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Times Three

by Frenulum

Copyright © 2002 Frenulum. All rights reserved.

There were plenty of reasons I was enjoying the party that Friday night. It had been a stressful week, and I was glad of the chance to relax. Will and Lizzie throw big ones, and the noise and energy of forty-odd people was exciting. Lizzie’s a great cook — not to mention being charming enough to coax friends to bring goodies — so there was something munchable on every horizontal surface. I’d sipped my way through a couple of glasses of the kind of wine Will can afford and I can appreciate, and was anticipating perhaps one more. And the crowd was mostly people I knew, or at least had met before, so I felt pretty comfortable.

But the main reason I was enjoying myself was Eve, the light of my life and — still hard to believe — my wife for the past 11 months. Her upbeat mood getting ready for the party had been infectious. She had dressed as sexily as she ever does in public — a sleeveless shell over her girlish breasts, which bobbled happily in braless freedom and left nipple tracks in the thin silk; a floaty little micro-mini that was about an inch longer than a citation for indecent exposure; and a pair of fuck-me sandals with heels as high as any she owns, stretching her long legs into curvaceous perfection. She’d further inflamed my imagination by mentioning, just as we walked up to Will and Lizzie’s door, that she’d left her panties at home — so my thoughts were full of the nearness and accessibility of her charms.

And she’d been sticking close to me all night, often even holding my arm and snuggling right up beside me. That wasn’t standard Eve-at-a-party behavior: usually, we felt free to circulate as the mood struck us, meeting and parting with the ebb and flow of conversations and people. But that night, she seemed content to be arm candy: stunningly, overtly sexy, and very obviously “Property Of Frank” — that’s me. Oh, she wasn’t silly about it: no simpering, cooing, or pointless longing looks. But when a greying 44-year old man sports a hot gorgeous leggy minimally-dressed 24-year-old babe as a fashion accessory, people — even old friends — take notice.

As much as I love being near my young bride, I think I’d find such behavior a little annoying, if often repeated. As a departure from the usual, however, I found it a bit stimulating. And, truth be told, I’m not immune to enjoying the occasional envious look, of which I attracted more than a few that night.

After several happy hours at the party, I felt the “I wanna go home” feeling brush through my mind. I turned to face Eve, who was standing about a tenth of an inch away from me, and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Had enough?” she asked, her soft voice lost in the hubbub to all but my ears.

“Still having fun, but the long week is catching up to me. You?”

“Ready when you are, love. We can bug out if you want to, or stay and find a quieter corner. You pick; I’m happy.”

I took a quick internal inventory, thought about what still had to be done that evening, and opted for departure.

“Let’s go home. Have you seen Liz?”

“Not for the last hour,” Eve replied, “But French leave was definitely authorized in advance. Besides, we’ll see ’em on Sunday anyway, if you want to say your thirty-ninth thank you.”

I laughed. “Hey, it pays to butter up your best friends, especially when they’re the best hosts around. Ok, let’s slip away.”

Eve held tight to my arm during the short walk to the car. The mild evening air was a delight, but even more pleasant was the feel of her hip rocking against mine as we walked. I unlocked Eve’s door, opened it for her, and watched with undisguised interest as she settled into her seat. The tiny skirt flew up as she sat, becoming not a garment but a frame for her beautiful pussy — not only unpantied, as she had told me, but clean shaven, which was a brand new twist. The little bit of blood that began to divert from big head to little head became a torrent when I got around to my side of the car, climbed in, and saw that Eve had not only left her skirt up around her waist, but was slowly stroking her pussy lips wih two extended fingers.

“I am so horny,” she said, looking into my eyes. “I am so hot for you I can’t stand it. Hurry up and start the car, I don’t want to waste a minute getting home.”

I started up, backed, forthed, backed again, and headed homeward. I tried to keep us safe, but the temptation to steal glances was very strong indeed. Each time I looked over, I saw Eve’s eyes on my face, or directed downward to my lap, and her fingers slowly but steadily working between her thighs.

