Home | Short stories | Dialogs | Novels | Diversions and oddities | Non-fiction | Pin-up art
Copyright © 2004 Frenulum. All rights reserved.
The doorbell rang. I usually ignore it when I’m working (I work from a home office), but I’d been in the kitchen fetching coffee and was both already distracted and close to the front door. So I pulled it open, prepared for someone peddling subscriptions or siding or salvation.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. Standing on the front porch was one of the girls from the college cheerleading squad — of which my wife is the head coach.
Oh, but she was a cliché of a lass. Any screenwriter or casting director would have been ashamed to put her in a story, she was so obviously an exact match for the type.
Her face was classic American Suburban Inbred: so innocuously flawless that she’d be indistinguishable from dozens of her pert-nosed, full-lipped, clear-skinned, and blue-eyed peers. Her bright-gold hair was drawn up into a ponytail, high on the back of her head. She was in uniform: sneakers, a tit-hugging cropped stretch top sporting the college logo, and a micro-mini skirt. That little pleated skirt contributed to the illusion that her legs alone were six feet long, but in reality she was not a tall girl — maybe five-four or so.
I felt certain at that quick first glance that, when her girlfriends spoke of her, the word “perky” came up early. And that when the boys spoke of her, ditto for “legs.”
Only the envelope she was holding, and the look of worry in her eyes, made her more real and believable than a frat boy’s door poster.
“Mr. Reynolds?” she asked, with a trace of nervousness in her voice.
“That’s right. Is that for me?” I indicated the envelope.
“Yes. Coach said to wait while you read it.”
I found the situation a bit strange — if my wife wants me during the day, she can just call. Or, in fact, stop by, since we live only a five-minute walk from campus. She’d never sent a note home before.
I backed up a step and motioned the young lady inside the house. I closed the front door and turned to find her extending the envelope to me. Her hand was trembling. She kept glancing at my face and then looking away.
I opened the envelope and observed that the enclosed note wasn’t brief. “This may take a minute,” I said to the cheerleader, “Why don’t you have a seat?” I led the way to the living room, and she took a seat on the very edge of an armchair. I took the opportunity to admire her spectacular wheels — hey, I’m human — thinking how much hotter she’d look in a nice pair of spike heels instead of sneakers. I turned my attention back to the handwritten note.
“You remember the accident at the game four years ago, the one that sent two girls to the hospital? Well today in practice, Karen Wells, who just gave you this note, pulled pretty much the same stunt. No broken bones or concussion this time, but that was just luck.
“She’s been missing a lot of practices, and not giving me 100% attention or effort when she does come. The spill today was completely Karen’s fault.
“I’m at the end of my rope with her. I told her that she was officially kicked off the team. She pleaded like mad until I finally gave her another option.
“If she wants her spot back, she has to see you for discipline. And yes, I mean exactly what I get when I misbehave.
“To be clear on ‘exactly’ — honey, I know you’ve been completely faithful to me since well before we married. I truly appreciate how fortunate I am in that respect. But today only, one time offer — and don’t think this is going to happen again — the reins are off. I promise promise promise no jealousy from me — and no, I’m not looking for a quid pro quo in the future. Think of it as an early birthday present, if that helps.
“I’ve told Karen what to expect. She wants to be back on the team more than anything. Since you’re reading this, she’s already decided it’s worth the price.
“Love and thank you!
Disbelief was probably the foremost of my many reactions. I looked over at Karen, who was on the edge of her seat in more than one sense. She was alternately staring at the floor in front of her and looking apprehensively at me. I turned back to the note, and reread the entire thing quickly.
I remembered quite clearly the accident Amy referred to. Someone had missed an assignment and two girls had fallen — both injured, one badly. My wife was devastated by the incident, and spent many a sleepless night trying to think of something she could have done, something she might have emphasized as a coach, that could have prevented it. It was a long time before things were back to normal with her.
I read again: “...exactly what I get when I misbehave.”
Amy’s my best friend and my only love. She’s as wonderful a woman as a man could ever hope for. Having said that, like all women, she’s a bit irrational, and a bit impulsive, and a bit inconsistent, and, well, completely unable to tell time. All of which means that she occasionally crosses the line between good and bad behavior — I mean two, three, maybe four times in a typical year. She’s therefore very well acquainted with properly administered domestic discipline.
Clearly, she thought that the same technique might be effective with Miss Karen.
But that extra bit — what she said about “exactly” and “faithful” and “the reins are off” — wow. Just wow. Unbelievable.
Spanking Amy makes me horny, there’s no denying it. Most people probably associate spankings with such unpleasant emotions as contrition and shame. But to me the emotions at the true heart of a spanking are trust, and love, and hope — all happy things that aren’t at all inconsistent with a feeling of friskiness. Add a beautiful nude woman and a shapely ass and, well, maybe it’s not so crazy to get turned on.
So my discipline sessions with Amy always end the same way. When her spanking is done, she gets on her knees and sucks me off. And when I start to cum, she slips my cock out of her mouth and hoses down her face with a big load of spunk. She says it’s “to wash the tears away.” I think really it’s just her way of saying thanks for the course correction. Or maybe she just wants to put me in a good mood.
And now, apparently, I’d been authorized not only to spank perky little Karen, but to take care of any resulting sexual needs.
