Mischief

I have to say in my own defence that what happened wasn't really my fault. It was really the weather and a bit of boredom and I had to do something to kick the doldrums. It was a hot sticky day and I was home alone as my parents had gone away for the weekend. I could have gone with them but who wants to be a third wheel to two older people having a romantic weekend? Not me, that was for sure.

Anyway, it was hot and it was sticky and I didn't want to go out into that hot stickiness. Neither did I want to stay inside, even if it was air-conditioned. Quite a conundrum wasn't it? The most excitement I'd had so far this weekend was watching our new neighbour across the road paint his front fence. It was now gleaming white in the sun.

Our new neighbour's name was John Radford. I'd met him when he came over to introduce himself. He was about the same age as my father which would put him at roughly forty, but he was a big burly man, compared to my father's lean lankiness. He looked as though he looked after himself, with that burliness looking like solid beef, not fat. I idly wondered if he was married but I hadn't seen any sign of a Mrs Radford.

For some reason that pristine fence was annoying me, all gleaming and newly white. Not that it would have been more than a slight irritant except for that prevailing boredom, the itch to do something, anything, and seeing that big black marking pen sitting on the coffee table. My father had left it there for some reason. I kept on meaning to go and put it in the junk drawer in the kitchen and seeing it again I decided to do so.

I picked up the marker and the flash of that fence caught my eye and just like that mischief was born. Don't do it, the voice of caution warned. There'll be no real harm, the spirit of mischief prompted me.

I strolled across the road, marker in hand, and walked the length of Mr Radford's fence, the business end of the marker dragging against the fence the whole way, leaving a nice black streak. Easily panted over, so no real harm, right?

If I had any sense I'd have left things at that, but the fact that I was out there drawing on a newly painted fence showed that common sense was something I was lacking at that point of time, malicious humour over-riding it. I turned around and strolled back along the fence, leaving a second black line.

I was half-way along when Mr Radford came out of his front door. Now he didn't know what I was doing. He was probably just going out somewhere. He'd walk out the gate and keep going, not even noticing the black lines. I mean, why would he? That's what logic would have told me. Ever notice how logic goes out the door when you think you've been sprung and caught red-handed? Or black-handed in this case? I turned and legged it back across the road and into the house just as fast as I could.

Naturally enough my fleeing the scene was enough to arouse his suspicions and it only took a quick look to let him know what I'd been up to.

"You infernal brat!" came drifting after me, but moments later I was inside my own house with no intention of answering the door if anyone decided to knock.

It didn't come as the world's greatest surprise when there was a rather thunderous knock on the door a minute later. I just stayed in the front room, giggling nervously.

"Laugh it up while you can," growled a voice from behind me and I spun around with a startled cry to find Mr Radford standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here? How'd you get in, anyway?" I demanded.

"I'm here because I want to talk to your father. As to how I got in, the door wasn't locked so I just opened it and walked in. Now why don't you get your father for me?"

An idiot. That's what I was. An idiot. Fancy not locking the door. Still, all was not lost.

"My father's not here. He won't be back until tomorrow," I announced quite cheerfully.

"Your mother, then," he said.

"With my father," I said, even more cheerfully.

"In other words you're home alone?"

"Got it in one," I agreed, giving him a big smile. Who cared if he wanted to rant a bit? I'd just let it wash over me, not actually touching me.

"You probably think you're being clever, but you're really being a bit naïve," he said, and now he was sounding suspiciously happy. "Seeing your parents aren't here I guess I'll just have to discipline you myself."

I was like 'say what'. Before I could say anything he'd reached out and caught my arm. That done he just plunked himself down on the couch and yanked me over his knee.

"Seeing you performed such a childish prank I'll give you a fitting punishment. A simple spanking will make me feel a lot better and will certainly cause you to think twice before you do anything so stupid again."

"You wouldn't dare," I gasped and then gave a startled yelp when he yanked my shorts and panties down, leaving my bottom (and other parts) exposed.

