Texas Heat: The Final Frontier

Daniel trusted. Brandi busted. Miss Conaway flustered. (This is the fourth and final installment in the Texas Heat series.)

I behaved myself for a few days. It's not good for a spankee to get greedy, and anyway my ass needed a rest. So I settled into a tranquil routine. How was I to know that my brilliant husband would set me up for an extraordinary night filled with new adventures that would forever alter the sexual landscape of our lives?

In the days leading up to that night that I like to call our "maiden voyage," Daniel would come home from work every day with a new plan for our mutual pleasure. Like bending me over the solid oak dining room table and pounding his cock into me from behind. Or setting me on the low bench seat in front of the bay window, spreading my long legs, and crouching down to lick my precious pussy. Or sitting in his favorite chair in the living room and letting me suck his cock until his warm flavorful semen overflowed my mouth and ran down my neck.

The extra added thrill for all these activities—as if the sex alone wasn't enough!—was that all were performed in front of windows that faced nosy neighbor Miss Emily Conaway's house. Is she watching us? I always wondered, and the thought of being watched made every performance a stellar one. I would lift up my bum extra high, or toss my head around and let my long hair tickle my back, or massage Daniel's slick juices onto my naked breasts. Just the thought of having an audience in the form of our lovely neighbor made me behave like more of a slut than I already was.

Daniel obviously liked it, too. In fact, he never said so, but I was pretty sure each of our sexual escapades was orchestrated with Miss Conaway's pleasure in mind, as well as his and mine.

He called me from work one day with some special instructions that confirmed my thoughts.

"Brandi, have you been a good girl today?" The silky sounds of his deep voice reached through the phone line to pluck that chord deep in the center of my sex.

"Of course, Daniel. I took care of all the errands and still had time to read some sexy stories on theLiterotica website."

At the rich sound of his laughter, I squeezed my thighs together and savored the pressure on my clit.

"Good. Because I've got a surprise for you when I get home."

"Daniel, you know I can't wait! What is it?" I demanded petulantly.

"Don't start misbehaving now, Brandi, or I won't give it to you. Now here's what I want you to do..."

That night dinner was on the table as per Daniel's instructions. Delivered by a caterer, of course. Daniel knows I can't cook. The gastronomic effects of my meat loaf can squelch even the most ardent after-dinner passion.

As I put three place-settings on the table, I wondered whom he might be bringing home for dinner. There was Jerry, a co-worker. He was okay, but he usually spent the evening talking to my tits.

Or it might be Roger, and he pissed me off because he never looked at my tits. I mean, he should at least notice them, for crying out loud.

Or it could be any one of Daniel's out-of-town clients, in which case I would have to behave myself. In the past, if I told a risqué joke or showed a little too much cleavage, Daniel had been known to escort me to the bedroom and swat me soundly while the unsuspecting client waited in the living room with brandy and a cigar. The recollection of those past indiscretions and their consequences prompted an involuntary shimmy of my bare shoulders.

The dress that Daniel had directed me to wear was a clingy black strapless, and the only way I kept it from falling down was to arch my back and thrust my breasts out—that effect, of course, was the very reason my husband had bought me the dress. A silver comb holding up my long, straight hair, an onyx necklace, and simple black high-heels completed the look, which I thought was quite elegant.

In accordance with Daniel's orders, a lamp in the living room and the candles on the dining table provided the only light.

The bell rang, and I assumed Daniel had forgotten his key, but when I opened the door, I was stunned to see the stylish Miss Conaway, my next door neighbor, dressed in a simple but chic white knee-length dress that flared out from her hips and swirled around her long, shapely legs as she flowed into the foyer.

"I hope I'm not late," she said. "Your husband told me 6:00."

"Oh," I groped for a response. "He did?"

"Why yes. You seem confused, Brandi." She grinned and reached out to tweak my nipple through the fabric of my dress, then swept past me into the living room, before I could even bat an eye. "Have you already been into the daiquiris, you naughty scamp?" she asked.

"Er, Daniel isn't here yet. But as a matter of fact, he did tell me to fix a pitcher of daiquiris. May I offer you one?"

Miss Conaway smiled and nodded. She seated herself gracefully in a wingback chair in the corner of the living room and relaxed noticeably after the first sip of her daiquiri. But there was something different about her this evening. She was always a confident woman, but tonight she seemed more self-assured in some other, indefinable way. I would have loved to ask her the source of this sensuous poise, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with my husband's "surprise."

We sat in silence for a few moments, I mulling over the machinations of my husband's mind, and Miss Emily Conaway staring openly at my cleavage, scrolling her gaze down my long legs, examining my face, which was now smoldering with a blush under her confident inspection.

