tagNovels and NovellasSeduction or Betrayal? Ch. 07

Seduction or Betrayal? Ch. 07


This is the final part of a seven-part novella; it should stand alone, but beginning at the beginning is the recommended pattern. I'm posting all the chapters at the same time so you shouldn't have to wait long for the rest. A Literotica Box Set for the summer.

The original idea for this work came following a discussion at the authors' hangout about frustrations with the black-and-white depictions of adultery in the section-which-cannot-be-named. So thanks to all who chipped in to that debate.

As usual, comments, criticism and support welcomed.


Yvonne lowered her head so that her chin rested against John's calf and used the curtain of her falling hair to cover the movement of her hand as she wiped away tears from her eyes. She tried to concentrate on her breathing to take her mind away from the pain in her burning buttocks. She felt herself undulating gently as his hand moved constantly over her bum. The stroking was almost soporific and she assumed the appreciative moans she was hearing were coming from somewhere inside her.

She closed her eyes and tried to separate the physical and emotional sensations which crowded her. The sharp pains of the individual slaps on her arse was no longer there. While they were going on she had managed to force herself to tolerate the initial discomfort and appreciate, even look forward to, the ebbing spasms which contributed to the underlying tenderness. It felt as if John's hand was smoothing down protruding nerve endings as his palm swept across the glowing area. She only jumped now when his fingers strayed between the folds where her buttocks and pussy joined. And found herself unclenching her buttocks under his soothing ministrations and open her legs to allow his wandering hand more access to her pussy. Could she squeeze her arm between her body and his to help satisfy the cravings for touch her sopping pussy was suffering?

While her body processed its own way to satisfaction on automatic pilot, her brain was in a whirl. Who really was this man across whose knee she was lying? Whose growing erection she could now unmistakably feel pressing against her thigh if she moved just so? Whose fingers she was willing to slide deeper between her thighs perhaps to explore and probe her most intimate parts?

And how much of the whimpering girl she had become this evening was truly part of her? Wanting to be punished and knowing she deserved everything that was happening to her. And how much was just a game? She had, after all, being willing to perform a striptease for John. More. Had things gone according to her plan, she would definitely have tossed him off. She smiled secretly at the nonchalant term her brain had supplied and licked her lips as she contemplated the inevitability of a blow job following. Was she guilty, as this John had accused her, of cock-teasing, deliberately exposing her most private parts to male gaze, of foul language? In short, did she deserve the dirty names he'd called her - tart, trollop and whore? Was the girl she'd been with Patrick, James and Trev still there? And was it wrong to let her out now and then? Just to have a little fun, a break from motherhood and marital conformity?

She felt a physical spasm of guilt when the thought of her husband entered the picture. It could have been the fact that John's soothing fingers actually touched her pussy for the first time, of course. He had quickly withdrawn them and was now gently kneading and pressing her bum again. She felt her buttocks clench. That too may have been in response to John's explorations, but her brain was full of darker emotions: anger at Paul for his betrayal - she had absolutely no doubt about what had gone on in the small tent - and a more visceral hatred for Bridget. She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips to suppress the feelings. Fuck them both, she thought. Why should I feel guilty about having a little innocent fun while those two are bonking like rabbits? She pushed her toes into the carpet and took all her weight on her left arm in order to lift her hips off John's knees enough for her to push her right hand between them and down inside her panties.

'I thought this was supposed to be punishment, not massage time at an all-girls sleepover. Come on, old man, give it some welly.'

This time she didn't try to damp her cry as the sharp pain seared through her and her ears filled with the crack of his firm hand against soft flesh. Her own middle finger was sucked between the folds of her fanny and she set to work with a vengeance.

John was shocked at the sudden turn. He'd been enjoying soothing the hot arse beneath his hand. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps Yvonne had had enough; that he should bring the episode to a close. It was impossible not to notice that as she moved under him she was easing her thighs apart. It wasn't uncommon in his experience. Grace had spoken often about the combination of vulnerability and arousal brought on by a state of undress and restriction.

'You gotta pick one of the three effs: finger 'em, fuck 'em or flog 'em some more.'