On top of the bared bottom was the knowledge that a) I wasn't wearing a bra, and b) my t-shirt was following the dictates of gravity and sliding toward the floor, as that was where my upper body was pointed, meaning that if he looked he'd see my breasts as well.

"Does this feel like I wouldn't dare?" he asked, his hand coming down firmly on my bottom, causing my whole body to jolt. Being a big part of my body my breasts also jolted, flopping back and forth. Gods, I hoped he wasn't noticing them.

"I suppose I should give you a little lecture," he said as his hand came down again, me yelping again, my body jolting again, and my breasts flopping back and forth. "Do you really need the lecture or can we just take that as said?"

All I was saying was things like, "Argh, no, don't, stop," but he acted as though I was seriously answering him.

"Yeah, I have to agree. A lecture on top of the spanking would be redundant. Come to think of it, do you think I should have gone with the lecture instead of the spanking?"

"Yes," I wailed. "Now stop. I've learned. I'm sorry."

His hand kept bouncing off my bottom, and they weren't gentle spanks. He was definitely meaning for me to understand that he was somewhat irate.

"You say you're sorry, but are you really and truly sorry, or are you just saying that?" Spank!

"Yes, yes, yes. It was stupid. I knew it was and I never really intended to do it. It just happened."

"Sort of like this spanking is just happening?" he asked, and his hand finally stopped descending.

You'd think his stopping was a good thing, and it was, but what wasn't quite so good was a number of other things. Things like the fact that my bottom was smarting. Things like the fact that my breasts were still swaying back and forth. Things like my t-shirt being bunched-up above my breasts, my swaying breasts having pushed it there. Things like my shorts and panties being bunched around my knees.

All those things could be classified as not good but they were minor compared to the final item. When he stopped spanking he didn't remove his hand. He simply slid it between my legs and was rubbing me there, quite firmly, and that touch seemed to carry quite deep inside me. On top of that there was the added irritation that my legs were separated as far as they could be, allowing for the constricting effect of the shorts around my knees. That was just plain wrong as I'd held them together when the spanking started, in a naturally modest reaction. So how come they were now parted?

"Do you mind removing your hand?" I demanded.

"Do I mind? Um, yes, I think I do," he replied, said hand continuing to explore where it shouldn't.

"I was being polite. Shift your hand."

"Oh, sorry. I don't normally associate teenagers with politeness. An understandable mistake, I'm sure you'll agree. Ah, you are only eighteen, aren't you?"

"Nearly nineteen," I grouched. "Um, your hand?"

"Nearly nineteen is still eighteen," he pointed out, but he did remove his hand, to my great relief.

Someone does what you ask and then you find out they're not doing what you wanted but what they want. The room seemed to spin around me and there I was, standing in front of him, shorts still around my knees and t-shirt up over my breasts. Talk about showing everything.

I grabbed for my t-shirt first as that was the easiest to put back into position. Another error on my part. While I was doing that Mr Radford was pushing my shorts and panties down around my ankles. As soon as I started to protest he laughed and pulled me down so I was sitting on his lap. From that position he found it child's play to whip my shorts and panties right off, even though I was no child.

I tried to reach for them but he just tossed them to the side. At the same time he was pulling my t-shirt back up, ignoring the various imprecations I hurled at him, and took it right off.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded. "What do you think you're doing?"

"They wanted me to," he said, one hand cupping a breast and twiddling with the nipple, a nipple that was standing out and feeling very sensitive. A glance at my other breast showed that it was in a similar state, both breasts slightly swollen and feeling very sensitive.

"They didn't want any such thing," I said indignantly. "You're just making that up."

"No, seriously," he said. "Look, just stand up for a moment."

He sort of urged me to my feet and there I was, standing in front of him start, staring naked. I was so shocked at the way he was staring at me that I totally failed to notice what else he was doing. He seemed to lurch upwards a bit, which made me take a step back, and then he settled back down, drawing me closer to him.

