Think Carefully 14

Seduction

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

{ Note: This is the fourteenth installment of this story. If you have not read the earlier chapters, this one will make more sense to you if you do. The opener can be found here: Think Carefully. }

Last Friday’s maintenance spanking was the worst experience of my life. It wasn’t the first time Gloria spanked me with another woman watching. That happened a couple weeks ago when she and Marissa were working on my list of rules. That was embarrassing, but Friday was worse, far worse. Gloria invited Cynthia, her young friend in Graphics, to witness. Where Marissa is older than Gloria and me, a mature, experienced woman, Cynthia is barely an adult. Marissa was businesslike, Cynthia a silly twit.

What made it even worse, last Friday marked the first time Gloria included punishment for less than perfect scores on my chores. Grossly unfair. For several of those chores, she did not tell me everything she expected me to do. So, I got downgraded for missing details that weren’t even spelled out on my chores list. Maintenance consisted of a hand spanking. Gloria’s hand spankings are no joke when she wants to make a point—which she did in front of her young protégé. But I got through it without overly embarrassing myself. I didn’t struggle; I didn’t cry.

Gloria’s hairbrushing for chores performance was a different story.

Cynthia showed great delight in calculating the strokes earned for my chores, and Gloria delivered a very hard spank with her hairbrush for each point below perfect. I didn’t believe the number could be so high when Cynthia announced it, and while I got through the first part of my spanking with stoicism, that hairbrush in Gloria’s hand had me kicking and crying in no time. Cynthia got to see me shed real tears, and she did not fail to point them out with her girlish giggles.

After the maintenance spanking and the chores penalty paid, Gloria sent me to the corner. I was told to step out of my shoes, pants, and boxers, to display my red and purple ass for the ladies’ enjoyment while they talked over a pot of tea. The excitement Cynthia expressed for the evening’s display was untoward, and she talked enthusiastically about ways of applying seduction to trap her boyfriend into accepting a similar punishment.

Gloria doesn’t allow me to rub my bottom or to “fidget,” as she calls it, in the corner, so the slow passage of time is a misery all its own. I listened to the women’s conversation to break the monotony; help pass the time. Occasionally, there would be a lapse in the laughing and plotting, and I felt Cynthia’s eyes on me and heard her giggle. I had to pity the poor schlemiel, who would surrender to the seduction of a mindless twit like Cynthia.

Cynthia finally left almost an hour later, and Gloria called me from the corner. I started to complain about my treatment in front of a little girl, but Gloria quickly shushed me and sent me upstairs to put on my pajamas and go to bed without supper. Other than part of an apple, which I ate before my wife got home from work, I hadn’t eaten this evening, but my stomach was still too roiled from the hairbrushing for me to have much of an appetite.

Gloria followed me up not much later with two bags of ice and a jar of cold cream. I lay on my stomach, feeling sorry for myself, and intermittently crying. They say men are not supposed to cry. I say bullshit! I’d bet my own money better than half of all men would cry at least a little after going through what I did. True, I asked Gloria to take charge and to spank me whenever and however she wanted, but that night it just seemed so unfair.

“Raise up,” she told me and lowered my pajama bottoms below my ass when I did so. She applied cold cream with the lightest of touches. “I hope you will take your chores more seriously from now on,” she said as she smoothed it to cover the entire area.

It wasn’t a question, and after the way she cut off my protests earlier, I did not comment. In my mind, I determined I would damned well do the damned chores she assigned to perfection from that time forward. I never wanted to experience another hairbrushing like that one.

Gloria screwed the lid back onto the cold cream, laid a towel to cover the area, and gently balanced the ice bags on my ass, one for each cheek.

“I’ll check on you later. Get some sleep, if you can,” she said, kissed the back of my head, and turned off the light as she left the room.

I guess she held true to her word. When I awoke Saturday, there was no sign of the icepacks and my pajama bottoms had been pulled back in place. Gloria was already out of bed and down the stairs, which is not uncommon. I usually sleep longer than she, even with a glowing bottom, apparently. When I checked in the mirror, I saw some bruising, but not nearly as much as I’d expected. Regardless, it still hurt when I probed with my fingers.