Holy cow. I thought, “This stuff doesn’t happen in real life.” But there was the note — I wasn’t imagining it. Carte blanche from my own wife to prong a student. Gulp.
When I looked back at the nervous cheerleader in my living room, it was with renewed appreciation of her physical charms and, finally, a complete understanding of her demeanor. I couldn’t help taking one more look at the note in my hand, just reassuring myself that it was real and that I wasn’t fantasizing, before putting it down on an end table.
“Stand up, Karen,” I said, breaking the silence and startling the girl. She obeyed instantly, flashing me a frightened look. I stepped across the living room to her; I got too close, invading her personal space like a drill sergeant does with a boot camp recruit. She looked straight forward, at a spot on my chest, as I looked down at her pretty face.
“Tell me about practice today,” I said calmly.
“We were doing a three-rank pivot, two up,” she replied. “I thought —”
Her self-control failed, and teardrops started spilling down her cheeks. “I heard the mark but I thought it was rotate right, and, and, it was left, and —”
She was crying openly by that point, her face contorted in anguish. She had to struggle to get the words out. “And I stepped back instead of f-f-forward and the whole formation c-collapsed and there were sp-spotters but still M-Marissa and Jenna and S-Sophie all landed p-pretty hard and, and — C-C-Coach said —”
The recollection of what Coach had said intensified her misery. “Coach said I was off the team unless —”
“Unless?” I prompted.
“Unless I c-came here for, for —”
She was unable to finish. I watched the tears roll down her pretty face.
“What did she tell you to expect?”
She really didn’t want to say it, but there was no way out. “A, a, a spanking. On my b-bare bottom. Coach s-said you were an expert d-d-disciplinarian.”
Now she bawled. “She, she, she said you w-would want s-sex after, and, and, I had to c-coöperate.” She broke off and lifted her hands to bury her face in them. “I don’t want to have a spanking! I don’t want to have sex with someone I don’t even know!” she wailed.
I said softly, “You don’t have to. It’s your choice. You’re free to leave if that’s what you want.”
She dropped her hands. For the first time she tilted her head back and looked at me. “I can’t!” she cried, “I’ve been a cheerleader since I was twelve. If someone doesn’t know me by name, people say ‘Karen, you know, the cheerleader.’ I have to be on the team! If I’m not a cheerleader, I’m, I’m, I’m not anything at all!”
I felt a little pity for the young lady. She’d find a better foundation for her self-image some day, but I remembered how tough it could be in those early, searching years. Pity, however, wasn’t going to stop me from spanking the delicious girl, and some part of my thoughts and all of my dick were anticipating what came after that.
“How old are you, Karen?” I asked.
My cock twitched at her answer. Not for any good reason — I already knew this hottie would be on the fresh side of twenty-two or -three, as all the students were — but there’s something about that syllable: “teen.” I’m going to take this teenager’s panties down. I’m going to turn a teen co-ed over my knee and spank her naughty ass. I’m going to get some teenage pussy or some teen tongue or maybe both. It just sounded... yummier. The girl was twenty years my wife’s junior, almost a quarter century younger than me. What a treat. What a gift.
“Nineteen. Well, that’s old enough to understand what happened today, and to recognize your part in causing a serious accident,” I scolded. “Amy — Coach, I mean — writes that you’ve been slacking off all season.”
Karen had had her crying momentarily under control, but my words prompted a fresh spate of tears. “I’ve been trying! It’s just... school is so hard this year, it’s t-ten times worse than F-Freshman year!”
I gave her a stern look. “Other students balance class work and activities,” I said. “You can, too. That’s a sorry excuse for your dreadful, dangerous behavior. If you’re going to be a cheerleader then you need to commit to it and give it your full effort.”
She nodded tearfully. “That’s what Coach said.”
“Well, she’s right,” I continued. “And if you aren’t willing to do that, you’re putting your teammates in harm’s way.”
Again, she nodded her understanding.
“So what’s it going to be, Karen?” I demanded. “Do I send you home with your lame excuses and your childish weeping, or do I give you the punishment you’ve earned and send you back, like a grown-up, to the team?”
Karen got a grip on her breathing, well enough to answer me clearly, although with effort. Teardrops continued to fall. “That. The, the spanking. And... and after, if — if you want. And. Back to the team.” She snuffled, and let out a deep breath. “Please,” she added.
I took her by the shoulders and spun her a half turn around. Before she even knew what was happening, I unfastened the catch at the back of her skirt, opened the zipper, and let the tiny scrap of cloth drop to the floor around her feet. She wore modestly styled panties that matched the outfit, as of course all the cheerleaders did. I’d always sort of hoped someone would be bold enough to try a bikini-cut panty, or even a thong — since the whole point of cheerleading from a man’s point of view is to look up hot girls’ skirts. Not a thought I’d ever shared with Amy.
She’d been startled by the sudden move, perhaps not expecting me to get started with no further preliminaries, but stood straight with her arms at her sides, offering no resistance.
I knelt behind her on one knee, getting my first good look at her ass. I put a hand over her panties on her right cheek, and heard a little gasp at the contact. I stroked the globe with the palm of my hand, appreciating the firmness of her flesh and the delicate curviness of her figure. It was going to be a pleasure to turn this sexy bottom over my knee.