“Your cock looks so hard already, love,” she whispered.

“It is hard,” I acknowledged.

“I can’t wait to have it. My pussy is already wet for you, thinking about how that big beautiful cock is going to feel inside me tonight. It makes me so hot to think about fucking you... I just have to play with myself. Ooh, I know you’re going to give it to me hard and fast and deep, you’re going to jam that beautiful fucker all the way up... my... cunt.”

My throat was dry. I swallowed, drove, tried to stay between the fences. Tried to peek again at Eve’s hairless snatch, catching tantalizing glimpses in the occasional flash of street lights. I could hear the soft squik squik of her fingers, lubed with cunt-honey, as they danced between her labia.

“I have to have it now,” Eve said — practically moaned. “Let me suck you while you drive. I want to suck you off right now.” She let go of her pussy, reached over with both hands, and started working on my zipper. I gave her a helping hand, keeping one on the steering wheel, by reaching in and fishing out my now-aching dick.

Eve fell on it without another word, engulfing my cock deep in her mouth at first contact. There was no finesse, no delicacy — not that such would be easy in the awkward, twisted position a front-seat mouth-mistress must adopt. No, she began sucking avidly, her head bobbing at high speed and her tongue swirling, laving, stroking even faster. This was not a gentle loving blow job, this was a greedy, all-out spunk hunt.

And it was working.

As charged up as I’d been all night, with my beautiful sexy babe on my arm; as aroused as I’d been, contemplating what lay unguarded and barely concealed atop those long, luscious, curvy legs; as horny as she’d made me by playing with her bare pussy in the car; and as thoroughly as she had dedicated her mouth to the pursuit of sperm, I was not going to be Mr. Patient at this particular moment. Only a couple of minutes of intense, exquisitely stimulating head were enough to put me away.

I said something mindless and inarticulate — forgive me if I don’t recall the exact moan — and launched a day’s supply of fresh hot jizz into Eve’s furiously sucking mouth. Spurt followed spurt as my balls pumped their load into my lovely young bride. She kept her lips clamped tightly around my cock, just below the head, mindful of the rule of automotive suckjob etiquette that requires the lady not to drip onto the gentleman’s trousers, but her tongue continued to press and squeeze and search until she could be sure there was no more cream to be coaxed from me.

Eve rested with her head in my lap and my dick still in her mouth, as I gradually recovered some awareness of my surroundings. About three or four miles from home; about eight miles per hour above the speed limit. I eased off the gas and let the speedo drift back down to 30.

Finally, Eve sat back up. My pants were still open and I was still operating a motor vehicle with an improperly secured cargo, but as we’d be home in five or six minutes, I didn’t worry about it. I was going to offer some complimentary and appreciative words, but, for one thing, the little head still had all of the blood, dimming my thought processes; for another, a glance at Eve showed she was a bit... distracted. Her eyes were closed, her head pressed hard against the headrest, she had two busy hands working at her quim, and she was making faint little “mmm, mmm, mmm” sounds deep in her throat. I took my cue from Eve and drove on in silence, as she finger-fucked herself closer and closer to the edge.

A few minutes later, we pulled in to the garage, and I beeped the door closed behind us. It took me a moment to rearrange my loose parts and get my pants done up again, by which time Eve had scooted into the house — still without saying a word. I locked up, followed her, and turned into the kitchen.

Eve stood in the middle of the room, and as I entered was just pulling her silk blouse over her head. Between the moonlight and the light from the lamps we had left burning downstairs, I had a clear view of her firm little breasts as they quivered back into place. Her pink nipples were hard, stretching toward me, begging for attention. With a quick motion, Eve unfastened her miniskirt and flung it aside. She stood facing me, nude except for those fuck-me heels, legs well spread, hair slightly mussed. Her thighs glistened with girl juice. I drank in the sight, one of extraordinary beauty and eroticism, my eyes drawn to her newly-shaved pussy but ultimately lingering on her sexiest feature, her face.

