking for trouble, young lady,” I said, with a grin. I pulled my love into my arms. Our wet bodies molded together and she met my lips for a long kiss. Then I went to her neck and nibbled up to her ear. She stretched up on tiptoes to rub her chest against mine, her nipples hard against me.
“I think one naughty girl needs a spanking,” I whispered.
“You do, do you? Happen to know a man up to the task?” On the word “up” she reached for my member, rising against her tummy.
I groaned with the stimulation and said, “Oh, I think I can find someone.” I killed the showerheads, lifted Erin in my arms and carried her out to a teak bench in the center of the room. As I sat, I turned her face-down across my lap.
Erin had never been in this position over my knees, and I paused to stroke her wet body and enjoy the sights. My palm glided over her pearlescent skin. Her center was warm against my thighs. She struggled and playfully protested her treatment when I lifted my hand and delivered a moderate spank—wet hand to wet bottom. The sound it made begged for a repeat.
“Ooh, you beast!” Erin exclaimed, squirming. Her hip bone pressed my hardening erection against my midriff. “I suppose you expect to achieve some illicit pleasure from this wanton attack?”
“Oh yeah,” I groaned. I gave Erin another dozen smacks, taking my time and raising a nice glow in the target mounds. My actions—the sight and feel of her coloring bottom glistening with moisture under my slapping hand—and her mock struggles were having a profound effect on me. I could wait no longer, so I lifted her off my knees and laid her on the bathmat. My body followed her down. With lips glued to an impertinent nipple, I wasted no time on the entry, thrusting with one long plunge. She was very wet, and though tighter than usual, her body accepted mine eagerly.
I pistoned slowly, my lips and teeth now worried her earlobe, working to bring her with me. The passion had grown so quickly, I feared I might cum in a flash, but Erin was just as hot and I managed to delay eruption until we climaxed in rapid succession.
“That was amazing,” Erin sighed, minutes later. “I don’t think you’ve ever been so hard.” I had rolled off her and lay on the floor beside her. She reached to take my softened tool.
“It was like early days,” I said. “Spanking your perfect bottom really turned me on.”
“I could tell. We will definitely have to do that again. But next time,” she added, driving a fingernail into my ribs, “you’re the one who will be spanked.”
Erin made good on her threat, and spanking became an occasional but integral part of our foreplay. Sometimes, I spanked Erin, which I thoroughly enjoyed. There is nothing like having those smooth mounds, naked and across my thighs. Her flawless back sloped down to my left and her shapely legs to my right, waiting to rise and flutter to the rhythm I set. Before any real spanking begins, I could stroke and cup her bottom for hours if she’d let me, but adding a little color with some sharp smacks, palm to resilient mound… well, that’s what it’s all about.
Sometimes Erin spanked me. No matter how many times she did it, the self-image of me draped across her lap—a juvenile position to begin with—naked while she is clothed, if only in bra and panties, is flat embarrassing. She knows I am affected this way and taunts me while she adjusts my position until I’m in the exact, vulnerable arrangement she desires. She spanks me with her hand, which takes time to warm me up. We both love the skin to skin contact, and Erin is physically fit. With persistence and determined repetition, she strikes a noticeable fire back there.
Both scenarios turn me on, whether I am the spanker or the spankee. There’s no real pattern—we didn’t keep track and worry about the balance of power—whoever was in the mood for whichever scenario determined the order for that occasion. Sometimes we made up reasons to spank—some imagined slight or failure in decorum—but often no excuse was given or required.
Erin gave up her apartment and moved in with me that winter. The initiative was hers. In many ways, I suppose, ours is a female led relationship with Erin making the important decisions, but I was in full agreement with this one. My house is roomy with three bedrooms, one of which—with a fantastic view of the mountains—I use as my writing studio. I loved having her with me, we were very comfortable together as we explored the possibility of a permanent union.