“Turn,” I said, and with a hand on each hip backed up the order with a gentle push and pull. She turned in place, her miniskirt still puddled around her feet. The panties were tight against her pubis, and there was a slight indentation where the fabric hugged the cleft of her pussy lips. It was a beautiful sight indeed. But without further delay I took hold of the waistband and slipped Karen’s panties down to her thighs.
She started to move to cover her sex, thought better of it, and let her hands drop to her sides again.
Karen’s pussy lips were plump, smooth, and hairless. Above her lips a finger-wide stripe of close-trimmed blonde cunt hairs divided her mons neatly in half. I reached out and stroked the landing strip with a finger.
“Nice touch,” I said, looking up at her face. She was blushing bright red, embarassed beyond description to have me staring at her puss from just inches away, ashamed of being handled so intimately by a stranger. “Keep your pussy trimmed for your boyfriend?”
Her reply came as a complete surprise. “For Coach,” she said.
“Coach makes all the girls do it,” she explained. “She says she doesn’t want hairs peeking out of the uniform. She says these days everybody has cameras, and every oops ends up on-line.” Well, that was true enough, but I sure had never thought about it. Amy kept her own snatch bare, to encourage my oral attentions, but to imagine two dozen co-ed cooters all neatly groomed was heady stuff. The next time I watched the cheer squad at a game, I was going to have a hard-on for sure.
Reluctantly leaving the charming sight, I rose to my feet.
There are a few places in our home that are good spots for a spanking, and since the living room couch was handy, I chose that one. I left Karen standing where she was, and went to the couch and took a seat right in the middle. “Come here,” I commanded.
She walked awkwardly toward me, with her uniform panties still stretched between her thighs. That’s a sight I’ve always enjoyed, and when Amy misbehaves I always contrive some way to watch her in the same predicament. My dick was half-hard by the time Karen reached the couch.
With a few words and gestures I got the naughty teenage cheerleader into the proper position: across my lap at an angle, so that her head and upper body were supported by the couch, her bottom was directly over my right leg, and her legs were stretched out to my right with the toes of her sneakers on the floor.
The panties had served their entertainment purpose, so I slipped them down and off over Karen’s feet. She still wore her uniform top and her sneakers. I sat up straight and stroked the teen girl’s beautiful, sexy bottom, once again making her jump at the first contact. Oh, what a fine ass! Soft skin tautly stretched over toned muscle, barely marked with a faint v-shaped bikini line. I took my time, caressing the beautiful globes, just enjoying the femininity of those curves.
I kept stroking that sexy ass while I told the naughty girl what was coming. “Karen, I’m going to start your spanking now. I’m just using my hand. It might feel like a paddle or a strap, but it’s just a plain old-fashioned spanking.”
That got the waterworks going again. “P-please, Mr. Reynolds, isn’t there any other w-way?” she sobbed.
“No. You’ve behaved badly, you’ve endangered others, and you’re going to atone for that,” I replied. “More important, you’re going to have an experience that will ensure there’s no slacking off in the future.”
With Amy, there’s usually a lot more discussion before a spanking. Reviewing her misbehavior, talking about issues and consequences, evaluating mitigating factors, deciding how to prevent relapses, and so on. With Karen, I figured she’d already been lectured to death by my wife, and there wasn’t much to decide on. I was just going to give her all she could take.
If dicks could talk, mine would have added “Then me! Then me!”
There was just one more thing to say. “Keep your hands out of the way, or I’ll punish you for interfering as well.” With that, I stopped stroking her delicious ass. She tensed, knowing why.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
I got to work. I don’t know if Amy was right, calling me an “expert disciplinarian,” but I do give spankings carefully and thoughtfully. My swats are aimed at specific spots and their force is calculated for best effect.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Poor little Karen, who’d been crying almost since I laid eyes on her, wailed like the proverbial banshee at the very first swat. After a dozen or so she was sobbing at full strength, and as every spank connected with her bottom she yelped, moaned, yipped, or cried louder. “Ow! Oweeee! No! Please! Ouch! Please! Arrr! Stop! Ooooooooo!” My ears were ringing after only a minute or so. And, of course, I paid no attention to her requests for mercy.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
In the early part of the spanking, I was landing medium-strength smacks over the whole surface of both of Karen’s sweet asscheeks. That tenderized the skin so that every subsequent swat would sting even more. I worked pretty slowly, concentrating on coverage. As I spanked away at the sexy young ass over my knee, I could feel my cock making the slow trip from half-hard to re-bar.
SMACK! Yeeow! SMACK! No more! SMACK! Eeeeeowee! SMACK! Oh pleeeeeease!
Naughty little Karen’s beautiful bare bottom was a nice, uniform, attractive shade of pink. I stopped spanking her for a moment, and ran my hands over her sweet butt-cheeks, enjoying their taut fullness, the texture of her soft skin, and the spanking-induced warmth of her flesh. The relative quiet after a good 15 minutes of screaming was refreshing to my ears.
“Is it over?” sobbed the poor young girl, after I’d been playing with her delightful ass for a few minutes.
“Over? Not at all,” I replied. “But I think you’ve been warmed up enough, and now I can start your real spanking.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” she wailed, “Oh, please, no more, please, please!”