My bride opened her mouth, and I then understood why she hadn’t said a word in the last five minutes. A cascade of sperm and saliva frothed past her lips, coating her chin, spilling to her tits, running in rivulets down toward her cunt. With her face shining with my cum, her lips sticking to each other, strings of spooge forming and breaking between them, her voice husky with passion and thick with jizz, Eve said, “Well, lover? See anything you’d like to fuck with that big, beautiful, delicious cock?” As I watched, she wiped a glob of cum off her chin with one hand, lowered it slowly and deliberately to her pussy, and began to masturbate again with sperm-slickened fingers. Her eyes were locked on mine.

I knew the obvious answer — hell, my penis alone knew the obvious answer — but I also knew I had a responsibility that must outweigh my desire. I worked to return Eve’s gaze, rather than allowing myself to be distracted by the cum still bubbling from her lips.

“I do,” I said, softly, “I do indeed. But perhaps we’d better wait and see if you’re still in the mood after your spanking.”

It was as if I had punctured an Eve-shaped balloon. Her shoulders slumped; her hand fell from her crotch, suddenly forgotten; her gaze fell to the floor in front of her as her head bowed. She seemed to lose height — indeed, to collapse in every way consistent with remaining on her feet. I waited patiently, silently, for a reply.

“Oh, Frank,” came Eve’s soft voice, still sticky-tongued but no longer laden with tones of sex and need. Her eyes were still downcast. “I just — I was hoping we —.” She broke off.

I waited another moment, but she did not continue. “I know what you were hoping, my love,” I said quietly. “You were hoping that making love with you would distract me from my responsibility as your husband. You were hoping that your week’s record could somehow be expunged without a spanking, despite our very clear agreement. Am I correct?”

Almost inaudibly: “Yes.”

“Yes,” I echoed. “However, it is Friday night. On Friday nights I punish you, if necessary, for the accumulated errors of the preceding week. I am delighted and proud beyond measure that, for five weeks in a row, it has not been necessary. However, you do, this week, have an account to settle. Our schedule is designed so that we can begin each and every weekend with no unresolved issues hanging over us — with a clean slate. The arrangement has served us very well and I see no reason to change it, no matter how pleasantly we might otherwise spend the evening.” I paused, but Eve didn’t move or speak. “All right then, let’s head for the study.”

Finally, Eve lifted her eyes and looked at me once more. She took a deep breath. “I’d better get cleaned up first,” she said, resignation in her voice, but not opposition.

“You’ll do very well as you are.”

“But I — yes, dear.” A look from me had quelled further objection. Eve turned and headed for the stairs.

As she ascended, I was close behind, my face level with her beautiful ass. Negotiating the stairs in high heels made Eve’s buns rock enticingly — in fact, her whole body moved in a delightful, erotic rhythm. The same view of a woman with half Eve’s beauty would have been enough to stiffen any man, recently sucked off or not; add the fact that her quim was still moist, flushed, and fragrant; add the trickles of semen that had found their way to her inner thighs; add the image, still seared into my mind’s eye, of her cum-coated face; and I was brick hard by the time we got to the top of the stairs. The boner was a nuisance: there is nothing erotic or stimulating to me about disciplining my wife — but part of the brain doesn’t care about the mind, it just recognizes the sights and smells that add up to “fuckable.”

Down the hall to the study/office/computer room — to the one room of the house that’s just for me. I spank Eve there, and only there, because she’s never in the room for any other reason. That way, there are no painful associations with any part of the house she regularly sees.

From the moment we entered the room, ritual took over — though this was the first time that Eve had been naked to begin with, thus eliminating one accustomed step. I pulled out the spanking chair, an armless chair with very tall legs, ideal for putting my five-foot ten-inch bride over my lap, and sat down, adjusting my rod in the process for the least possible discomfort. Eve went to my desk, took a blue index card from the organizer, and brought it over to me, handing it to me without a word. Her eyes were on the floor, so I couldn’t read her expression, but the card in her fingers trembled slightly. I took it.

