Dad's Not Home

"Dad's going out for a few hours and I'm home alone. Why don't you come over and we can spend some quality time together."

When Johnny called me I was just sitting at home vegetating, bored out of my mind. He was currently grounded for some reason, otherwise we'd have been out on some sort of date. Johnny's a year older than me, nearly twenty, and in my opinion, for his dad to actually ground him, he must have pulled some really asinine stunt. He's such a child at times.

Still, he's great fun, and as long as I don't let him lead me into doing anything truly outrageous we have some good times together. However, I knew just why he wanted me to go over for what he called quality time. He's hoped to talk me into bed.

"I'm surprised that your dad is going out while you're grounded. I'd have thought he'd stick at home to make sure you stayed home and didn't go inviting visitors over. As you're doing right now, knowing he won't be there."

"Normally he wouldn't," came Johnny's laughing reply, "but it's a command performance. My grandmother has spoken and dad snaps to. I heard him assuring her that I'd be fine for the night, so I'm thinking he won't be home until tomorrow."

Definitely making a major move to get me into bed. I'd have to depress that a little.

"OK. I'll come over for a while. But just to visit. Don't go getting your hopes up."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hah! You've probably already changed the sheets on your bed and dabbed on fresh aftershave. I've told you before I'm just not sure I'm ready to go as far as you want to."

"Relax. I'm not going to force you, you know. If you say no, I can accept it. Maybe not very happily, but I can accept it. And I reserve the right to try to change your mind."

And it would be fun letting him try. We arranged a time and I agreed to be there.

I sighed after I hung up. I really was going to have to make a decision about Johnny. It seemed to me to be reaching a point where I either slept with him or dropped him, and I had a niggling suspicion that my choice was going to be to drop him.

Not that there was anything wrong with Johnny per se. It was just that he seemed to lack a touch of gravitas, seemed younger than me at times. I don't know. Maybe I was just maturing faster than he was. Maybe tonight would help me decide.

I got dressed with some care before heading over to see Johnny. A blouse, I decided. Undoing buttons would slow him down a little, and you can always call a halt after a predetermined number of buttons. On the flip side, a t-shirt getting peeled off is a commitment. For a similar reason I wore a front fastening bra. That coming undone could be chance. Leaning forward so he could undo the fastening on my back could also be construed as commitment.

A skirt, not too long. It was a real toss-up between a skirt and jeans or slacks. I finally opted for the skirt as while it would encourage him and provide easier access compared to slacks or jeans, it was also easy to push back into place. Once any sort of trousers were off it was a lot harder to just slip them back on. I could just imagine Johnny's reaction if he saw me trying to stuff my bottom back into a pair of tight jeans. I'd probably be ravished on the spot.

The piece de resistance was a lacy black thong. Mainly because I just knew it would drive him wild when he finally got to see it. I had no doubt things would go at least that far. It was the 'and no farther' bit I had to watch carefully.

It was around eight and I was driving towards Johnny's place when my phone rang. A quick glance showed it was Johnny calling. Probably wanting to know where I was. I wasn't really late. Well, I mean I wouldn't be when I actually got there. There was no need to start chasing me up this early. I ignored the call, feeling a little miffed. I'd said I'd be there. What difference does a couple of minutes make? Then messages started arriving, so I turned off the phone. It was distracting me.

I pulled up at Johnny's place and I was almost on time. I mean, what's half an hour here or there? I rang the bell, surprised that Johnny wasn't on the doorstep, jumping up and down impatiently. Even more surprised when he didn't come haring along to open the door. I tried the handle and it turned so I went in. I'd probably caught him in the loo.

"I'm here, Johnny. I think I need a drink. I'm going to raid your dad's bar."

I heard an answering shout from somewhere in the house, so at least I knew he was there. I'd been starting to wonder if he'd got tired of waiting and gone out.

I was bent almost double, inspecting the contents of the cupboards under the bar, a bottle of whiskey in my hand while I poked around. I was somewhat startled to find a hand flip my skirt up and start fondling my bottom. A bottom that was, I might point out, essentially bare, because my thong did not cover my buttocks in any manner, shape or form. Maybe I should have worn slacks, not that that would have stopped Johnny from stroking my ass.

