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Archive name: dinner.txt (MF, rom, wife, spanking)
Authors name: Marcia Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
Story title : After Dinner Comes Dessert

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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After Dinner Comes Dessert (MF, rom, spanking) 
by Marcia Hooper (marciar26@aol.com) 
 
***

Marcia is treated to a lobster dinner by her husband 
and ignored later in favor of a basketball game. She 
conspires to get un-ignored. 
 

Like getting kissed one moment and being spanked the 
very next, Michael took me out to a lobster dinner that 
night, then hurried home to one of his stupid 
basketball games. 

Deciding I was too full and aroused to be angry--I 
really love lobster--I sat in my favorite position, 
between his legs, with my cheek resting on his thigh. I 
pretended he knew I was there. Playing with the cuff of 
his pants, thinking of our adventures the night before 
and how wonderful he looked, I snuck a peek at his 
craggy face. Then I realized what my real problem was 
and wondered if I had taken my pill. 

He felt my eyes. "What?" he said, trying to look at me 
and the TV both.

"I was just thinking how much I love you."

He said, "I love you too, Marcia, but let me watch the 
game. The Sonics may actually win for a change."

I touched the bare skin of his calf. "I know how to 
excite you more than that game," I said.

He almost looked down. "Really? How?"

"Like with a striptease," I said, "and one of your 
special treatments on my bare rear end? Paddle me with 
the ping-pong mallet? Or flog me on my tummy and boobs 
with the whip?" I ran my index finger up the inside of 
his thigh. "You could even use the leather quirt on my 
you know what."

He almost looked interested. "I don't know," he said. 
"I get carried away and you know how lax you've in 
using your safe word."

I feared the battle. "I'll only let you spank me until 
I'm excited, okay? Then you can flog me until I'm ready 
for the quirt. I won't be bad. Honest."

He looked hard at the TV, then at me. He sighed. "Okay. 
I'll change and let's see how successful you are with 
your dance. No hard-on," he warned. "No spanking." 

I agreed. Boy did I agree! The hormones were in my 
bloodstream tonight. 

While he changed, I lay his choice of instruments on 
the couch, then went around and lit half a dozen 
candles. I talked to myself under my breath. I was so 
excited. He returned and flopped down on the couch's 
end, letting his robe fall open to expose his flaccid 
mouse. 

Instant disappointment. 

I almost asked: Don't you love me, Michael? But instead 
I got up and started the music.

I had worn a lacey blue cocktail dress to dinner. With 
a deep-plunge back, spaghetti thin straps, and a bodice 
that did nothing to conceal my boobs, it felt 
incredibly sexy. Beneath it was a silk half-slip, my 
panties and bra--from Victoria's Secret, of course, and 
silk as well--my garter belt and my nylons. 

Turning off the lights, I began dancing to Jane 
Monheit's incredible voice. When I was eighteen years 
old and on my own, I danced at a strip club downtown. 
Not long, and never totally nude, but long enough to 
learn how to dance. And how to remove my clothes. 
Moving my hips and my bust slowly, I lowered the zipper 
down my back, and let the dress work its way off my 
body. It puddled at my feet. I have the perfect body 
for dancing, Michael says, and I use it to best 
advantage. Especially when I ovulate, which I 
definitely did that night. Reaching back, I released 
the catch on my brassiere, danced for a while holding 
it in place. Michael was getting aroused. 

Letting the straps fall off my shoulders, I held the 
cups in place, making a point of keeping them there 
while I removed my garter. I used my toes to pick the 
garter up and toss it in Michael's lap. He was much 
harder now.

Five minutes later I was in a state. I let the bra fall 
into my crooked elbows, danced for him bare-breasted 
for a while (only size 34C, I am not the biggest girl 
in the world, but they are my best weapon), then slid 
off my panties and went down on all fours, then to my 
tummy. I crawled to Michael, nipples touching the 
floor; both they and his penis were rock hard. I had 
won.

Draping myself over his lap, I shivered as his penis 
poked my belly. He lifted the paddle and tapped one 
cheek, then the other and I held my breath. He ran his 
hand over my tingling skin. Then he whacked me so 
unexpectedly and hard that I jumped and emitted a yip. 

