A Glass of Chablis Ch. 06

"Sex in front of the fire, a common theme. Two men and three women, and the men so in control. Telling the women what to do."

"Do you like that?" The old man asked.

"Yes and no. I don't mind you telling me what to do. And there's something deeply erotic here in the way Monique just makes herself ready and Jeanne lifts her skirt."

"And readies the man."

"Mmmm, the sword of flesh. Love the thought as it 'swelled and stiffened beneath the closed palm,' always good to see!"

She pulled open the folds of his dressing gown and smiled down at George's cock lying across its woolly bed of snow-white hair. It was neither flaccid nor erect, a bit of both really, some arousal but not the full thing, at least not to start with. "Is that for me George? Is that why your cock is swelling and stiffening right in front of my face. How good it looks. Do you want me to suck?"

Of course he did! Ivy hardly waited for an answer and caught it still swelling with her lips; a growing thing to suck upon. A pleasant little gentle fellation and then another passage to be read with penis in hand. Ivy read aloud:

'Meanwhile, the man who liked women only for what they had in common with men, seduced by the available behind which was straining at the bonds knotted just below the waist, a behind made all the more enticing by its efforts to dodge the blows, called for an intermission in order to take advantage of it. He spread the two parts, which burned beneath his hands, and penetrated - not without some difficulty - remarking as he did that the passage would have to be rendered more easily accessible. They all agreed that this could, and would, be done.'

Ivy looked up, "So, 'a man who liked women only for what they had in common with men...' You wouldn't want to whip me though would you, George, just spank."

"And perhaps cane."

"Thoughts of schoolboys, eh? I wouldn't have seen you as..."

"No, no, but the thought of schoolgirls. Well rounded, matured of course... long white socks, pleated skirts, hair in pigtails. You know the sort of thing. Has always, um, pleased me. I don't know why I'm telling you this..."

"Because you want me over your lap again. You want to pretend."

The nail on the head.

Ivy looked at him, her head a little lowered, her eyes upturned, "Skirts raised, cotton knickers lowered, plump bottoms all ready for chastisement?"

George smiled across at Ivy from under his moustache. "It all has a certain je ne sais quoi, does it not?"

"For you men, you naughty men. But the bottom plugging. Beatrice has a lot of it, 'The Story of O' as well. There seems a sort of obsession with it. Would you really...?"

It was obvious, obvious to her, obvious in the way he looked at her, almost an embarrassed look. Ivy carried on, "I don't really... but I suppose, if you would really like. I haven't before not with..." Ivy winced; the memory still sharp. Perhaps that was why he had gone with Jill. He had suggested a few times, but Ivy had been reluctant. Had put him off. Perhaps Jill... but Ivy did not care.

"I'll..." she stood, "I'll just go and do something. I wouldn't do this for just anyone... haven't before... if you like."

George swallowed. Ivy was suggesting, no inviting, him to sodomise her, to push his cock into her bottom as he had her other places.

Ivy reappeared after a little while. Time for George to ponder on what was in store for him. She reached for the book; the bending forward lifted her skirt, a little aided by Ivy, so her bottom was exposed, and George found himself receiving an unusual jolt of sexual excitement. Long years of life had not caused him to tire of ladies and their curvy bits seen from behind; he had always found it fascinating how their sweeter parts are hidden when standing up and then the tiniest bit of forward movement of the body would begin revealing their, was it too much to say, 'magic' places to a man's lustful eyes. Not just her sweet sex, her outer lips puffy, swollen and accommodating (no doubt) but her little wrinkled brown orifice winking into view.

It was obvious, obvious, Ivy had been more than just undressing, more than just bathing, more than just washing herself rather more intimately – internally – than usual. What was so obvious was she had been oiling that little wrinkled orifice, making it slippery and ready for George's old penis. Not the young, smooth shaft and 'racing' knob of a young man but his craggy old 'battering ram.' George swallowed. The thought of it. Could he perhaps go the whole way in aided by that oil? What if he got stuck, what if Doris appeared with him securely wedged inside Ivy's bottom?