“The week of June 23rd,” I read aloud. Eve stood before me, head bowed, arms at her sides. I tried to ignore the lingering scent of warm cunt. “Monday, uncontrolled temper, two minutes. Tuesday, tardiness, three minutes. Tuesday, petulance, three minutes. Total, eight minutes of spanking.” I put the card aside. Eve took a half step toward me, ready to take her position, when she realized I had not told her to. She stepped back, then quickly looked up at me before lowering her eyes again.

“Eight minutes as of this morning, that is,” I said. “But it seems to me that your whole scheme to distract me — the sexy clothes, the extra attentiveness, even the head on the way home — constitutes an attempt to avoid your discipline, an item that appears on our schedule. Do you remember its consequence?”

“Yes,” Eve said. I waited. “Time-and-a-half,” she added.

“Correct. So your eight minutes becomes...?”

“Twelve.” Eve’s voice was as quiet as her posture was rigid. I could hear that she was frightened — we had only gone as high as nine minutes once before, but I knew she remembered it with awful clarity.

“Yes, twelve,” I said. I stopped, considering my next words. “But it also seems to me that we have two other issues. First, what the schedule meant by ‘attempting to avoid discipline’ was something like squirming, or covering your bottom. I never anticipated that you would insult my intelligence by resorting to a ruse.”

“Oh, Frank, I never —”

“Eve, you did. Trying to con me with your undeniable erotic charm is tantamount to saying honey, you’re too stupid to realize what I’m doing.”

“Oh, no, love, I just, well...”

“Just what, Eve? Hmm?” No reply. “Well, we don’t have a scheduled consequence for treating me like I’m stupid, because it was never one of the problems we needed to work on. So I’m creating one right now. Keeping in mind how upsetting I find your behavior, what do you think would be an appropriate consequence?”

Eve knew she had to answer me, but I could imagine why she took a long time to speak: she was afraid of naming a consequence too mild, angering me further by seeming to make light of her error; and she was afraid of naming a consequence too severe, as it was her very own personal and much cherished ass that was going to take the pain.


“Um, three minutes?” She looked up again, to gauge my reaction. Her answer was about what I’d anticipated — most of the scheduled consequences were one, two, or three minutes of spanking, so she had gone for the high average while avoiding the harshest outliers.

“I’m sorry, Eve, but that won’t do. I don’t think you understand how it feels to me that you tried to dupe me, to manipulate me — especially when what you’re trying to avoid is something that has been so good for you and so good for our marriage. No, I’m not going to add three minutes to your discipline. I’m going to make sure we never, ever, come down this path again. I’m doubling your twelve minutes to twenty-four.”

“Oh, god, Frank, don’t — I can’t —”

“Eve. Hush.”

“But honey—”

“Hush.” Tears were welling up in Eve’s eyes. One spilled out, and rolled down to mingle with cum at the corner of her mouth. “The second issue that’s bothering me, is the consideration that the passion you showed me tonight was false. I don’t think it was; and I don’t want to believe it was, because it would cast our whole relationship into doubt.”

“Oh, no, I—”

“Quiet, Eve. I only raise the question because you have tried to dupe me tonight, and because your apparent desire for me was a part of it. As I said, I doubt that it was false, but if it was I must know. We’ll discuss the matter after your spanking.”

She nodded, sniffed back a tear, and waited for her signal, head bowed. But I had one more curve to throw. “Eve, do you want to say anything to me before we begin?”

There was a pause as she thought. “Yes. Just a minute.”

I waited while she collected her thoughts. Then, she spoke, quietly but resolutely. “Frank. Dearest. I come to you to atone, to learn, and to be forgiven. I resolve to guard against flying off the handle, and being really late and not calling you, and being snitty. And, um, avoiding the discipline that has really, truly, helped me be a better person. And... against trying to make you forget your duty.” Eve paused. Then she raised her head, and looked me right in the eye.

“Darling Frank, please spank me now.”

I spoke only the customary command: “Over my knee, Eve.”