I wasn’t going to relent. “Karen, here’s what happens to bad girls who don’t listen, who don’t try their best, and who hurt other people.” With that, I started her in-earnest spanking.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
My strokes now were full-strength, with my palm held as rigid as I could manage. I landed five or six stinging slaps in the same spot, one on top of another, to concentrate the pain and drive the lesson home. When I had fully punished one spot, I switched cheeks; then moved back again to select a new location.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Karen’s cries now were wordless, almost a continuous keening as my hand blistered her bottom. Her legs were kicking, her sneakers drum-rolling on the living room floor.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
The skin of the wretched girl’s bottom was now a deep, blotchy pink. My cock, trapped in my pants, was rock hard and throbbing. Karen could probably have felt it pressing against her, if she’d been able to give any attention to anywhere but her ass.
I stopped for a moment, and with both hands lifted Karen’s left leg up on to the couch, pulling it toward me. Then I moved her right leg away, letting it fall between my knees. The moves spread the teen’s spectacular legs apart as far as I could manage, and as a result gave me a delightful view of her invitingly smooth pussy. Reaching between her legs, I cupped her snatch in my right hand and began to caress her there. She jumped at the unexpected contact, but didn’t say anything immediately. After a minute or so of the gentle stroking, though, I heard her muffled voice.
“What are you doing?”
Silly girl. “Playing with your pussy. Don’t you like it?”
There was a long pause, and then she admitted “It feels nice.” She snuffled in a few more ragged breaths. “Is it — is it over now?”
I slipped a finger between her outer lips and found the bud of her clitoris. I toyed with her there, and the quality of her gasps changed noticeably. After a moment I slid my finger along her slit again, and finally picked up some moisture. Reluctantly, I switched back to spanking.
“No, Karen, not yet. I need to make sure you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I have! I have!” she cried desperately. “Oh please no more!”
WHACK! “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah haaaaaaaaaaaannhhhh haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhnhhn!!”
Spanking fast and very hard, moving around, driving pain home. I let some spanks start to fall on that sensitive bun-thigh crease, and those drew tortured shrieks from the cheerleader’s throat. Minute after minute passed with no relief as I spanked that bad girl’s flaming bottom on, and on, and on.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
It was going to have to end pretty soon: there wasn’t much of her bottom that could take another volley of swats, and judging by her wailing there wasn’t much more she could handle mentally. As I spanked, I was looking ahead to what would come next. Her pussy, which had clung so snugly to my probing fingers, promised to be a delightfully snug playground. But her mouth, soft, pink, and full-lipped, was also inviting. Then, too, my wife’s words loomed large: “exactly what you give me,” she’d written. Well, exactly what I gave Amy after a spanking was a mouthful of hard cock. I had to consider that, perhaps, that was as far as Amy was willing to let me go with the pretty co-ed.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“Do you have a boyfriend, Karen?”
Stripped of the yelps, screams, and sobs, her reply was “Not now. I had one freshman year but we broke up over the summer.”
It had been hard to pick the words out, so I stopped the spanking again, and insinuated a finger back between the young cheerleader’s cuntlips to resume my stroking and clitty play.
“Did you and your boyfriend have sex?”
“Did you suck his cock?”
Long pause. She clearly didn’t like the line of questions. But she was too afraid of me not to answer.
I let my probing finger slip, moistened by her pussy, just a little way up her vagina. It got a good deal wetter. “Are you a good cocksucker, Karen?” I slipped my finger farther in and, twisting my hand a bit, got another finger back onto her little clit.
“I— I don’t know. I guess.”
“You guess you’re a good cocksucker? Well, did your boyfriend cum in your mouth?”
“Oh, no! That’s so gross. I would never let anyone do that.”
Well, that sealed it. If this girl was a cum-eating virgin, I was definitely going for her mouth. I thought about it for a while as I masturbated the half-nude co-ed over my knee. My dick throbbed, anxious for relief.
I pulled my hand out of Karen’s cunt and stroked her bottom with both hands, assessing the spanking. My right hand left a glistening trail of girl-juice on her sexy buns as I assayed her hot, tender ass.
“Twelve more spanks,” I announced. To the tune of Karen’s renewed wailing, I polished off her spanking, landing six dead-center swats on each pert cheek.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“There now,” I said, “All finished. And I hope you’ve learned that you’re not to miss any practices, or to be inattentive, or to slack off, or to fail to learn your routines perfectly.”
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed.
“And if you don’t behave as I’ve said,” I continued, “I have no doubt that Coach will send you right back here for another serious reminder.” I was talking completely through my hat, especially as Amy’s note had emphasized the one-time nature of this episode, but I thought a little hellfire in the sermon would help the message stick.
With the spanking out of the way, I had the freedom to lean over a bit so I could spread Karen’s pussy lips with one hand and toy with her with the other. I got my first good look at her goodies then — she had tiny, delicate inner lips, and a nice fat clitty. I got a finger back up her cunt and started frigging her gently. She was so tight on just one finger, I imagined she’d feel astounding on a thick hard cock. But I’d made up my mind: I wanted her pretty face instead.
Rubbing the teen girl’s sweet pussy had the desired effect of helping her catch her breath and settle down after the fierce spanking. When I thought she’d be ready, I said, “Karen, you may get up now.”
Sounding embarassed, she replied, “Umm. Uh, could I — could you keep doing that for just a little bit?”