"Don't read, Ivy, just settle down across my knees." His exposed cock was just where Ivy had left it, sticking up through the folds of his dressing gown. He watched the girl settling upon him, her wonderfully rounded bottom in a grey, pleated skirt, her smooth thighs appearing at its hem just above the crook of her knees and then the white long socks. It was indeed more than a little school girlish; the thought of the young girl lying down across the old headmaster's knee so in his mind. A little unlikely that the old boy's penis would be exposed though a lot less unlikely that it would be hard and 'ready;' more likely the girl, squirming upon the man's lap, would be wondering what it was that was 'hard' in his pocket – or maybe having a very good idea indeed! Perhaps the school having a very clear set of rules, a graduated scale of punishment written up on the board. The female teacher drawing the girls' attention to it:

#5 Wrap over knuckles with ruler

#4 Spanking

#3 Bare bottom spanking

#2 The Cane

#1 Sodomy

"What's sodomy, miss?" The new girl in the class, freshly joined the sixth form from another school. Her innocent blue eyes looking out under her blond fringe, her eighteen-year old breasts pushing at her blouse. "You will be bent over the headmaster's desk, your skirt raised, your knickers removed and I shall assist the headmaster in inserting his erect penis into your bottom to its full depth (which is considerable) and he will then slide it in and out of you the requisite number of times."

The colour draining from the girl's face. "Requisite number," she faltered, "how ma...many?"

The teacher looked at the sweet young girl, her bottom was definitely moving upon the hard seat, soft upon hard. She did not think Dr Ackroyd would need very many strokes in such a desirable young thing, "It all depends, it all depends... but I should not think that many in your case!"

"What were you thinking of, George?" And he told Ivy as he readied her, his fingers carefully raising and folding back the material of the skirt, rolling down the knickers in the direction of the white socks. White knickers, white socks. Making the girl ready for chastisement. The flesh so smooth, so soft, so very tactile. A gentle slap and then his fingers moulded a buttock, fingertips curling over and into the crack between the pair.

"It's hot inside. Perhaps I should take your temperature!"

"With your big thermometer with the bulbous red end!"

His finger kept returning to the little wrinkled orifice and slipping in. "I've never actually..." He said.

"Me neither."

"It excites me."

"It's doing that to me. Careful you don't come too soon, though there's always another night. Your finger's all the way in, isn't it?"

A slap of his hand but then George had an idea. A thought and a recollection came to his mind. He stood Ivy up and walked to the hall. George found, he thought he remembered it there, hidden behind a couple of old umbrellas and various walking sticks, just what he had hoped to find. A thin rattan cane his father used to sport in his best summer holiday clothes. Still flexible, still just the job for the soft buttocks of recalcitrant schoolgirls!

What offence had Ivy committed? Caught wanking a group of boys behind the bike sheds? One girl and a whole gaggle of cocks pointing in her direction being expertly manipulated until release? Caught in bed with another girl and the scent of heated female arousal rising so strongly when the covers were pulled sharply back by the scandalised matron? Caught with a boy on top of and within her, way out on the school playing fields near the copse where they thought they would not be seen? All sorts of possibilities!

George walked back into the sitting room, his dressing gown flowing behind him very much like the gown of some headmaster of an English public school. But what headmaster would stride into his 'study' with his exposed and tumescent penis before him? A headmaster of a very unusual school where the punishments were graded up to the Number One!

Across the old desk, Ivy had placed herself, a submissive pose, her grey pleated skirt pulled up exposing her naked buttocks, her knickers around her ankles – around ankles clad in long white socks. It was an astounding picture much helped by the low lighting and flickering firelight. A so sexual image. Perhaps elsewhere in the road couples were playing not dissimilar games. Dressing up, play-acting games for adults.

Outside the wind chose the moment to howl. It made the little not exactly 'domestic' scene the more pleasing. It was not a night to be out. Certainly not the moment for Doris to telephone about her central heating; not when George had bare, young female buttocks to thrash. He tested the bendiness of the cane. He would have to be careful not to overdo things, not to get carried away. George raised the cane and caught sight of himself and Ivy in a small mirror on the wall. What a sight, his old body standing there in his dressing gown, it very much open as he held his hand aloft revealing his erection; he was pleasantly surprised at just how strong and youthful his 'stand' looked, there was nothing of an old man's 'droop' about it, craggy and gnarled maybe but certainly very erect, rising up from his snow white curls. Unsurprising perhaps with the sight of the mock schoolgirl and her naked bottom all so ready in the mirror.