"Knock it off, Johnny," I snapped, slapping at his hand. "I'm here for conversation, remember. Not carnal curiosity."

"And pleased I am to hear you say so," said this deep baritone, sending shivers through me.

That voice just oozed illicit sex and wild passionate nights. It was a voice that any woman would excuse a little carnal curiosity. What it wasn't was the voice of Johnny, who had a pleasant tenor, with no spine-chilling sexuality.

I shrieked and bounced upright, spinning to face Simon, Johnny's father.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I yelled. "How dare you touch me like that?"

"I live here," Simon pointed out, most unreasonably in my point of view.

"But you've gone out," I protested. "Johnny said you were going somewhere with your mother."

"Ah, Johnny was slightly mistaken," drawled Simon. "My mother was actually here to pick up John and take him away. There's some show or something she wants him to see. I thought he seemed a little perturbed when she marched him out."

"I don't fucking believe this," I muttered. "Why the hell didn't he tell me?" Then I groaned, remembering the ignored phone calls and messages.

"Maybe he did and your phone was switched off," suggested Simon, "and please don't swear. I don't like it and you're old enough to know better."

I blinked and stared at him. He had the gall to start correcting my manners? I do try to watch my language and usually apologise if I have the occasional slip, but to have Simon reprimanding me on top of finding him there instead of Johnny was a bit much.

"You are not my father," I enunciated clearly, "so I don't see that it's and of your fucking business what I fucking say."

"My, my," he said, shaking his head. "That's throwing down the gauntlet, isn't it?"

He reached down and took the bottle of whiskey I was still holding and put it on the bar. His hand closed over my elbow.

"This is called picking up the gauntlet," he said, sitting on the couch.

With that he pulled me over his knee and flicked my skirt up. And there was me wearing that damned thong. I should have gone for granny pants. His hand came sharply down on my bottom and I squealed and protested.

"You know, if I was your father I'd probably still be spanking you for your rudeness and disrespect, but I wouldn't have been enjoying it nearly as much. Now I'd like to point out that this is my house and my rules apply. Understand?"

Understand? Too right I understood. He was spanking me, slapping my poor bottom with a great heavy hand. My whole bottom shook every time that hand landed, and I was wailing and apologising like crazy. Neither really helped. He just kept right on paddling until he was satisfied.

"That was uncalled for," I protested. "You could have made the same point with a single spank, and you know it. That was plain brutality."

And why, I wondered, hadn't he let me up? I was still lying over his knee with his hand resting on my bottom. I was, I found, dreadfully aware of that hand. Not only because it was on my bottom, my bare bottom, please note, but it was resting closer to other places that I liked. What would I do if he moved his hand slightly?

The very thought of it sent a lick of heat running through my loins. Not that it was alone there. It promptly joined the little fire it found, generated by that spanking. I pushed my hands against the couch, trying to indicate that I wanted off his lap.

"Don't be in such a rush," Simon murmured softly. "First, tell me what the hell this is supposed to be."

With that he just calmly peeled my thong down, taking it right off and dangling it from one finger. I was just staring at it. He was holding my thong and I was across his knee with my skirt lifted. It logically followed that he could see, not just my bottom, but certain other interesting bits hat were as bare as the day I was born. Literally. I'd shaved before coming over. Just in case I'd decided to say yes, that's all. Not that I was intending to.

This time when I frantically pushed against the couch he let me go and I bounced to my feet. I made a hasty snatch at the thong and missed as he moved it out of reach.

"It's called a thong," I muttered, "and you had no right to take it off. That's assault, that is."

"Possibly," he said. As if he cared. I could hear the remorse dripping from his voice, I don't think. He pointed to the couch.

"Sit down. I'll get you a drink. Not the whiskey, though. I think a nice sherry. I have some here I think you'll like."

"Ah, could I have my panties, please. I'd prefer not to be sitting here without them."

"They hardly qualify as panties," Simon said, smiling, "and I prefer you to sit there without them."

"Why?" I demanded, feeling slightly stunned.