Last week, Gloria told me to expect “Breakfast & Cleanup, Saturday” to appear on my chores list each week, so I dressed quickly (loose fitting sweats), and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. (Who knew bruised butt cheeks [contusions of the gluteus maximus, if you prefer] were involved when descending stairs?) Gloria was not in evidence, but coffee was made and the door to our den closed so I just called a cheerful, “Good morning,” from the hall, and proceeded to start breakfast. I decided to not burn the bacon this week.

We had a pleasant breakfast once Gloria came out of the office and posted my chores for the coming week. They were much like last week, so it took her far less time to print them out. I did not hear any uproarious laughter from the den as she worked on them, so she must not have gone into conference with Marissa and Cynthia to brainstorm ideas.

The layout of the list was the same, including the ominous declaration at the bottom:

Failure to complete these chores plus any other Gloria may identify during the week, to Gloria’s satisfaction, will result in bare-bottomed discipline!!!

This week, I had a very clear idea of just what that statement meant.

I got a “high four” for breakfast and the kitchen cleanup that morning (lack of imagination in the menu kept me from a five), and the first part of the week went well from there.

Wednesday, when I got home from work, there was a small box in our mail addressed to Gloria. She’d not told me to expect any packages as she usually does, but I wasn’t overly curious. When you buy most everything but groceries online, as we do, you see a lot of boxes, of all sizes, in the mail. One of my chores (not posted on Gloria’s list, as of yet) has been to collapse and stack empty boxes for recycling. When I don’t, they form disorderly piles and take up a lot of space in the garage.

I put the latest package on the counter along with a couple other items with Gloria’s name on them, sorted mine—the gas company and the electric bill—for later attention, and threw the rest (the greater amount) in the trash.

Since I pay the bills, I asked Gloria that evening if she ordered what was in the box. You never know, these days, who might send you something you didn’t want, then bill you later. Or bill you before they even ship it.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s for a new game I want to play.”

Good enough for me. Gloria belongs to a neighborhood “book club.” It is composed of women who meet twice a month to discuss a book they all read since the last meeting. At least, that’s how the club started. From what I gather, they’ve gotten away from books, and spend more time playing games like Scrabble, or Charades, or card games, most of which I can’t identify. And, of course, there is the wine punch, and the snacks and desserts the women bring to share. The club rotates whose house they meet at, and Gloria has told me the games are chosen by that night’s hostess. I go “bowling” the nights they meet at our house. As with the book club that doesn’t read books, my bowling takes place at the local pub.

So, Wednesday evening, I was just finishing up my nightly chore of cleaning the kitchen when Gloria walked into the room. She’d unbuttoned her blouse about halfway down, which is not how she wore it at dinner, and I smelled her perfume. This was to be a seduction. Without saying a word, she rested her arms on my shoulders, backed me up against the kitchen sink, and pulled my head down for a kiss while pressing the length of her against my body. Her hard little nipples pressed against my chest, and she held the kiss long enough to sense the length of me growing hard as well.

When she finally broke the kiss and backed away, she stepped over to the sugar bowl and sprinkled a pinch on the counter. “Would you look at that?” she said. “Tch, tch, I know a naughty boy who needs a good spanking for missing that disgraceful mess when he cleaned the counter.”

Ah, a seduction with a kink.

Gloria came back to me, got a good grip on the front of my shirt, and said, “Come with me, naughty boy,” as she led me out of the room and up the stairs.

In the bedroom, she stripped, and after a slight pause spent admiring my wife, I did so as well. Down to bra and panties, Gloria sat on the edge of the bed and watched me almost take a nosedive, rushing to remove my socks. She had a definite look of approval when I lowered my boxers, allowing my cock to come to a three-quarter erection.

Once I stood naked before her, Gloria patted her thigh and said, “Come to momma, naughty boy.”