George Crombie was so worked up, his penis tingling with the excitement. Almost a risk of premature ejaculation, his penis going off as he caned the girl. A pornographer's composition. Easy to imagine the drawing: very much the pose he and Ivy had, but with the drawn headmaster's penis spurting out across the girl's buttocks as the cane fell again and again – splat! In the background other teachers watching, woman and men, hands folded in their laps, and perhaps another girl looking on with worried face and knickers already around her ankles.

The cane fell with a satisfying crack. A little too hard perhaps. Certainly, a cry from Ivy, "Oooh it stings!"

George felt with his hand. The girl was certainly wet. He could put his fingers insider her sex. Good to think of the chastised girl getting wet. A lovely thought. How many girls did get wet upon a spanking or a caning? The headmaster perhaps spanking the girl in front of parents, her knickers necessarily lowered, the father getting an erection, the girl worried about showing her sex, the mother seeing the wetness between her daughter's thighs and secretly wishing for the same kind of punishment. George's imagination had run riot often enough in that room on his own, fuelled by his special type of reading but it was certainly going places that evening. The father embarrassed, even appalled, to find the spanking of his daughter's posterior arousing and wishing he could see the other girls being spanked and perhaps 'punish' them in a different way!

Nice to imagine the schoolboys and schoolgirls punished together, a formal punishment in front of their classmates together with the assembled staff. Skirts and trousers removed, knickers and pants lowered or discarded into a heap, and then the young miscreants are bent over, shirts and blouses lifted off bottoms. Hard male bottoms there in the school hall, soft rounded young female bottoms interspersed; a row of pink or maybe other colours of skin represented, perhaps a wonderfully black and rounded female bottom all there ready for the chastisement. Embarrassment reddening their faces, but perhaps arousal coming as well – an excitement at their exhibition. Nice – so nice - imagining the girls getting wet, the delicate scent growing along with the boys' penises. They can't help it, the girls and boys, even before the caning begins. The swish, the sound of rattan on flesh. Six of the best to each pair of cheeks before they are permitted to straighten themselves – girls first. And then the boys stand up... shock from the girls. The boys receiving a punishment worse than the cane as their penises are revealed erect and exposed to their friends. And then they are told to...

Another swipe with the cane. Six of the best? "How many, Ivy?"

"Another four and then... then you do it – in my bottom." She kicked her knickers from her legs, opening them the wider

It might have been thought it was George in charge with the cane, but clearly not. Another falling of the cane, another tensing of Ivy's buttocks. Between the girl's spread thighs her oval sex so revealed, her private hair on display, all so enticing to a man's penis. George had a desperate desire to penetrate, push into the hot wetness, bathe his cock in the running liquid and release. A primitive desire to make babies. But that was not to be, not that evening. Above the oval, the rosebud, oiled, shining and ready. A different road to travel. Tighter, much tighter, a narrower passage.

Down the cane fell again. Two more to go and then George needed to do a strange thing. How could he have conceived when he first met the drenched, cold shivering girl, Ivy Reid outside his house that he would be doing such a thing to her? Not just thwacking her defenceless bottom cheeks with a cane but...

Down came the cane again. George touched her sex with it after the blow, drawing the rattan between her lips, pulling the nodules of the cane over her so sensitive skin, making her gasp. One more drop of the cane and he would need to try and push his penis into Ivy's bottom. A job for a man! His finger touched and slipped easily in. He watched his knuckle disappear as it was absorbed by the rubbery sphincter.

"Are you sure, Ivy?" Inches from her bottom the upstanding penis.

Ivy turned and nodded. "Again," she said, and received the last stinging whip upon her buttocks.

George swallowed and put down the cane. It was time for the next stage. There was no hurry. Quite something to watch as he brought his old knob to young Ivy's back orifice. He could see: Ivy would feel.

The touch, the contact; George's smooth knob, the wrinkled skin; a little gasp from Ivy. He reached around, holding her hips, feeling her pelvic bone in each of his hands as he got ready to push with his penis. A push with his knob but a pull with his hands, hopefully resulting in Ivy's sphincter giving way and allowing him ingress.