"Because you'll be sitting there, knowing you're not wearing any panties and knowing that I know you're not wearing them. Every time you look at me you'll remember that I know you haven't got any panties on and that I saw your nudity when you were bent over my knee. You'll look at me and think 'he saw me and he knows I'm naked', and you will be very much aware of your nakedness and of my knowing about it. You'll find the whole thing stimulating."

I took the sherry, feeling totally floored. He wanted me to feel naked and to know that he knew I was feeling naked? What was worse, now that he had talked about it I really felt naked. I couldn't help feeling that he was watching me and imagining me sitting there without my skirt. That feeling of heat prickling inside me became worse. I knew just where that heat was pooling.

I sipped on the sherry. He was right, I did like it. I drank it slowly and wondered if I should ask for a second, deciding not to. I needed to keep my wits about me. Simon, in the meantime, had poured himself a little bit of whiskey. I was surprised that he put so little in the glass. He saw me looking and commented.

"You don't pour a large drink of whiskey, and you just sip it. It is a bit strong for you, and women don't usually like it. I'll let you try it sometime, but not tonight."

"Oh. OK. Um, could I have my panties, please? I really should be going home."

"Why? You were expecting to spend some time with John. You can spend it with me instead. Come and sit on my lap."

Was he kidding? Sit on his lap and me without panties? What if he tried to take advantage of my having no panties? No way. I kept telling myself that as I rose to my feet and moved over to sit primly on his knee.

He laughed and pulled me closer.

"Just relax. I don't bite. Well, I do, but only when the occasion calls for it."

I quite liked Simon and I'd always thought that he like me and approved of me, although I had sensed that he didn't really approve of Johnny and me being a couple. This I laid more on Johnny than on myself. Like I said, he was slow to mature, but I thought he'd turn out OK in the long run.

We talked quietly for a while. I'm not really sure about what, but it was interesting at the time. Then I came to a question that I thought needed to be addressed. Sitting up a bit straighter, I asked it.

"Um, how come that half my blouse buttons are undone?"

"Because I stopped undoing them while I unclipped your bra," came the cool response.

Seeing Simon had a hand inside my bra and was stroking my breast I guessed the answer was reasonable. I relaxed again, enjoying the feel of masculine hands running over my sensitive breasts. A gentle warmth was stealing over me and I just lay there, eyes half closed, enjoying it. I wasn't even aware when the rest of the buttons on my blouse drifted apart and both blouse and bra fell away.

I was surprised at myself. I eventually knew that I'd been half undressed, but I didn't seem to care. The idle thought crossed my mind that with my panties off, I was effectively nude. I still didn't care.

I was relaxed right up to the point that Simon's hand closed over my mound. I don't know why I was so shocked. I'd felt his hand stroking along the inside of my leg. He'd been grazing his teeth against my nipple at the time, and when his hand pushed between my legs it had just seemed reasonable to let them drift apart. But now he'd touched me really intimately and suddenly it was a whole new ball game.

I stiffened and my eyes popped wide, head turning to stare at him. He just stared straight back at me, his hand not moving away. I wanted to protest, to tell him no, but, still looking at me, he started to squeeze my mound and relax. He seemed to just hold me there, hypnotised, while his fingers began to work a deadly magic upon me.

I couldn't keep looking at him. I just closed my eyes and let the sense of his touch enthral me. His hands seemed to just flow over me, trailing little lines of fire as they moved.

I'm not sure when I realised that Simon had an erection. I don't mean an erection tucked safely away in his trousers. All men seem to have those. I mean an erection that had escaped its confines and was brushing against my side. I'm sure I didn't mean to touch it, and when I did I meant to release it pretty much right away. So again I found myself a little confused as to how come my hand was running up and down, feeling him, testing the hardness of it, sensing the heat.

I seemed to be floating. It was only when I found myself being pressed against the couch that I found that Simon had just picked me up and carried me. My skirt, I idly noticed, had gone the way of my blouse and bra. My entire attire now was a pair of ankle socks and sneakers.

The ankle socks I could get away with, but sneakers?

"I've got shoes on," I muttered, half in protest.

Simon was looking at me, laughing silently as he took the sneakers off.