Erin’s work hours were long, and since I worked at home to my own schedule, I did most of the cooking and housekeeping. This was no real change for me, and I never gave it any thought. As a bachelor of long standing I’d been doing these things for myself since I first left my mother’s home. My father died when I was young, so even before I moved out mother had raised me to be helpful on the home front. Now, living with Erin, I just carried on, cooking and cleaning for two instead of one. No problem.
It seemed Erin’s standards of cleanliness were higher than mine. No surprise there, “bachelor,” remember, and I sometimes let things slide if I was especially engrossed in my writing, or struggling to meet a deadline from my publisher. The same might be said of the dinners I prepared. I like to cook, and although I stuck to pretty basic fare, Erin never complained. Although, she might grumble under her breath if we got to dinner time and nothing was ready. In general, she made no issue of these domestic lapses, just pitching in on weekends to help put things back in order.
Playful spanking continued, though, over time, there was a shift in the dynamic and it was more and more Erin who spanked me. I objected once or twice, but she told me she loved what a few moderate spanks did for my size and performance in subsequent love making.
“But baby,” she might say, taking hold of my member, “just look at what a hot bottom does to this big, hard cock.”
True, I guess, but I suspect she got off more on the control when she acted as disciplinarian. Me, the big, strong male, brought down to size by simple corporal punishment provided by the much smaller and lighter female. I won’t say, “by the weaker female,” there are many ways to measure strength beyond the obvious physical attributes. Women can be much stronger than men in measures of attitude and determination. This was Erin. And, when she got us hot by spanking me, she took the top position by right.
On the occasion of Erin’s twenty-sixth birthday—she is eighteen months younger than I—she induced me to propose marriage and we set the date. As I look back, I believe that proposal served as a watershed event. It was never stated explicitly, but from then on, it was always me who was spanked, never Erin. And, while playful little spankings still served as foreplay, an occasional more vigorous application of Erin’s hand occurred when I did something foolish to irritate her. These disciplinary sessions were not frequent, but they got my attention and served to remind me to be more considerate. I have to state, however, PMS took on a whole new meaning in our relationship. Premenstrual Spanking followed the phases of the moon with great precision.
Erin is the consummate, competent professional in her office. That’s what propelled her rise in the company. So, when her time of the month rolled around, she reserved her expressions of irritation and frustration until she was behind the closed doors of my house. I could sense its approach and resigned myself to playing the role of stress reliever, draped over Erin’s knees. These spankings were more painful than most. Erin spanked hard from the start, and was either silent—mouth firm and only the smack, smack, smack echoing off our bedroom walls—or she regaled me with the frustrations of her day at work.
I tried to have dinner ready and the house reasonably squared away on those PMS days, but occasionally time would get away from me and there would be nothing done when Erin came through the door.
“Is that dinner I smell?” she might ask.
“Uh, no, haven’t got to it yet.”
“That’s what I thought. Why not? I’ve had a long day, and I’m in no mood to cook.”
“I meant to roast that leg of lamb in the freezer, but I forgot to take it out to thaw and by the time I remembered, it was too late. Then I got sidetracked and… Well, I’ll fix it for tomorrow.”
“So, what should we have tonight?” Erin stood with her arms crossed, seeming to stare down at me. I am substantially taller than she, but on occasions like this, it feels like the opposite is true.
“I can warm up some leftovers. I’m sure we have a couple options in the fridge.” This might have been an acceptable response any other time of the month. Generally, Erin can be pretty easy.
There was a pause before Erin said, “I’m sure there are, but first, I think I’ll warm up something else. Drop your pants.”
I was afraid it would come to this the moment Erin walked in the door and I realized what time it was. I’d stopped writing several hours ago and was playing Civilization V on my computer. I’m oblivious to the progression of the clock when I’m in game mode. By the look in her eyes, it was clear that this would not be a playful few swats. It was also clear that there was no use in trying to talk her out of it. If I just refused, Erin would find other ways to make my life miserable until I acquiesced.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I undid my belt, button and zipper and let my pants fall to my ankles.