The oiling and Ivy's preparation did the trick. Not for George and Ivy minutes of futile pushing, trying not so much to fit a square peg in a rounded hole as a rounded peg that just did not seem to fit. It was surprisingly easy. All at once there was only half a knob to be seen and then it was as if he was sucked in. One moment he could see himself, the next his penis was clasped by Ivy, all around the join of shaft and knob. The coronal ridge within, the sulcus grasped, the shaft without.

"Oh George, I feel full."

Not half as full as she would be! The man in George was hardly going to stop his exploration at base camp. He would climb higher – or burrow deeper. Mountain climber or potholer? And with the entrance overcome, there was very little to stop him sliding and watching his penis slowly disappear between Ivy's cheeks into the hotness of the passage.

"I never thought..."

What did she not think? That when she first me the old man he would a couple of weeks later be sodomising her with her permission, indeed encouragement; that she would one day have a man's penis old enough to be her grandfather and more inside her bottom; or having a man at all doing that thing?

On George slid, no resistance to his exploring probe, none until his body met hers and he was fully embedded. He felt Ivy's hand reach under herself and clasp his balls as they nestled up against her sex.

"Oh George, now I really feel full! I want to come like this. May I make myself. Can you hang on and let me? Move if you like but don't come until I say. Please. I like the thought, the potential of your penis, able to come and fill me, but not yet, not yet."

He felt her fingers moving, even entering her body up the other channel. He was not moving. The feeling and thoughts dangerously priming! A superb feeling. Best not to think of Ivy's fingers inside her like the penis of another man taking her from the front. He had never done that – taken a woman the same time as another man. Double penetration – what a thing!

Ivy's fingers moved upon herself as she lay across the table; there, lodged in her bottom, George Crombie's penis, his weight at her bottom. Within the room the tick-tocking of the clock and the crackling of the fire. A domestic scene of sorts.

Ivy trembled, feeling her nipples hard against the smooth surface of the table. She had made herself come often enough on her own in bed but never like this, never with her bottom speared by a man. Her fingers played, her fingers excited her to and over her peak. Lovely feelings – strange feelings as well.

"I've come, George; you now come when you like. No hurry, dear George, my bottom is yours for the time."

No hurry and he was going to try, try his hardest – and he was certainly that – to enjoy the experience the more. Slowly he eased back watching the wrinkled shaft reappearing, shiny with oil and then pushed it back into the girl. Back and forth he went as the girl lay still, her arms now upstretched up the table. A total surrender. Her school-like skirt lifted up her back, her bottom so exposed. The schoolgirl receiving the headmaster's punishment as he had done for perhaps generations of schoolgirls. The act, so good to see, so good to see his penis sliding in her bottom.

George did well. Very well. Ivy had not expected him to hold out so long before the short, enthusiastic stabs with his penis indicated George was about to do the deed and complete the act of sodomy. She felt the hot spurting and then waited, still supine, as George relaxed within her to finally pull his soft penis from her bottom. She had felt it losing its strength and girth becoming a smaller and smaller stopper until the pulling out. She had tried to clamp it and hold it, making extraction difficult; had half expected the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle when it happened. It would have been so right!

A week later and a quiet evening after dinner in front of the fire. "I've got a date," Ivy looked a little warily at her host, she was worried how he might take it, might be jealous, might have got rather used to her and be possessive. Not a bit of it, his face broke into a delighted smile. It was genuine, she could tell. He was pleased for her. She went on, "I hadn't thought, not so soon after..."

"Best to get, to have got, that out of your system."

"Over and done with." She shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose I hope they'll be happy. I don't want to know. I don't care. It's still so raw. Awful arguments and then..."

"This young man, what is he like? Tell me. At your firm, I presume?"

And Ivy talked and talked. It was obvious she was keen. Much happier talking about him than her ex – both boyfriend and friend.

The next night the same. Ivy talking about the boy.

Ivy found it difficult to understand. George seemed so very content with her seeing Nick Handshaw, so unconcerned at what might well result in her leaving him and lodging elsewhere – with Nick. It was not she who suggested it, but George – that she should bring him home. Have him stay for supper. After Nick left and George decently let Ivy see him out alone, no doubt with a kiss at the front door, George said he approved and would be happy for Nick to stay the night another time – and he did not mean that Nick should sleep in a different room from Ivy.