She came to my side, and stretched over my lap. The unaccustomed high heels, which she incongruously still wore, made it awkward for her to find her balance; I had to help ease her down into place. The contact with her bare skin was thrilling: my dick gave another twitch. There was too much sex in the air tonight, too much sensuality in every posture. I fervently wished to avoid any mixture between spanking and sex in our lives, but for the first time ever there was ambiguity in the glorious swell of her upthrust bottom, and my body was fighting my intentions.

Eve knew her position well, and did not need my guidance as she adjusted her pose to bring her bottom to exactly the correct spot and angle. She parted her legs, let her head drop, and gripped the chair rail. When she was still, I knew she was ready.

I watched the digital clock on my desk, waiting for the minute to change, knowing that Eve could not see it, and thus could not know when the first blow would come.

12:31... 12:31... 12:31...


SMACK! My hand struck Eve’s right ass cheek with the sound of a gunshot. I raised my arm, swung again, and hit the same cheek just slightly lower: SMACK! The left: SMACK! SMACK!

Eve’s head whipped up on the third slap, sending her hair flying, as a gasp of pain was torn from her throat. I kept up a steady rhythm, sometimes alternating sides and sometimes returning to strike twice or three times in closely spaced salvos. Eve’s initial gasp had resolved itself into sobbing, interlaced with exclamations of pain — but never a plea to stop: such were forbidden by our covenant.

Words can’t convey a spanking. You have to be there. But know this: I spank hard, I spank carefully, and I spank for effect. That is why some items on our schedule of consequences could be only a minute long and still be significant.

12:36. Eve’s taut, shapely, beautiful ass was a uniform hot pink, from the top of the fleshy swell down to her thighs. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Her sobbing was constant, and her exclamations had grown inarticulate. But my dearly beloved hadn’t broken from her posture, or pleaded with me, or attempted to win any respite.

12:40. Ass a blotchy bright red, hot to the touch. Every SWACK! SWACK! SWACK! must have been agonizing. I tuned a careful ear into Eve’s wailing, monitoring it for panic, prepared to stop if I thought her mind, overwhelmed by pain, had slipped away from our joint purpose. SPAT! SPAT!

12:44. WHACK! I stopped, with a glance at the clock. I surveyed my young bride’s crimson bottom. I kept my left arm over her waist, so as not to send the false signal that time was up, and considered the situation rapidly. I realized that I could not spank her for twelve more minutes — just as long again — without actually doing damage. I waited a moment while Eve, confused by the fact that she was still held in place but not being spanked, gulped for air and quieted down. Finally, I felt and heard a shuddering sigh, and spoke into the silence.

“Eve, honey, it’s been twelve minutes.”

Another sob broke out — she must have been certain we were finished. It must have felt like an hour. “Oh, no, I —”

“Eve, hush, listen. I feel we must stop now. You can’t be spanked safely for twelve more minutes. I’m going to let you get up now, but I want it clear that the second half of your spanking has not gone away. Understood?”

“Yes, Frank.”

I let her go; helped her to her feet. She was weak from crying, dizzy from being bent over for so long, unsteady on the spike heels. I stood up and wrapped her in a loving embrace. Eve returned it, and began to cry softly against my shoulder — weeping now with release.


“What, hon?”

“Am I forgiven now? Or not until we finish the time?”

Good question. In our normal ritual, at the end of the spanking, I would give Eve the blue card. She would tear it up — a symbolic absolution — throw it away, and put a new blank card on my desk. And then the air would be clear: all transgressions redressed, atoned for, forgiven, and firmly in the past. But now what? If I said “all is forgiven,” then could I in conscience deliver the second half of Eve’s sentence? If I said “not until we finish,” how would she feel — how would we feel — from now until we got to part two?

I thought about it for a minute, and then replied. “Honey, from my point of view, the act of forgiveness occurs when you go across my knee. ’Cause it’s at that point that you’ve fully acknowledged your responsibility, accepted the consequences, and accepted that I’m the person from whom you’ll take them.”

