Size: a a a a    Colour: a a a

by Leland Mays

1. She Forgot His Birthday

The fair sex may wish it were not so, but it is a fact. As the years pass, women become old; men become distinguished. The older man's features, once smooth but now rugged, convey experience and wisdom. His now-graying hair inspires confidence: here is a man of the world; a man of substance. If that man is, like Tom Pryor, mayor of the town in which he lives; if he owns the lumberyard and 320 acres of rich bottomland, then the title of distinguished gentleman fits him well.

On that afternoon, however, Tom was in a wistful mood. Neither the shapely cocktail waitress in the dim, well-appointed bar, nor the voice of Ole Blue Eyes crooning Night and Day, cheered him. He sighed and took another sip of twelve-year-old scotch.

"Whatsa matter, Tom?" asked Will Barton, his best friend, golfing buddy, and the district judge. "You look wistful."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Wistful? I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary."

"Well, it is. So tell me. What weighs on the mind of someone like you?"

Tom toyed with his glass. "Oh, it's nothing, I suppose. It's ... well, it just occurred to me I had a birthday two days ago. And no one remembered. Not even Audrey. No card, no present, nothing. Not like the good old days. Not like that time she was waiting at home wearing nothing but a red bow around her waist and a little sign saying, Open Me Now."

"Oh yeah, that was your fortieth birthday present, wasn't it?"

"The first of many presents. But here it is, eight years later, nothing; nada. So, I'm wistful."

"She's a busy gal. President of the Garden Club; runs the local chapter of the Red Cross; owner of the florist shop."

"I know. But a guy likes to feel his wife thinks about him now and then. Ah, what the hey, it's no great tragedy, right?"

"Hardly. Tell you what. Drive home in that new Mercedes of yours; then, take a stroll around the grounds of your thirty room mansion. Say to yourself, Somehow, some way, I'll survive this calamity."

Tom could not have known that his wistful mood would be changed by what was taking place in his private office across town. Someone was, at that moment, sitting at his desk. Fingers reached out and touched the keyboard to his computer. They were slim fingers, soft of skin, the nails covered in pink fingernail polish. Those fingers began to dance over the keyboard, typing out a message. Had anyone else been in the room, they would have heard a girlish giggle or two.

Tom took his friend's advice. An hour later he drove home, guiding the Mercedes up the circular drive and parking in front of his house. He mounted the columned porch and opened the front door.

Still in a funk, his wife's forgetfulness preying on his mind, he paused to let his eyes wander around the house's great room. I've always liked this room, he thought. There's the stone fireplace, so cheery in winter ... my Vlaminck original hanging on the wall nearby ... our contemporary sofa ... and there's Audrey, bent over with her elbows on its arm, naked except for black hold-up stockings and camisole.

What the...! What the hell is she doing? My word, that woman has a big butt ... that's the most beautiful thing I've seen in years. He approached his wife, certain that her was only imagining Audrey bent over with legs spread, her bare buttocks thrust out shamelessly.

But now he stood looking down at her, marveling at the sheer size and splendor of her bottom. When they were young, no day passed when he did not gaze with affection at Audrey's great round derriere. On a memorable picnic a thousand years ago, Audrey had run naked through the forest, laughing as he gave chase. His eyes fixed on her soft buttocks that jiggled and bounced with each stride, Tom had caught her. Then, lifting and carrying the siren, he laid her on a bed of moss. And claimed his reward.

But that was long ago. His nude wood nymph had become a modest lady. He seldom saw that delightful part of her anatomy now. When she complained how her butt had become as big as a beer barrel, Tom sighed inwardly. Yes, and all the more lovely for it.

Now he gazed at her plump butt cheeks; at the lips peeking out between. Audrey, her face beet red, finally looked back at him. "Oh Tom," she said, "I'm so sorry! Can you forgive me?"

"Well, I must admit it hurt my feelings. But ..."

"You have every right to be angry, darling. So I'll take my punishment. I deserve it!" She gestured to the end table behind the sofa. "There's my biggest hairbrush. Use it."

Tom looked at the hairbrush; back to Audrey's face. Her blue eyes glowed with fear and perhaps something more. She swallowed hard. An aroma that was faint but recognizable hung over her.

"Audrey, hon, have you been drinking?" asked Tom.

"Yes, I had a glass of Merlot. Well, maybe three! Can you blame me? I sent the cook home, undressed and put on this outfit. God I was scared! I still am! Please Tom, don't make it hurt too much. But I really do deserve a spanking. So go ahead. Hurry!"

Tom shook his head. So many times he had kissed Audrey's bottom. He had caressed and squeezed it; gripped it in moments of passion. He occasionally wondered what it would be like to paddle her mounds. But he also wondered what it would be like to rob a bank. Never once had he expected Audrey to offer up her bottom for punishment. Now the idea possessed him; it was a wonderful idea.