"Socks, too," he asked, and I shook my head.

"No. I want them on," I muttered, although for the life of me I don't know why. It just seemed important to keep them. Some semblance of control in a world I no longer knew.

I lay on the couch, watching Simon undress though half closed eyes. He was turning towards me when I stopped him.

"No socks," I demanded. "I'm wearing socks. Not you."

He stripped off his socks and I was content. I still had my little bit of control. Then Simon was moving over me, moving my legs apart and settling between them. I wanted to tell him this was new to me, but I couldn't speak. I just watched as he moved forward, holding my breath as his cock first brushed against my lips and then eased past them, moving into me.

I could feel his cock creeping forward, and I felt it meet my hymen. Simon didn't appear surprised. He seemed to just accept it, as if he knew. (Later it occurred to me that of course he knew. His fingers had so thoroughly explored me how could he fail to know?)

Simon started moving softly, pulling back a little and then pressing forward. The head of his cock was going tap, tap, tap, against my hymen, then there was a sting and his cock just continued on past. I gave a little squeak, knowing I could now be classified as an ex-virgin.

Simon smiled at me, and I gave a tentative smile back, while feeling him sinking deeper into me, filling me, stretching my passage so that he would have more room to fill, and then moving boldly on.

There didn't seem to be any specific point at which I could say Simon was now fully inside me. One moment he was pushing in and I could feel myself pressing against him, the next he would seem to retreat, leaving me a little bereft. Then he was coming in again, my hips rising to take him, Simon sinking a little deeper, then away he would go.

Back and forth he went, each time he advanced he seemed to sink in deeper, and once I'd established the rhythm I was moving easily under him. He was sinking fully into me, I just knew it, feeling him making me his, joining me to him, connecting us and not letting go.

Back and forth he swayed, rocking against me, while I bounced on the couch, eagerly taking him again and again. I was babbling as I bounced, not knowing what I was saying, passion running riot within me, controlling me, or maybe making nonsense of my control.

It was funny. In the midst of the turmoil one little incident stood out. I was squealing and bucking and pleading. I could hear myself saying things like, "Please, faster, faster, oh fuck me, please." Then for some reason I remembered Simon's strictures against swearing and my eyes popped open and stared at him. He seemed to catch on right away. "See," he said. "You do know the correct way to use that word." With that he just bounced me even harder against the couch, leaving me babbling again.

How long does an eternity last and why does it finish so soon? Simon took me and kept on taking me, sweeping away all my inhibitions, leaving me with just the single desire for him to keep on doing what he wanted to me. When he finally stepped it up a notch it didn't make much difference to me. It just meant that I finally tumbled over the edge I'd been walking for what seemed like ages. I gave a low cry and just let everything sweep me away, feeling completely boneless and fluid as I sank back against the couch, shivering and completely lost.

When I managed to get my wits together I found Simon was reclining on the couch with me tucked up against his side, one of his hands casually draped over a breast, gently tweaking the nipple. I lay there for a while breathing hard. Simon seemed to know I was watching him. He just gave my breast a slightly harder squeeze. Eventually I had to speak.

"Ah, I suppose I should be going home," I suggested softly.

Simon was shocked.

"In this condition," he said. "I won't hear of it. Why, you've got no clothes on, you naughty girl, you."

"I meant after I got dressed," I said, glaring at him.

"But there's something that you're forgetting," he told me.

What? I couldn't think of anything I'd forgotten. I had a brand new bunch of memories that would be hard to forget but I didn't think they'd crowded anything else out of my mind. Apart from my sanity, maybe.

"Oh? And that is?"

"John is going to be away all night," said Simon.

At some stage he'd managed to pour a glass of sherry, and now handed it to me.

"You've had a harrowing experience," he told me. "I think you should have a nice glass of sherry to help you recuperate, after which I'll take you and give you a nice shower to cool you down. After the shower I'm going to tuck you into a nice bed to warm you up. Then I'm going to climb into that bed and proceed to heat things up. Now doesn't that sound like a plan?"

He's bigger than me and a bully. Look at the way he brutally beat me earlier. It seemed to me that I'd best go along with his demands. I took a sip of sherry.