Had been her advice. Experience had taught John which was most appropriate in any given circumstance. Some women wanted a fast climax, others just enjoyed BDSM as a sophisticated form of foreplay, he'd found only a small minority who wanted to seek their fulfilment purely from the hand, cane or lash.

He wasn't reading Yvonne particularly well. He put it down mostly to his own enjoyment of her rear end. The cheeks beneath his hands, he told himself, were the same ones he watched bouncing up and down streets as she jogged or stretched out flimsy leggings as she bent over to lift, clean or otherwise service the two small boys. He found himself remembering the nights of masturbatory fantasies as he'd pictured a moment maybe like this. He wasn't surprised to find himself getting hard. Did the way she was moving her thigh indicate that Yvonne had too?

Neither of them held much back in round two. John, who had been stung by being referred to as old man, consciously added force to the downward trajectory of his hand. Whereas it had stung him earlier, now he was feeling pain himself as the slaps landed. He swore at her to keep still as she bucked and writhed on his lap both trying to avoid the blows and dig her fingers deeper into her pussy. When she managed to twist her head up and spat at him he grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her back down again. She tried to twist out of his grip and screamed with the pain when he tightened his hold.

'Lie still you little slut.'

'You bullying cunt.'


'Bastard, no wonder your kids hate you.'


'Fuck you.'


It was all over in probably no more than five minutes, though to both of them it seemed a lot longer. Yvonne's flailing legs got traction somehow and she launched herself forwards across his lap. This gave the hand squashed between them more freedom of movement and she stuffed another two fingers inside herself, forming a triangular, living dildo and working herself as hard as she could. The jerk across also meant that John's firm hold on her scalp yanked her head back sending shooting pains down her neck. She let out two screams in quick succession. The first because of the sudden shock and the second as she came. If John didn't know better he might have assumed she was having an epileptic fit as she slammed across him. She seemed to lose all control of her limbs and she slumped over him as he was forced to take her full weight for the first time.

She was still twitching when she started to cry.

It started with small sobs; vocal winces to reflect the stabs she was getting from the involuntary movements. These changed to more regular weeping as the orgasmic energy seeped from her. That in its turn deepened to long, wracking - not howls exactly, but long animalistic cries. They were almost primal in their intensity. John looked down at her battered body. The red and blue-black marks were concentrated on her buttocks, but the crimson spread down her upper thighs. The places where her struggling had made him miss his mark. He slowly untangled his fingers from her hair and laid her head gently against his leg again, then used the free hand to unfold her dress to cover the damage.

He couldn't do it satisfactorily. The presence of her hand and arm between her legs meant, however hard he tried to create a smooth line, the fabric bunched and he couldn't get it to lie correctly. He eventually gave up and gently adjusted his position so he was sitting more comfortably. He eased his arm under Yvonne's upper chest to support her body weight and stroked her hair while she cried. They sat like this while the large woman on the internet went stoically through the process of being paddled, then caned. By the time the plump man administering her punishment presented his hard cock for a blow job and finished off the whole encounter by wanking himself off over her arse, Yvonne had stopped crying and had begun to stir.

'Let me help you up.'

John took her arm and supported her as she drew her legs under her and tentatively began to stand. Every inch of the procedure was accompanied by short intakes of breath and winces. When she was upright she slowly wiped her face with the forefinger of each had and shook out the skirts of her dress. She gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa next to John and took his hand. She stared at it for a long time. Almost as if she had never seen one before. She eventually looked up into his face with the same critical stare.

'You've done that before.'

'Yup. I had quite a reputation back in the day.'

She fell silent as if processing what he had said.

'It was intense. I've not had an orgasm like that... Let's just say I can't remember when I last lost control.'

'You were amazing. I was sure you were going to shout marigold after the first few slaps.'

Yvonne let out the smallest giggle. John relaxed a little, relieved she was putting the shock into perspective.

'That's the word I was trying to remember.'

They both started laughing, though Yvonne interspersed her's with little cries of discomfort. She leaned over to kiss John on the cheek again.