I thought another moment. “So here’s what we’ll do,” I continued. “We’ll leave the card on the chair, as a reminder of consequences, but not forgiveness, that have been postponed. Some time between now and midnight on Thursday, any time you feel ready, you bring me the card. When you do, I’ll give you another spanking just like the one you just got. Then we’ll be done.” I felt fresh tears silently soaking my shoulder where Eve’s face was nestled. “I’m leaving it up to you, and trusting you to do the right thing. For tonight, consider yourself forgiven. And let’s head to bed — I know we could both use some sleep.”

A sniff and a nod from Eve. Then she let go of me, turned, found the card, and put it carefully in the middle of the spanking chair. She preceeded me out of the room and down the hall to our bedroom. I paused to turn off a couple of lights and close the door, so I expected to find Eve already in the bathroom. She was not — she was standing by her dresser, waiting for me.

“Frank?” Her voice had recovered some of its normal life, now that we were back in safe territory.

“What, hon?”

“When I lay on your lap, I noticed you had a stiffy.”

“You’ve been beautiful and sexy all night long, and walking upstairs behind you was extremely arousing. And what you did in the kitchen? That was without a doubt the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Some men think spanking a woman is arousing — sexy.”

“I don’t.”

“No.” She briefly chewed at her lower lip, a girlish gesture that went straight to my heart. “No. I noticed that it faded once we got started. I just, well, wondered.”

“Some women think being spanked is arousing,” I offered.

Eve emitted a short laugh — the first sign of recovery. “Well, if they do, it’s for sure they haven’t been over your knee.”

I smiled in return. It seemed like Eve still had something on her mind, so I waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.

“Frank, I don’t want to wait to talk about what happened tonight. All I could think about while you were spanking me was how anxious and distressed I must have made you feel.”

Without looking away from Eve, I took a seat on the edge of our bed. She remained standing, nude, in front of me, her face serious and her voice earnest.

“Dressing up pretty for you was planned — you know, to help put you in a good mood, to make sure I was pleasing you. That and shaving. And really, that was as far as I thought about it — you know, just that if you were happy and excited and didn’t feel like breaking the mood I might not get spanked. But I didn’t realize how turned on I was going to get. How horny it made me being your arm candy all night, knowing you were thinking about my short skirt and no panties, and how hot I was for you in the car, and how much I love making love with you and sucking your cock and eating your cum, and how much I desire and love you and want you and need you — that was all real. It is all real. It’s forever, love.”

I must have been more worried than I admitted, because as Eve spoke I felt relief flood through me. And tenderness. And desire — the desire that had been trying to claim me all night long, and which I’d had to force into the background, knowing we had other things to take care of.

“Thank you, Eve,” I said. “I never really doubted it, I just —”


My voice was soft, and Eve took a step closer to the bed. “From the day I bumped into you in the Student Union, my life has been like a dream. Most men my age can only dream of being with a beautiful young woman, of loving her, of being loved. I mean — it’s all so improbable. Meeting you. Falling in love. Figuring out together that we had a serious shot at making this whole May-December romance actually work. Even getting your parents to accept me. It just doesn’t seem like it could all really happen. In my worst moments, I’m just a little... afraid. Afraid I’m going to wake up.”

A gentle smile tugged the corners of Eve’s mouth, as with perfect grace she sank to her knees between mine.

“Well, let me tell you something,” she said. “It’s not a dream, and I’m not going anywhere.” Her fingers popped open the fastener on my slacks, as her eyes bored into mine. “And you have nothing to fear, because I do love you and I always will.”

She got the zipper open, slipped off my slacks and shorts, and wrapped her thumb and index finger around the base of my swelling cock.

“And now I’m going to show you how much.”

Eve’s face was flushed and puffy from crying. Tear tracks marked her cheeks. Dried semen lay in patches around her mouth — she had never had a chance to clean up after that erotic display in the kitchen. Her eye makeup had proven unequal to the volume of tears, leaving dark smudges around her eyes. Her hair was a mess, and strands of it were stuck to her face by cum, tears, and sweat.