“Right,” she responded, “I’ve heard it before.” She pulled a chair out to the center of the room and sat down. Waiting.
Humiliated by the situation and also by my lack of attention that brought me to it, I shuffled over and stood beside Erin for the next step. Erin likes to lower my boxers herself, and she does it slowly while staring into my eyes.
With me bared, Erin gathered the hem of her skirt uncovering her nylon clad thighs and pulled me over her lap. “You are home all day, and have more than enough time to do the basics around the house,” she lectured as she adjusted my position. “I shouldn’t have to put up with, ‘I forgot,’ after a long day at work. And, I shouldn’t have to do this,” Smack, “at the end of a long day either.”
Lecture concluded, Erin would spank, and spank, and spank until a fire built in my backside roasting me like that lamb should have been roasted, if I had not forgotten. She has great stamina, especially when angry, and would bring me to kicking and sobbing before she was done. Such is discipline provided in our female led relationship.
For Erin, PMS lasted for six or seven days leading up to her period, and while I did not get spanked every one of those days, I could expect two or three good spankings before her flows began. I dreaded these days, but strangely did not resent them. I loved Erin, realized the stress she was under in her career and the stress relief she got from taking me over her knees.
As the date of our wedding approached, the simple ceremony I’d envisioned faded from the scene. I believe that large, fancy weddings are arranged for the edification of the mother of the bride. I would have preferred something simple, and I think Erin could have gone either way, but I would have had to do battle with my future mother-in-law to down-scale the celebration. Erin’s dad might have agreed with me, but neither one of us wanted to contest the point with his wife. That woman can be scary. (A forewarning of my marital future? Perhaps.)
The priest performed the ceremony in Saint Mary’s which was resplendent in flowers and satin bows. I barely took in the finery, where I stood at the head of the congregation as the bridesmaids preceded my love up the aisle. Not sure why I was so nervous. Perhaps it was the large gathering of well-wishers, many of them strangers to me, or perhaps it was the permanent nature of our commitment, but whatever, my nerves settled with the first view of my bride in white. She was beautiful. Well, she is beautiful, but in that gown with the sheer veil and a coronet of flowers in her hair, it took my breath away.
I won’t belabor this account with details of the wedding or the reception afterward. We’ve all witnessed or taken part in these events, and while no two are alike, they are essentially the same as long as love is the primary factor.
Our wedding night was glorious, though painful for me. That was the night I was first introduced to Erin’s hairbrush. But that is the start of another phase in our story.
END of Chapter 1
I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter of A Life With Erin. The story continues with our hero falling ever deeper into Erin’s web.
The complete edition is available on the eBook page of my website at jqgraves.com/ebooks.
For the curious, here is the Table of Contents. Anything grab your attention?
Chapter 1 A Female Led Relationship
Chapter 2 A Female Led Marriage
Chapter 3 Male Chastity
Chapter 4 Domestic Discipline
Chapter 5 A Woman Led Marriage
Chapter 6 A Proper Milking
Chapter 7 Pierced by Mother-In-Law
Chapter 8 Homecoming
Chapter 9 Reunion
Chapter 10 Retribution
Chapter 11 Strapped and Forgiven
Chapter 12 On the Runway
Chapter 13 Clean Inside and Out
Chapter 14 A Good Fucking
Chapter 25 A Perfect Sissy Cuckold
Chapter 16 The Fitting
Chapter 17 An Hourglass Figure
Chapter 18 The Penis Pool
Chapter 19 Spanked at Home
Chapter 20 Feeling the Buzz
Chapter 21 Winner Spanks
Chapter 22 From Vibration to Shock
Chapter 23 Michelle
Chapter 24 Forced Bi
Chapter 25 Cleanup Duty
Chapter 26 Erin’s Return
Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved. Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.