Swallowing hard, Tom took hold of the hairbrush. He stepped to his trembling wife. Can I do it? Yes. This woman has taken her man for granted. She forgot my birthday, doggone it! I'm the mayor of the whole damn town, and my own wife can't even so much as say, Happy Birthday, darling? Well, let's see if a good hard paddling improves her memory!

The air around them crackled with tension as Tom raised the hairbrush; gripped Audrey's shoulder. Then the hairbrush whistled through the air and slammed into soft butt cheeks with a loud Whap! The impact flattened her sit spot; it left a pink outline on cream-colored flesh.

"Ooh!" Audrey yelped. "Oh jeez!"

"Hurts, I'll bet," grinned Tom. "Do you need another, sugar pie?"

Audrey turned and looked at him, her eyes those of a frightened deer. "Yes," she gasped, "Yes, as many as you think I need! I'm truly sorry, Tom! It won't happen again!"

The hairbrush did its duty. Tom smacked Audrey's bottom with brute force, the hard wood finding her left butt cheek and then the right. It punished the low soft part of her bottom; the part that, thanks to years of rib-eye steaks and Big Macs and coconut crème pie, had grown into enormous hemispheres of soft wobbly flesh.

Great ripples spread across the wide expanse of Audrey's butt cheeks each time the hairbrush walloped her. The spectacle was mesmerizing. More, more, harder, harder! Tom's mind cried as he watched Audrey's bottom quiver and shake.

Something began to happen. With each loud Whap! the thin veneer of civility between husband and wife fell away. In its place emerged the primeval: dominant man, submissive woman. His voice low and guttural, Tom bent to Audrey's ear and spoke, even then continuing the steady cadence of fierce smacks.

"You like that, babe? Is your butt burning? Hurting like hell? Are you getting what you deserve?"

"Ooh, yes, I am! Oh Tom, I'm on fire! I never knew there was such pain!" she whimpered. Tom could see bright droplets; tears that now flowed down her cheeks. Audrey trembled, fearfully awaiting the next hard wallop. "Ooow!" she screamed as once again the walls of the room reverberated with the sound of wood punishing flesh.

The act of spanking took on a life of its own. Now Tom gave no thought to the forgotten birthday; to the years of good times and bad he and this woman had shared. The beast within him roared as he punished her. Not for her offense. No. He felt not anger, but euphoria. He spanked Audrey because he could spank Audrey. Because the sight of her butt cheeks darkening to deep red made him feel more alive than he had in years. Because spanking her made him feel that this woman was his, body and soul.

Now engulfed by an inferno of heat and pain, Audrey arched her bottom up and then down; from side to side. Her attempts to escape the wrath of the hairbrush were futile. Still the blows landed, as intense as ever.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the spanking ended. Tom dropped the hairbrush. Audrey, realizing that her bottom was no longer being pummeled, turned and fell onto Tom amid sobs of relief. Both went to their knees, each breathing as hard as the other. The woman then pushed her man to the floor. She fumbled with the zipper of his pants; drew it down. As if in a trance; as if she could not wait another second, Audrey reached in, grasped, and drew out his manhood. Tom was hard and stiff. He had been since the spanking began.

Keening and sighing, she kissed the shaft of his cock; she worshiped her man whose anger she had borne. She paused and looked up at Tom. The message in Audrey's eyes was plain. Every man alive knows that message. Tom undid his belt; he began to slide his pants down.

In a few seconds, the pants had been pushed to his knees; his boxers joined them. Looking at him as would a wildcat at her mate, Audrey rose up and positioned herself on Tom's cock. He watched as his thick manhood slid, inch by inch, between pink lips into her body. "Omigod! Oh yess!" he sighed as Audrey sank down, down until his cock was buried fully in her warm sheath.

His wife bent forward and kissed him. Not the way a middle-aged woman kisses a man. No. It was a feverish kiss; the kiss a wanton harlot gives a man. Audrey held nothing back as her tongue eagerly explored Tom's mouth, gliding around like a snake.

Their lips and their bodies were now joined. Tom grasped his wife's still-red buttocks. Audrey cried out in agony, but continued to ride him. A hard hairbrush had punished her; now a hard cock would satisfy her. The hardest part of the man caressed the softest part of the woman.

Audrey's first orgasm was an explosion. Writhing around on their expensive Persian rug, the mayor and the president of the Garden Club took their pleasure with each other, with no thought for decorum. Only when Audrey's second orgasm sent her into another frenzy did Tom at last find release. With one hand he held her shoulder; the other gripped her buttocks. They clung tightly to each other and shared the longest and sweetest orgasm in decades.

Afterwards, Audrey lay on him as each gasped for breath. The air was pungent with perspiration and Chanel No. 5 and semen and Old Spice. Finally she slid off Tom and lay on the carpet, smiling at him. Tom returned her look, certain that Audrey had never been so beautiful as that moment. Not the first time he saw her; not even on their wedding day. She was a vision; a part of him he could not live without.

Finally he managed a wan laugh. "You know, maybe you should forget my birthday every year."

Audrey looked at him in silence for a moment; then, she spoke. "Birthday? What on earth are you talking about?"

© Leland Mays
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.