Embarrassing!

I don't like the paddle the way Mike does. Being 
spanked makes me ten years old again, helpless over my 
daddy's knee, my bare butt upended and a perfect target 
for his angry hand. He spanked me in front of my 
brothers until I was twelve years old, then privately 
in his den until I was fourteen. By then my mother 
objected to the spankings in general, to the bare-
bottomed part especially, but my dad paddled me bare-
bottomed anyway. Usually this happened in front of my 
mother, especially when he was really mad. And he was 
mad at me a lot back then. 

Finally, when I was fifteen years old, Daddy lost all 
patience at all. Dragging me out to the living room one 
night, he upended me in front of my two younger 
brothers. Taking down my sweats and my panties, he then 
pulled my t-shirt all the way up, exposing my breasts. 
Then he wailed me with my own hairbrush, searing my 
backside until even my brothers said stop. Then he 
dumped me on the floor, basically naked, to bawl in 
front of them. He spanked me if I even touched my 
clothes. 

The next day I ran off.

Clutching his left ankle with both hands, I endured 
Michael's bombardment of my tail. I wheezed and I 
gasped and I kicked my feet in the air. My bottom 
screamed. I almost screamed. When I finally yelled 
"teapot!" the word stopped his hand, but not right 
away. Six more spanks came down for good luck. I lay 
there panting, hair shaken loose, my butt feeling like 
the guest of honor at a bee sting convention.

"Oh, Michael," I groaned.

I really hurt.

He stood me up and put my hands atop my head, brushed 
back my hair. I was still trembling. I squirmed like a 
seven year old holding my pee. 

"Don't move," he said. 

I pushed out my boobies and sucked in my tummy, and the 
flogger made wonderful pain stinging my breasts. I 
squirmed even more.

"Keep still, I said."

"Yes, sir." I could no more keep still than a shark 
could not bite your hand. 

He worked me from my pubic hair to the tips of my 
boobies and the nipple sting made me dance. I wiggled 
in place.

"Be still, Marcia!"

"I can't!"

"You better!" he said. And he showed me how much better 
I had.

"Ow! Michael!" 

He laughed. 

"That hurt!"

"Then hold still."

"I can't!"

He spanked me again.

"Bastard."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." I glared at him slantwise. He was not 
supposed to hear.

I let my excitement build, knowing I'd need it for 
later. Closing my eyes, I imagined having that long 
thing between his legs between mine, and that, added to 
the sting of my nipples, pushed me close to orgasm. 
"Teacup!" I gasped.

Michael dropped the flog and took me over to the 
ottoman, lay me down on my back. Bringing my knees to 
my chest, I clutched them there tightly, raising my 
butt and making myself open for him. He came and stood 
over me. His erection, an angry red and hugely swollen, 
was a giant rocket ready to blast off. The tip leaked 
semen. Squatting slightly so I could reach him, Michael 
began to methodically strike the left side of my 
genitals, then the right, then my clenching anus. I had 
no hair to protect me, so each hit stung terribly. It 
was worse on my clitoris. I jumped spastically when it 
was struck, his testicles bumping my nose. 

I was not allowed to touch him with anything but my 
mouth, so while he tortured my poor bottom, I tortured 
his cock. After half a minute Michael shuddered 
violently and I stopped licking. "You okay?" I said.

He grunted a yes.

"Don't waste it, Michael," I begged, fearing he'd shoot 
all over my chest. "Please!"

"I'll do anything I want," he threatened. "And you'll 
like it." He locked me with his flaming eyes. 
"Understand?"

My heart flipped wildly. "Yes, Michael. Anything you 
want."

He pipped me once sharply on my aching clitoris. 
"Anywhere I want."

"Anywhere you want," I croaked. 

That really hurt!

He wasn't through yet. "In fact--" he looked at the 
drawn patio curtains. "--I might let you take a lesson 
where everyone can see."

My breath froze. "Michael, no."

"Questioning my authority, Marcia?"

"No, Michael."

"Put me in your mouth."

I quickly gulped him in.

"Suck slowly, Marcia." 

Keeping my eyes obediently locked to his, I did as 
ordered. "Mmm. Nem-im-oh-ay?"