'I must look a state. I haven't had to redo my make-up twice in an evening since I was getting my heart broken at teenage parties.'

'You look...'

'I know, gorgeous. You're a rubbish liar, John.'

She started to get up, then checked her speed as the soreness reminded her of what had happened. John stood and helped her.

'Body lotion on the bottom might soothe the heat and soreness. I could...'

He let the implication hang in the air.

'It'll be a while before I let your hand near my tush again. I'll tell you what though.'

She had started to walk tentatively to the door.


'It was a sobering experience. I don't know about you, but I could use another joint. Maybe even some more whiskey.'

'If there's any left.'

'Why don't you prepare the goodies? I'll just...'

She waved a hand in a circle as if going to conjure words from the air. John savoured the image of her perfect arse draped in green satin for a moment before getting up himself.

They stood at the open back door - Yvonne had decided that no number of cushions would induce her to sit - smoking the joint and chatting about this and that. Mostly, it was Yvonne cross-questioning John about BDSM. He answered her questions as honestly as he could and noted the pauses she left between questions as she processed what he had said. He knew she was thinking about what it would be like to try some of the things they were talking about. He couldn't stop himself hoping she might engineer a repeat performance. The joint was almost dead. He handed it to her.

'We'll finish the whiskey and then I'd better get off. I'm sure you're done in.'

He started to turn back into the kitchen when Yvonne grabbed him, pushed him back against the open door and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. It was an interesting ballet. The door was three-quarters open, but gave about a foot under the combined pressure of two bodies. John staggered a step back and grabbed Yvonne's bum as he groped to steady himself. She jumped with the pain and he quickly adjusted his hands to hold her waist. They ended up in an upright slump. John worried less about the possibility of a further slide. He was enjoying the feeling of Yvonne's breasts crushed against his chest as he took her full weight. She smiled up at him before sliding her hand behind his neck and pulling his head down. It was the full-shilling of a snog. A real tonsil-licker. Saliva was running down both of their chins before they'd had enough of each other's mouths. Yvonne stepped away from him and coyly wiped her mouth as they both giggled nervously.

'Well that was unexpected.'

John waggled his tongue in his open mouth as if checking he still had all his teeth. It made Yvonne laugh. She dropped the roach on the step and pushed the door closed, satisfied it was still on its hinges.

'I was planning a treat for you before you went all Bruce Willis on my bum.'

'Word on the street is that Bruce is always a perfect gent off-camera.'

'Yeah. But I'd have said the same about you until about an hour ago.'

They picked up their glasses from the kitchen island and made their way back to the front room. Yvonne took a swat at John's bum as he led the way. He looked back over his shoulder and frowned.


'If I decide to take it up more seriously, you'd better watch out.'

'I'll check the staff disciplinary procedure before I take you on.'

'Get a good lawyer.'

They arranged themselves comfortably on the sofa - John more easily than Yvonne. The TV was now back on pastoral scenes and everything was quiet. They both sipped at the smokey booze while glancing at each other when they thought the other wasn't watching. After about five minutes John reached the executive decision that one of them should speak.


'What is it?'


'The treat. I love surprises.'

'But you said you had a treat for me.'

Yvonne frowned and raised her glass.

'Happy birthday to me.'

'Sorry, I'm all presented out. I could do card tricks, maybe. A little conjuring?'

'You could?'

'Well no. But I could come back in a month or two after I've had a chance to practice.'

Yvonne took a deep breath.

'I was going to do a striptease for you.'

'You were? Well it is one of my favourites. Remind me, what was it you got me for my birthday again?'

She laughed.

'The finest Peppa Pig key-ring that money can buy.'

John coughed.

'I think you'll find that was the twins. They told me they'd bought it with real money.'

Yvonne smiled at his squeaky-voiced impersonation.

'So you're saying I owe you?'

'I am.'

'Then you'd better pass me my phone.'

John looked around for his jacket, but stopped as he reached for it.

'You told me you didn't want to look at it after that message.'

'Fuck him. We're going to need music. It's your choice.'