That put a smile on my face. “You like having your pussy played with?”
“Does it feel good?”
“Let me hear you tell me.”
“It feels good when you rub my... pussy. It feels so good.”
“Are you going to cum, little Karen?”
“Mmmm. I think...”
“Do you want to cum, Karen?”
“I— I want to cum. Please? Please help me cum?”
I got two slippery fingers aligned on either side of her clit, which was peeking out of its little hood, and stroked her back and forth, applying just the faintest squeeze. Karen’s hips were starting to rock over my knee. I slipped my thumb up her cunt, changed to three fingers at her clit, and stroked the little bud with all three. Suddenly, she was there.
“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggg ohhhhhhhhhhh, yes, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhh, ah, ah, ah,” she gasped, hips bucking wildly as I felt her cunt clamp down on my probing thumb. I kept up the contact through her climax, not rubbing but letting her control the pressure, until I felt her draw away slightly. I pulled out of her cunt and rested my hand on her hot, scarlet bottom.
Neither of us moved for a few minutes. Karen’s breathing eventually got quiet. “Time to get up,” I said.
She pushed herself up with her arms as her left leg slid off the couch. I saw her face for the first time since she went across my lap — it had been hidden in the crevice between the seat and back of the couch. Her pretty face was nearly as red as her butt. Her eyes were puffy and red and her whole face was soggy with tears.
“Here, let me dry up those tears for you.” I softly dabbed her tearstained cheeks, and Karen was so overwhelmed by her spanking and her orgasm that she never noticed I was using her uniform panties as a hanky. The tenderness of my attentions coaxed fresh tears to run silently from her eyes, so by the time I had cleaned her face as well as I could, her panties were quite damp.
I was about to burst from horniness. I grabbed a cushion off the sofa and put it on the floor. “Kneel on that,” I ordered. With an apprehensive look at me, the chastised teenager complied.
It took me about three seconds to get my pants off. I stood right in front of the kneeling cheerleader as I took hold of the waistband of my boxers. “Hey, Karen, look what you made,” I said, and dropped my shorts. My cock was pointing pretty nearly straight up, jumping and twitching with my pulse, and feeling like it was going to explode from the pressure. The pretty teen’s eyes widened, but she made no other move. I had zero patience at that point.
“Karen, suck my cock,” I commanded sharply.
“Please,” she said, unable to tear her gaze from my hard-on, “Do I have to?”
“You’re not back on the team until I’m satisfied, and I’m not going to be satisfied until you’ve sucked me off. Now get busy!”
She wrapped one hand around my cock, somehow managing to bend it down toward her face. She licked her lips, opened her mouth, and leaned forward, capturing the head of my cock in her mouth. The sensation was exquisite — cool and hot at the same time. Very slowly she began to move her head back and forth — but after a few suck strokes I realized that that was all she was going to do, and that about half an inch of shaft was as much as she was planning to take.
“Use your tongue,” I said. I didn’t feel any change. “Lick my cock while you suck it in and out.” She stopped the in and out motion and I felt her tongue-tip under the head of my dick, making a little fore-and-aft motion. “That’s better,” I encouraged her. “Now keep doing that, and slide my cock in and out at the same time.” It took her a few tries, but she eventually got the hang of it.
What the heck, I thought, she’s a college student, she might as well learn something while she’s in school. Wouldn’t want her mom and dad to spend all that money for nothing. “When I’m mostly out of your mouth,” I lectured, “You can swirl your tongue all over the head — in circles, back and forth, over the top, over the sides. When I’m farther in your mouth, lick hard on the underneath part.” She kept bobbing her head slowly back and forth, and now I was getting a lot more tongue action. “Ah, Karen, that’s much better,” I complimented her. I enjoyed the tentative way she explored the new techniques as she continued her shallow blow job.
“Now take it out and lick it all over,” I told her. She obeyed, and the dainty tip of her pink tongue dabbed over the shaft of my prick. “No. Nice, big, sloppy slurps,” I directed. She looked up at me, some surprise in her face.
“Like this?” she queried, as she gave me a good long lap from base to head.
“Just like that,” I replied. “Keep it up. Get me wet all over. Make it sloppy. Lick my balls.”
“Really?” Now she was very surprised. “You like that too?”
“Every man does,” I told her, pretty confident that that must be true. Her tongue washed over my nutsack and I moaned appreciatively as she flooded each ball in turn. “Now suck it,” I said.
She came obediently back up to the head of my cock and sucked it in. Her tonguing was stronger and more varied and much more erotic than it had been at the outset. I watched her sweet pink lips pressing inward and outward as my shaft entered and receded. “Look at me, Karen,” I told her. “Keep your eyes open the whole time, and keep looking into mine.” She complied with my instructions, and as her wide, clear eyes met mine I felt the first preliminary drop of semen ooze from my cumhole.
I tapped the hand that was curled around my prick. “Take your hand away,” I said. “Now go farther as you suck. Let more of my cock into your mouth.” I let her try that for a while. She was getting a little more dick, not much. Still, what had started as a truly awful beejer had turned into quite an enjoyable one. “Deeper,” I said, and after a few minutes “Deeper” again. She wasn’t making much progress.