His arms went around me, his hands closing upon my bottom, and then he was pulling me even closer so I was straddling him. That's when I noticed that I wasn't feeling his trousers against my bare legs but his hairy legs against my nice smooth ones.

How could I miss a man taking his trousers off? Quite easily, it seems, if I'm distracted by the state of my own clothes, and the things he's touching. Looking down at him I could see that something else that was nearly touching me was a hacking great erection. I mean, it was huge. At least, it seemed that way from my point of view.

"Hey, hey, hey, no way," I yelped, trying to pull back. He just laughed and pulled me even closer and now I could feel his cock pressing against my inner thighs.

"Knock it off," I protested. "Not going to happen."

One hand left my bottom and slipped between my legs, the other hand quite sufficient to hold me where he wanted me. I could feel his hand rubbing my lips, then he was spreading them and his erection was pushing up against me.

Just like that I sank down, his cock sliding smoothly into me. Ha, fat chance, and in this case I do mean fat, as his cock was big and thick, thicker than anything else I'd seen, not that I'd seen many, but still.

Now that he'd started his hands closed over my hips, both holding me in position and encouraging me to sink down onto him. He pushed up into me, my passage having to stretch like crazy to admit something that thick, resulting in the gains he made being very small. That didn't really help me at all as it merely prolonged that first thrust, if you can call dozens of little gains a first thrust. (I will concede that saying dozens might be a bit of hyperbole, but seeing I was the one feeling each and every one of those movements I'm entitled to say dozens.)

It seemed to take several minutes before he was fully inside me but that was probably time dilation caused by the whole experience. Once he had me settled nicely on his lap, erection firmly in place, his hands came up and covered my breasts. He promptly started stroking them, just letting me sit on his cock for the time being.

(The funny thing about what was happening is that didn't even occur to me until the next day that I didn't have to let him do that to me. I could have resisted, pushed myself up and off his lap, fought, screamed, any number of things, but what did I do? Sat there, letting him stick that great big cock into me. Damned if I know why.)

So I sat there, impaled on his cock, while he played with my breasts. I don't know how long he played, or what triggered the next step, but he suddenly smiled at me.

"I know," he said. "You want to get things moving."

"No I don't," I said quickly, promptly finding my wishes ignored.

He turned sidewards, taking me with him naturally, and then leaned forward to lie on the couch. This meant that I also got laid on the couch on my back, with him pressing down on me. That done he started withdrawing, paused, thrust back into me quite forcefully.

I gave a small scream, astonished that his cock slid so smoothly inside me, and shocked at the way it made me feel. I guess al that sitting, waiting, had simply been to give my natural juices time to flow, and they were flowing and lubricating just as neat as you please.

Now he was plying his craft with quite some vigour, pulling well back and then driving in deep, with my passage ready, willing, and able, to accept what he was giving me. I was reacting quite naturally, humping my hips and pushing to meet him, no reluctance in my action whatsoever. At some stage my legs came up and wrapped around him, clinging tightly as he rode me hard.

I was way aroused, and he was building on that arousal with every thrust, his fiddling around with my breasts adding to my excitement. All I was really aware of was him and what he was doing to me, his cock driving relentlessly into me, forcing my reaction to it, turning up the heat with every thrust.

It finally reached a point where I just lost it, shrieking as I climaxed, feeling him pound against me as he climaxed in turn.

He smiled at me as he pulled his trousers up.

"I'm going to go home and touch up my fence," he said. "That'll probably take an hour. When I've finished I'm going to come back, have you bend forward over the arm of the couch, and entertain you from behind."

"You are not," I gasped out.

"Accordingly, it would probably be a waste of time for you to get dressed for such a short period. I'll think about you while I'm painting, the anticipation building my reserves."

"Not going to happen," I insisted as he left. I glared after him. I'd get dressed if I wanted to. Nobody could tell me to run around naked. Who did he think he was? I wouldn't answer the door. That would show him.