John's hand was scrabbling in his pocket before the words were out of her mouth. She cursed under her breath when the screen lit up.


'it's nothing. He's just messaged me that he'll be back late tomorrow.'

'You want to talk about it?

He tried hard to adjust his posture and body language from panting, potential-striptease punter to concerned friend. Yvonne smiled at him and then went back to her phone. Little burst of music emerged from the tinny speaker, but after each Yvonne frowned or shook her head and went back to pushing buttons.

'He asked me to pick up the boys. Selfish bugger obviously forgot my car's off the road.'

'I'll do it with you if you like. I've nothing much on tomorrow.'

Yvonne dropped the hand holding the phone to her knee and concentrated on John.

'I've already promised to take my clothes off. You don't have to keep being so nice. But thanks anyway. You're a pal.'


'Shush. Hey, did you know there was a song called The Stripper?'

It was John's turn to look confused as the familiar strains of the sixties orchestral classic were mangled by the phone's inadequate speaker. Yvonne rested her head on her shoulder, listening intently, before nodding firmly.

'I could work with that. I'll download.'

'It's a golden oldie. A real bump and grinder. You sure you've never heard it?'

'Bump and grind?'

'It's old-style striptease. You should just stick to what you're comfortable with.'

Yvonne touched the phone again a couple of times and the music suddenly burst out of the TV's speakers giving an altogether richer and deeper sound. She concentrated on the music saying nothing. After about two minutes, just as the band was winding itself up for a grand crescendo, she looked up.

'You remember you said you never know whether the girl's going to get to the end of her act without sprinting for the exit?'


'Well tonight might be the night.'

She grinned nervously, downed the rest of her whiskey and stood, swaying slightly on her high heels. John held out his glass to her, but she shook her head decisively.

'There's a fair chance I'll fall off these heels anyway. No need to pile up the risk factors.'

John started to nod his head in time to the music. Yvonne started to move tentatively, completely out of time with it. She had an expression on her face which looked like she'd been told her favourite pet had died. John smiled at her, he hoped encouragingly.

'You're supposed to at least look as if you're enjoying it.'

Yvonne laughed. It wasn't convincing.

'It's these shoes. I'm terrified I'm going to break my ankle. Sod it. I'm taking them off.'

She marched across the room to John, leaned on his shoulder, lifted her left leg and reached down to slip off the shoe. John rolled his eyes.

'Phwoar. Sexy.'

Yvonne slapped his shoulder.

'If you start taking the piss, I'm definitely sending you home.'

She threw the shoes into his lap slightly harder than was strictly necessary. John laid them carefully next to each other underneath the TV.

'OK, I'll behave. Promise.'

'You'd better.'

Yvonne walked around in as wide a circle as the room would allow, lifting her arms away from her sides a little. It made her look less like she was out on a route march, though from her facial expression John would have sworn she was counting off the miles until she could enjoy a nice cup of cocoa.

'What do I do next?'

'Smiling is always a big winner. Smiling? And, oh yes, teasing. Teasing is good. It's part of the whole striptease thing.'

Yvonne stopped moving and stood with her hands on her hips staring at him. She stuck out her tongue. She was at least grinning though and she twitched her hips almost in time with one of the syncopated sections. John clapped.

'Didn't I warn you about making fun of the performer?'

'What about showing a bit of leg. You've got great pins and stockings and suspenders are always a turn on for the older male.'

'Like this?'

She turned to give him a three-quarter profile and stretched her right leg forward. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she tugged up the skirt about an inch at a time until it was almost up to her hip. Then she let it drop.

'Perfect. And you've got the rhythm of the music down too.'

That wasn't completely true, he thought, but as near as dammit. He could feel his heart beating faster. This might actually happen. Yvonne flipped around to the other side and repeated the manoeuvre. She was beaming now. John wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and whistled softly.

'You lied to me, you've done this before.'

Yvonne held the skirt high between thumbs and forefinger and flexed her knee a couple of times to stretch the suspender elastic against her thigh; she twanged it playfully. John noticed that, at last, she seemed to have picked up time with the music. He settled back in his seat to enjoy the show.

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