By this time, her seduction reached its peak, and I was more than eager to do so. For clarification, Gloria does not strip down when she intends to deliver punishment. And while it is still embarrassing for me to strip completely naked for a spanking, then lay myself over my wife’s lovely lap, my three-quarters hard took on the strength of high-carbon steel.

It took a few minutes for Gloria to get me just where she wanted me, but once she did, she delivered a half-dozen hard spanks, alternating to the same spots on my defenseless bottom. Her hand came down with speed and bounced quickly back up so the actual contact time was very short. After number six, she paused, resting her hand on my cheeks. I felt the heat she generated with those few smacks, whether in her hand or my ass.

“Did you like those?” she asked.

“They kind of stung,” I said. I hoped she did not intend to keep that up for much longer. With the snap in her wrist, those pops damned well did sting. Still, she’d not brought or sent me to the bathroom for her hairbrush, so I wasn’t about to complain too much.

“Good,” she said, “that’s the effect I wanted.”

The break was over, and she gave me six more like those first half-dozen, if not a little harder, to the same two spots. She paused again and rubbed them in.

“I’m glad you finally admitted this kink of yours, husband. I’m enjoying it far more than I ever thought I would. It really gets the juices flowing, as you’ll discover later. So, back to work.”

This break, though less than a minute, gave me a chance to catch the breath I’d not realized I held as she spanked me. When she resumed, Gloria adopted a more conventional style, still hard spanks but without the same spring. She also spread the points of impact around, covering most of my ass and down to the tops of my thighs. Her rhythm was steady, but the choice of location was erratic. I never knew where the next spank would land—high, low or the exact same spot again and again.

Gloria’s stamina has grown steadily since she started spanking me, and this encounter lasted long enough for me to feel well and truly spanked before it was over. Still, though my ass adopted an impressive red color, she didn’t raise any fresh purple bruises to admire in the mirror.

Finished, Gloria pushed me off her lap, stood, skimmed her panties down her long legs and off, and sat back on the edge of the bed. “I’ve done my part. Now get to work and show me your gratitude for this lesson, boy,” she said as she spread her knees apart to reveal her glistening outer lips.

I brought my wife and disciplinarian to three orgasms before she scooted back on the bed, allowing me to get off my knees and scramble on top of her. There was so much lubrication my first thrust went balls deep, and I set up a rhythm of my own.

“Take your time, John,” Gloria said. “Make this last so we can cum together.” Her voice crooning the siren song of seduction.

My blue steel cock wilted to half-hard during my spanking, but it reclaimed its full strength while I knelt feasting at Gloria’s bounty. Which is to say I was more than halfway home before the caboose entered the tunnel. I slowed down at Gloria’s urging, but she did not let me stop completely to gain control.

Gloria moaned and said, “I’m so close, John, just a little longer.”

But in my heightened state, that “little longer” seemed very long indeed, but she still had not come. Then, it was: “That’s so good. I love the bulk of your cock in me. Hold back, John, just a little longer.”

Naturally, being a gentleman, I did hang on a little longer—more than once—but, ultimately, it burst out of my control. I came with a spasmodic jerk that locked my body up from my head to my toes. It may have been the longest, most powerful orgasm I’ve had since I was in my twenties.

Gloria had her arms wrapped around me, squeezing tight, until I finally came down from the heights. As I collapsed and struggled to get my breath, she said, “Wow. Impressive. It’s too bad you could not hold it for just a little longer, though. I’ll spank you for that, of course, but not tonight. Not tonight if…”

She put her hands on my shoulders and started pushing me down her body.

“Not again,” I said. “You know I really don’t enjoy this.”

“I know, dear, but you made the mess. You should be the one to clean it up. Besides, if you do a good job, I’ll finally get that orgasm you couldn’t wait just a little longer to share with me.”

I must have done a passable job, despite my aversion to eating cum. When I went down to the kitchen the next morning, there was no sign of sugar on the counter and Gloria had awarded me a five for Cleanup After Dinner.

END of Part 14

The story continues with: Think Carefully 15 

Copyright © 2024 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.

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