“Put your hands on my ass,” I told her. Her eyes showed surprise but the cute co-ed did as she was told. “Keep them there,” I ordered, as I grabbed hold of her perky ponytail right at the root. I began to urge her head forward with my hand. With satisfaction, I noted that her lips were now traveling almost half way down my shaft. “Oh, yeah, honey, now you’re gettin’ it,” I exclaimed. “Keep your tongue active. Keep those pretty lips nice and tight.”
I started to think about cumming in her mouth, about how great it was going to feel and how happy I was going to be to give Miss Karen her inaugural feast of spunk. And as I was enjoying her vastly improved suck job and thinking about dumping a big steaming load on her tongue, I was struck with the best idea I have ever had. What if I...? How would...? Oh, man, would that be hot or would that be hot?
“Karen, go down and stay down,” I ordered. She didn’t quite understand: she sucked me in and started to slip right back up. With my hand on her ponytail I kept her from getting away, and tugged that joystick to bring her back to the halfway point. “Stay down, I said. Keep my cock in as deep as you can.” She froze with my cock in her mouth. “Good. Now lick. Don’t back off. All the way down. Lick. No, stop trying to get away. Stay deep. Open your lips, stick your tongue out, let me see that tongue licking my cock.” She tried, and choked a little, her eyes closing momentarily as she fought it. “Good girl. It’s ok if you gag a little bit, that shows you’re trying. Stay down, nice and deep now. Lick. Lick it, baby. Lots of tongue. Keep your eyes open, look up at me. Stick that tongue out, I need to see it licking my cock. Way out. Lick. It’s ok to gag, don’t worry, I won’t let you choke. Keep it going. Good girl. Now up.” I pulled her ponytail — for blowjobs that or a pair of pigtails is absolutely the only way to go — and led her back up until she was just sucking cockhead. “Ok, nice and slow, down and stay down, just like that.” I kept my hand on the joystick but didn’t lead her. My pretty little teenage cocksucker did just as she’d been taught, slurping fully half my cock in and holding the deep penetration as her tongue worked busily over my shaft. Her eyes were watering with the effort not to choke on it, and when I grabbed her ponytail and rocked her face from side to side, rubbing my cockhead against the back of her mouth, teardrops overflowed and ran down her rosy cheeks.
Oh, sweet bliss. I was getting close. Time to tell the prim cheerleader what was in store for her. “Keep that up, Karen,” I said. “Up and suck the head. Down and hold it and lick. Yeah, oh yeah, honey, that’s great. Tongue out where I can see it every time. Open and lick. Deep as you can. Take a little more now, just a little. Oh, good girl.” Her eyes smiled every time I called her that. “Good girl. Oh, yeah, nice, nice, that’s sweet. Pretty soon I’m gonna cum in your mouth, Karen.” She made a humming sound that was probably a protest, but she kept sucking my cock like she’d been told. “I know you don’t want me to, I know you don’t like it, but I don’t care — that’s what’s gonna happen. Now listen carefully. I’m gonna shoot a big hot load of cum right in your mouth. Don’t swallow it. Don’t drink it. Don’t spit it out. Don’t let it spill out. You need to hold every last drop in your mouth.” Her eyes were wide and she didn’t look particularly happy at my orders.
“Remember, Karen, you’re not back on the team,” I warned, “Until Coach hears me say so.” She managed to nod a little bit, despite being impaled on my cock. “So you need to keep doing what I tell you.” Suck. Hold. Lick. Up. Goodness, she was getting good at giving head. I felt the sperm starting to boil up my shaft.
I dropped her ponytail and grabbed her head in both hands. I short-stroked into the teen girl’s sucking mouth, ten, fifteen, twenty times, her lips rubbing just behind my cockhead. “Here it comes, baby!”
A glob of spooge oozed out of my cumhole and the kneeling cheerleader got her very first helping of sperm cocktail. Then I started firing blasts of hot salty cum straight into the co-ed’s sucking mouth — one! two! three! four! five! — and though the intensity diminished the volume didn’t. I filled the girl’s mouth with enough jizz for a bukkake scene — I doubt I’ve ever been so excited or spurted so much cock cream. I thrust in and out of her dainty pink lips and filled her mouth to capacity with fragrant spunk.
“Remember, don’t spill any, don’t swallow any, don’t lose any,” I gasped, as I slipped my dick out of her mouth. Her lips closed carefully around my receding cockhead as my little cumdump managed to secure every last drop of the massive load I’d fed her.
I helped Karen to her feet. For the first time all afternoon, it hit me that I’d never had her take her top off. Oh, well, I’m not that much of a tit man anyway. I picked her pleated miniskirt up off the floor and handed it to her. “Put it on,” I said.
Karen looked over at her panties, lying crumpled on the couch, and motioned with her head as she hummed “Mmm mmmmm?” through a mouthfull of jizz.
“I’m keeping the panties,” I said, smiling at her. She looked worried, as well she might — going commando in a skirt that short was going to be a risky proposition.
“Now here are the rest of your instructions,” I said, as the cheerleader fastened her uniform skirt. “Head straight back to the gym. It’s a five minute walk, if you keep up a good pace. Keep every last drop of that cum in your mouth.” Her eyes grew huge as all of the implications of my orders started to sink in. “Find Coach,” I continued, “Make sure the two of you have privacy.” I smiled as I delivered the last instruction. “And then I want you, as you kiss her on the mouth, to feed her all of that nice cum.”