Is this okay?

"Keep sucking, Marcia."

Marcia kept sucking. 

After a time, Michael repositioned himself and his 
penis began a thorough examination of my throat. He 
inspected my tonsils, my larynx and my voice box, 
examining them again and again, making sure I was in 
the finest health. I facilitated his examination by 
distending my jaw to its fullest extent, then tilting 
my head back for his convenience. I made a lot of 
noise. Not much of it was attractive to my ears, but 
Michael seemed to think so. His examination became very 
intense.

"Mmm-num-niem-neum-umm-nigul!" I pleaded. When he 
wasn't squashing it flat with his deep probes, his 
pubic hair tickled my nose. I couldn't breathe. In 
fact, I saw pretty white stars. "Mnn-num-em?"

"That's it!" he suddenly hollered. "On your feet!" He 
yanked me off the ottoman.

Gasping for air, shaking terribly, I stumbled along 
behind him, trying not to trip over my own feet. My 
throat spasmed; I couldn't stop gagging. "What?" I 
squeaked. "What did I do?" I felt ten years old again 
being dragged to the living room. 

"You pissed me off!"

"How?"

He made me open the patio curtains. "All the way," he 
commanded, when I stopped half way. 

"Michael--"

He spanked me bare handed.

"Ouch! Okay! Okay!" I pulled the curtains fully back. 
"There!" I cried.

Michael took me over his knee on the spot and lit up my 
backside. I screamed.

"Michael! Michael! Not so hard!"

He spanked me even harder.

"It hurts!"

His hand blistered both cheeks. "Your brothers should 
be here right now," he panted. "See how all those years 
of spankings went to waste."

"Michael! The window! People can see!" And indeed 
someone did see. In the parking lot, two skateboarders 
had stopped midway down the hill and were staring 
directly at me. Open-mouthed, one of them pointed.

"Michael! Michael! Kids!" And not just any kids, 
either. These two were part of the local parking lot 
gang who hung out and made rude comments to girls like 
me. Just yesterday, one of them grinned leeringly at me 
as I unloaded groceries. I heard words like "fuck" and 
"up the ass" and "in her mouth". And these were some of 
the nicer comments. 

"Michael!"

Finally he stopped. Taking me by the arm, Michael 
dragged me to the bedroom and threw me on the bed. I 
bounced once and then I was onto to my stomach and then 
onto my hands and knees. "Michael! Michael, wait!" He 
was waiting for nothing. Pushing my chest to the 
mattress, he spread my legs and jacked my ass in the 
air. He mounted me.

"Michael! Oh my God!" I took all eight inches of him up 
the ass, nonstop, sucking air against the pain. 
"Michael! Michael! Huuuuhhhhh! MICHAEL!"

He came at once and didn't stop coming for ten minutes. 
I jumped and warbled and wailed and had my face mashed 
into bed sheets. I pounded his legs and his hips. I 
cried and pleaded. I even grabbed my hair and tried to 
pull it out. Michael came and came and came. So did I.

Later, after he collapsed and I had collapsed under his 
weight, I lay on the mattress panting, my bowels afloat 
in sperm. I won't say how my rectum and anus felt. You 
should know.

"You bastard," I mumbled. "I hate you."

Michael laughed.

"You think it's funny," I said. I thought of the two 
boys on skateboards, the look on their faces tomorrow. 
The whispers. 

I knew how to stop the whispers. 

Wondering what they would say to riding something 
besides their skateboards, I slipped out from under 
Michael-he'd sleep now for hours--and went to the 
living room, then to the patio doors. The boys hadn't 
moved a millimeter. Smiling, I crooked my index finger 
at them and indicated the building's entrance. I went 
and unlocked the front door. 

Grinning darkly, I listened to my insides rumble and 
rubbed my flailed bottom. I thought that maybe, just 
maybe, I'd leave the curtains open while I pleasured 
the two boys. 

Naked, with the lights on, and on my knees. 

I opened the front door.

The End

This short story is based upon another Internet short 
story posting that I read and loved, and is used by 
permission of the author. Since the ending varies 
radically from the original story, in which she pays 
tribute to her husband, she has asked to remain 
anonymous.

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 14