She was still the most beautiful woman on planet Earth.

Then she took my hardon into her sweet silky mouth, and began to suck me the way she does when there’s all the time in the world. When she wants to prolong my pleasure, to find new ways to excite me. When she wants to savor the feeling of sucking me, and the flavors. She came off my cock from time to time, so she could caress it with her tongue, or stroke the length of my shaft with her lips in a silken sliding kiss. Or dive lower to wash my balls with her probing tongue, while my iron-hard cock pulsed and bounced, beating a gentle rhythm on her sticky, messy face. Then back to sucking, descending with excruciating slowness until my shaft was half buried in her mouth, until her gag reflex would signal time for an equally slow withdrawal. Her tongue danced as she sucked, swirling around my dickhead when that was all that was in her mouth, and drove me to the edge.

When I finally came, the first small spurt — the “warning shot,” Eve calls it — landed somewhere at the back of her tongue. My beloved then surprised me by whipping her head back. Her eyes, which had been dreamily closed, snapped open, and she gazed right into my eyes with pure concentration. The thumb of the hand she was holding my cock with rubbed softly just below the head — and I began to shoot in earnest. A straight rope of cum lasered out of my dick and splattered against Eve’s right eyebrow, its bulk falling to the cheek below but a goodly glob rolling down into her open eye. Another jet painted a stripe straight up her nose and across her forhead, to die in an explosion of bright droplets in her hair. A third caught her right eye again; a fourth spent itself on her upper lip and began running down, following the contour of Eve’s sensual mouth. As the volume diminished, Eve took my cock back into her mouth, sucking out the last sips of salty goop with passion, dedication, and the utmost gentleness.

I collapsed backwards, exhausted and panting. Eve continued to work my cock, holding it gently in her mouth and giving me soft, dainty licks, until she felt it begin to diminish. She raised her head and let me slip out.

“August,” she said.

“What?” I propped myself up on my elbows, looking at Eve with a complete lack of comprehension.

“It’s gotta be August, tops,” she said, smiling broadly now. The smile was lovely, but even more so in a pretty face so richly and thoroughly decorated with cum, still oozing and dripping down her cheeks.

“Eve, what are you talking about?”

“You can’t call us a ‘May-December romance.’ Look at my face! I can’t even see out of one eye. You stud. Could December do that? I don’t think so!”

By this time we were both starting to crack up. Eve continued, “December couldn’t get it up twice in a row, let alone drown me with one load and glaze me with another. In fact, forget August, I’m going with July. Stud.”

I was grinning at her, enjoying the fact that her good spirits had returned, and loving the sexy sight of her beautiful, sperm-coated face. Eve finally got her right eye open, blinked rapidly a few times, and looked at me with a satisfied smile.

My heart overflowed. “You are so beautiful,” I told her.

“You like me with my face all covered in your cream?”

“You know I do.”

“Well,” she said, “I sure love it when you tell me I’m beautiful in that tone of voice. So... maybe I should arrange for a facial more often.” A trickle of spooge rolled over the edge of Eve’s upper lip, and her tongue darted out to scoop it up. “But if you’re through enjoying the view for now, I’d better go get cleaned up.”

“I could look at you forever,” I said, “Especially like this. But go ahead.”

Eve reached up to her face and ran her index finger over one cheek, scooping up a healthy serving of spunk. “Don’t want to waste this, though,” she said, and stuck her gooey finger into her mouth, making a show of sucking it clean. Another face wipe and another suck cleared the other cheek. She opened her mouth and let me watch as she savored the load of jizz, scraping it off against her teeth, collecting it up again with her tongue, and squeezing it against her palate. Finally she swallowed it. “Mmmmmmm, you are so yummy,” she said happily.