Karen was shaking her head in denial, disbelief, protest, horror — whatever. I looked at her calmly and dropped the bomb. “When Amy — Coach — calls me up, and tells me that you just filled her mouth with a big load of spooge — not some little bitty taste, but that whole mouthful — then I’ll tell her to reinstate you to the team. If she doesn’t?” I smiled gently. “No more Karen The Cheerleader.”
I went to the front door and, using it to shield the neighborhood from my half-naked body, opened it. “You should probably get moving,” I said. “It’s really, really hard to hold something in your mouth for a long time without swallowing.” The anxious teen took one step toward the door and then realized that haste was her only resource. She shot me one last look and was out the door, walking briskly toward campus.
I closed the door and thought about her situation. Walking across campus on a breezy day, wearing a micro-miniskirt designed for motion, wearing no panties to cover her hairless pussy or her flaming, crimson bottom; carrying a mouthful of warm, salty, aromatic semen (“gross!”); having to avoid anyone who might want to talk to her or slow her down at all; tasked with finding my wife, who could be in the gym, in her office, in a locker room, on a practice field, or a dozen other places; getting her to go someplace secluded, without being able to talk; and forced to passionately kiss another woman (presumably for the first time) who would be expecting neither the kiss itself nor the payload behind it.
I glanced at my watch. Four thirty-seven.
The telephone rang. Four forty-six. The caller ID showed Amy’s office line.
“Mmmmm. Mmmmm mmmm-mmmm,” hummed Amy’s voice.
A huge grin appeared on my face. Bravo, Miss Karen, you pass with flying colors.
I feigned puzzlement. “Hello?” I repeated, “Is someone there?” I tried to keep the amusement out of my voice, but Amy reads me pretty well.
“MMMM-mmmmm-mmmmm!!” she hummed. A three-note glissando that goes with my one-syllable first name only if the mood behind it is pure exasperation.
Amy and I have a little game we play. I can’t remember exactly how it started, but we’ve done it forever: she never swallows a load of my cum until I tell her to.
“Amy?” I asked innocently. “Is that you?”
“Is there something wrong? Can’t you talk?”
“M mmmm m mmmmmmmm mm mmm mmm m mmmm mmmmmmmmmm mm mmmmmmm mm!”
“Oh, I bet I know what the problem is. Do you have a mouthful of cum, by any chance?”
“Tell me,” I said, trying to prolong my fun, “How in the world did that happen? I mean, I thought you were at work.”
“MMMM-mmmm-mmmm!!!” That three-tone Cli-i-iff again. I detected that it was time to quit stalling.
“Amy, you may swallow that cum,” I told her, laughing.
There was a brief pause. Then Amy’s voice, sticky in an extremely erotic sort of way. “Cliff, you devious little... husband, you.”
I chuckled. “Me, devious? I thought it was perfectly straightforward. I mean, this way you know exactly how everything went.”
“I take it that I’m to give Karen a second chance?”
“You have all the evidence there. Well, you just swallowed half of it, but —”
“Hold on a sec,” Amy said. Then I heard her address Karen. “Turn around and bend over.”
There was a brief pause, and then Amy was back with me. “Cliff, her bottom, oh my god! You really gave it to her!”
“You said to treat her just as I do you, my very-rarely-almost-never-occasionally-sometimes misbehaving bride. What you get, she got.”
“I suppose. Well, thanks for giving me a way out. I didn’t really want to lose her from the team. I need to talk to Karen for a few minutes, but I’ll be home right after that.”
The doorbell rang. I had shut down my office — no way was I going to be able to get my mind back on work — and was starting to putter around in the kitchen, thinking about dinner. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and headed for the front door.
I opened the door to an unbelievable sight. There was Amy. And there was Karen, now in street clothes — a tank top and a short jeans skirt. They were kissing, open mouthed and with evident passion, their arms wrapped snuggly around each other, their bodies pressed tightly. Karen’s eyes were closed, but Amy’s were open, and she directed a steamy look my way.
The girls parted and Amy led Karen into the house with a hand on her arm.
“Look what followed me home, Cliff,” said Amy mischievously. “Can I keep her?”
“Umm. Uh. I. Umm. Er....” was my witty response.
In a flash Amy whipped the young co-ed’s tank top up over her head. As my eyes took in the beautiful sight of Karen’s firm teen titties, snowy mounds capped by fiercly erect nipples that were just begging to be squeezed and suckled, Amy got the girl’s skirt off as well.
Karen came to me and embraced me, her head against my chest. My mind was completely overwhelmed. One minute I’d just been going to see who was at the door, and the next found me with my arms full of naked nineteen-year-old girl as I gazed, dumbfounded, at my smiling, happy wife.
“Karen says you didn’t fuck her,” said Amy, as calmly as if we had this sort of conversation all the time.
“I. Er. That is, well, ahh, not exactly, but her, um, you know, in the mouth.” Still reeling from shock.
“Well, you were supposed to fuck her cute little pussy. That was part of the present,” said Amy. “So I brought her home.” I looked down at Karen and, even though much of her face was hidden, I could see she was blushing furiously.