I reached out to gather up the biggest of the spurts that still adorned Eve’s forehead, and offered her my finger. She fell on it eagerly, sucking it like it was my cock, taking it all the way into her mouth while she lapped up the last morsel of cream. When that was swallowed in its turn, Eve rose from her knees. She winced slightly as the motion freshened the pain in her bottom, but she covered up her pained expression with a smile, and headed for the bathroom.

When I heard the shower start I roused myself, changed into a fresh pair of boxers to serve as PJs, plied the toothbrush and so on, and settled myself in bed. My thoughts dwelt primarily on the tantalizing promise Eve had just made, about enjoying a facial more often. Now that was an adjustment I could definitely get into. A short while later, Eve returned from the bathroom, naked and clean and slightly damp, and crawled onto the bed beside me. She lay down on her stomach and then scooted over to get her head nestled on my shoulder. I caressed her damp tresses with my free hand, relaxing in the quiet, just enjoying being with my beloved.

“Honey?” she said.


“I think I want you to finish my spanking first thing in the morning. So it’s over and done with.”

I looked at the beautiful swell of Eve’s ass, still blushing red — it had been, after all, less than an hour since I’d called a halt to her discipline. “I’m not sure you’ll be ready that soon,” I said, “But if you are, that would be fine with me.”

There was another long period of peaceful silence. Then:

“Do you like my pussy bare? You never said.”

“Weren’t you the one making the crack about how the old guy manages two erections and two massive loads? I’d say that’s eloquent enough.”

“So the new look was inspirational?”

“You bet.”

“Want to eat me?” The question came as a surprise, only because Eve has never wanted any attention so soon after a spanking. Usually she needs the best part of a day to be comfortable again with any activity below the waist.

“If you don’t think you’re too sore, there’s nothing I’d like better.”

Eve lifted her head up off my shoulder, and brought it down again to kiss me. We occupied ourselves like that for a few minutes, teasing each other with lips and tongues, then letting passion take hold and deepen the kisses. When she finally pulled her mouth from mine, Eve said, “I probably am too sore. But I’m also really, really needy. If I could be on top, I don’t think my ass will be that much of a problem.”

“Well, then, bring that sweet pussy over here and plant it on my lips.”

On her knees, she straddled my head, facing the foot of the bed, and lowered her smooth, bare snatch onto my face. I guided her with hands on hips, careful not to stray onto her tender buns. And I got to work, using my tongue to open the silky folds of Eve’s pussy and seek the well-remembered treats of taste and texture concealed within.

Many minutes later, when her breathing started to deepen, I abandoned my quest to get my tongue deep into her cunt, and let myself concentrate more carefully on Eve’s swollen clit: coaxing it out from under its hood, tapping it with tiny licks, teasing it, and finally sucking it. I felt Eve fall forward onto hands and knees, and then her face was in my crotch, pressing through my shorts against another rebar-quality erection.

“Oh my... God...” Eve gasped, panting between words. “Are you... Up for... More?”

I answered the only way I could: “Mmmm-hmmmmmm.” The humming kicked her over the edge.

“Oh, oh, oh, that’s it! Oh yeah! Oh! Oh! Aaaaaaaaaah!” I rode through the climax with her, keeping my face nestled in place and my tongue firmly on her clit, drinking in the sweet nectar of her cunt. I knew she’d be good for another peak or two if I pressed the advantage. Then I felt my cock being fished out through my shorts.

The last thing I heard before the liquid heat of Eve’s mouth engulfed me was: “Three?! You stud!”

Author’s notes on Times Three

First of all, my apologies to the late Phyllis McGinley for stealing a title. No reference to her work is intended.

This story took about three years to write. From the beginning through the discipline scene was easy, but writing the resolution was tough. I must have redone it half a dozen times. Only in the last version did Eve and Frank wind up making love, which I think helped a lot. Eve actually surprised me by wanting some tongue so soon after a spanking.

The title of the story refers to Eve’s spanking: how eight minutes became twenty-four. It was only after the latest revision that I noticed the happy coincidence: Frank’s getting three lovely blow jobs in a row. Days like that are wonderful :-)

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