Amy walked over to me and, reaching around the petite naked girl in my arms, kissed me, squeezing Karen’s body between us. She looked me in the eye and her gaze was absolutely smouldering. “I had a little talk with Karen. It turns out she rather likes being told what to do. She’s going to spend the weekend with us. Cliff, you can have her all you want... but I want some, too. When she kissed me, I — I guess I’ve always had a little curiosity — anyway, I want a chance to see what it’s like... with her.” She searched my face for a reaction. “Would that be ok, honey?”
I was in a complete daze. What a day. What an unbelievable day.
Amy released me and stepped back, pulling Karen with her. My wife gathered the pretty student to her, so they were both facing me. Amy’s hands came up and cupped Karen’s lovely breasts, massaging them gently. “Tell Cliff what you told me, Karen,” she instructed.
The co-ed’s blush deepened. “Tell him,” Amy repeated, gently squeezing the girl’s nipples.
“I had another orgasm,” Karen nearly whispered, eyes darting everywhere but my face.
“Tell him why.”
“I liked it when you told me how to, to, suck you better. When you pulled my hair and forced me to do it just how you wanted,” said Karen, hesitantly. Then, finally, looking at me: “It made me cum.”
The words hung in the air for a long time. I looked at Karen, looked at Amy, recalled the sight of them tongue-kissing on the front step. Amy was clearly so aroused she was ready to explode. Karen was flushed, her nipples were erect, and I could smell her moisture.
“Cliff?” Amy said. Everything distilled to one simple question.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” I said.
I can’t describe that weekend in any orderly fashion. Everything blurred together. From the time Amy and I shed our clothing until early Monday morning, everyone was naked all the time. We used our bedroom, the guest bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and the showers for sex. On beds, bent over counters, up against a wall, you name it.
I watched Amy suck Karen’s pussy. I watched Karen suck Amy’s, fingers probing and tongue flying. I watched the two of them spend ages just cuddling and kissing, until the fervor of their kisses finally drove them to rub or taste each other to more orgasms. Two women making passionate love, knowing they’re being watched — that’s got to be one of the hottest sights in the world.
I fucked Karen’s pussy, an incredibly tight, hot sheath that nearly sucked the cum out of me at my very first stroke. I fucked her on top. I bent her in half and finally got those amazing cheerleader legs where they belonged, pinned by my shoulders as I rammed her cunt like a pile driver. I fucked her from behind, slapping my loins into her aching bottom. She sat on my lap and rode my cock. I fucked her while Amy licked her pussy and my cock and balls.
The girls sucked me, together or in turns. Amy gave Karen a lengthy, detailed, and graphic cocksucking lesson, demonstrating techniques and then helping Karen apply them. I spewed three loads during that suckfest alone. Every time I came, all weekend, whether in Karen’s mouth or on Amy’s face or in Karen’s cunt, it would get lapped up or sucked out by the other girl, and wind up being passed back and forth in sperm-soaked kisses. The highlight of the whole weekend might have been this: the girls were 69-ing, Amy on top of Karen, and I was fucking Amy’s cunt from behind. I pulled out and fired a salvo of spunk all over Karen’s pretty face. In a flash, Amy spun around and cleaned her up, lapping the teenager’s face until she had collected all of the jizz. And then, from a distance of eight or ten inches, Amy let the cum-stream drizzle between her lips, down into Karen’s hungry, seeking mouth. I thought that would be the end of it, but to my surprise Karen sprayed it right back up to spatter all over Amy’s face.
Whenever I started to think that I’d never have another erection in my life, Amy and Karen would put on one erotic show or another, or coax me to hardness with a well coordinated pair of tongues, and the three of us would be at it again.
When we saw Karen off on Monday morning, I thought that would be the end of my one and only excursion into sexual fantasy-land. But Amy had one last surprise.
“Cliff,” she said, “When Karen brought that mouthful of cum to the gym on Friday? And kissed it to me?”
“We weren’t — um, there’s a possibility that two or three of the other girls might have seen that. I’m also pretty sure that all of the girls who were still around the gym got a good look at Karen’s ass, and I don’t think there could be any doubt about what had happened to her.”
I realized that this could potentially be a big problem for Amy’s career. “Uh-oh. Worried?”
“No. Not worried that they’d report me.” She took a deep breath. “No, I’m worried — well, there’s some possibility...”
“That a couple of them, Leslie and Kelly, might... want to have a turn, too.”
I knew those girls, both Seniors. Both of them curvy knockouts, centerfold material: one a brunette, one a redhead. Amy was looking at me with a half smile and an eyebrow raised. “Think that would be a problem?” she asked playfully.
My defeated, deflated, dillapidated dick gave one tiny little twitch.
“As long as they’re not together,” I said. “One at a time, I think we could handle.”
Amy put an arm around my waist, and we headed to the bedroom. For some much-needed sleep.
Author’s notes on Afternoon with a Cheerleader
This story is fiction, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
It took about two years to write, start to finish. As in: start it, let a couple of years go by while thinking about it occasionally, and then rewrite it in about a week.
As originally conceived, the story was strictly [RC][M/f] and ended with Karen heading out to the gym to deliver her present. But the more I let it play in my thoughts, the less I wanted it to end there. Hence the consensual bisexual postscript.
I hope you enjoyed my little tale. Whether you did or didn’t, please write with your comments — that’s all that keeps me going. Thank you.
link to send comments.
Otherwise, see the instructions in the story index.