When the phone rang, I sprang up and lurched for the receiver.

"Brandi, are you minding your manners?" Daniel's arched question set my tummy to fluttering.

"Yes, Sir. And Miss Conaway's here."

"Well, she's early. I told her 7:00. Anyway, I'm running late. I should be there in half an hour. You can start the first course without me if you get hungry. Let me talk to Emily."

"Huh?" was my snappy comeback to this unusual request.

"Don't be obtuse, Brandi. Put Miss Conaway on the phone."

I handed her the receiver. I don't know what he said to her, but judging from the way she flushed like a school girl and tossed her perfect blond hair flirtatiously, it must have been something very sultry.

When I started to curl up again in a corner of the sofa, Miss Conaway said, "Come over here and sit by me, Brandi."

"But there's no chair, and—"

"Come over here now, naughty girl. Daniel told me to make sure you behave yourself until he gets home."

There was nothing for me to do but step out of my shoes and kneel, resting my bottom on my heels as I sat on the floor next to her chair.

She drained her daiquiri—a little too quickly, I thought—and I started to rise to refresh her drink.

"Sit down," she said, and hooked a manicured fingernail into the V of my bodice and gave a tug. My breasts, always eager to be the focus of attention, bounced free of the restraining fabric.

"Brandi, your naughty little tits seem to enjoy being exposed, don't they?"

Well, "little" was never a word that I would use to describe my tits, but I wasn't about to argue semantics with Miss Conaway at this point, not while my darling breasts were on display, and my nipples, with a mind of their own, were hardening before her eyes.

"Yes, Miss," I agreed.

"I really should spank your bottom, Brandi, but sometimes a spanking just doesn't seem to work with you. You need something more." She flicked a fingernail up and down over my pliant nipple. "And so do I."

"Yes, Miss. What must I do to make it up to you?"

She placed her empty glass on the marble coaster of the table beside her, and with her moist lips smiling down at me, she took my hand and placed it on her stocking-clad knee. I remembered with an internal shudder of delight that Miss Conaway wore stockings with a garter belt, instead of serviceable and unattractive panty hose.

The warmth of her silk-clad skin beneath my palm was the only cue I needed. I had never been with a woman, and wasn't even sure what women did together, but I knew in that moment that I wanted to explore the possibilities with Miss Conaway.

Ever so slowly I skated my fingertips along the inside of her silky thigh, watching her face for a response to determine my next move.

She let her head fall back against the back of the chair and looked down at me through lowered eyelids, her green eyes as liquid as the sea.

"What are you doing, naughty girl?"

"I only want to please you, Mistress."

She accepted the title as her due. "All right then," she said, squirming a little to slide her hips forward on the chair.

"Thank you, Miss Conaway."

When my fingers reached the top of her thigh and touched damp silky hair, I realized she was not wearing panties. Oh Miss Conaway! But fingertips were not enough for my sensory satisfaction. I needed to see what treasures lay buried beneath those dew-kissed curls.

I lifted the hem of her dress to the tops of her thighs and she inhaled on a sharp gasp.

"That's a good girl," she coaxed, breathless. "My good little pet."

She palmed my face gently but firmly, drawing me to her restless mound.

I gazed in wonder at the beautiful pussy that awaited, like a rare tropical flower blooming only for me. It reminded me of the fragile corsage Daniel had given me on our first wedding anniversary, the first night that he spanked my bottom.

That memory, along with the visual feast before me now, and its heady scent that wafted towards me, prompted my cunt to contract so violently that I had to tense my thighs and buttocks to seize the glorious ache and hold it for a few cherished seconds.

Now my mouth longed to follow the scent of that musky blushing flower, with its petals opening right before my eyes. But I had to mete out my gifts to Miss Conaway, just as Daniel always did for me, making me wait in excruciating desire for that inevitable moment of ecstasy. So I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, breathed in the fragrance of her skin, a bouquet of exotic womanly spices.

As soon as my warm mouth touched her smooth flesh, she made a noise that was part groan and part sigh, because we both knew that in that touch lay a promise, a pact sealed.

I trailed my lips along her thigh, sometimes letting my tongue dart out to steal a taste of her skin, salty and sweet, and when I did, she quivered against my tongue.

At last my questing mouth reached the summit of her thighs and I knew that I was about to boldly go where I had never gone before, Whether another woman had been here before me I did not know, but I doubted it.

"Miss Conaway, you smell so lovely," I mumbled, pressing my nose into the center of the delicate swelling folds of her pussy. Then I inhaled deeply, recording the tangy scent of the juices that glistened there, the piquant mixture of sweat and musk that warmed the creases between her mound and her thighs.

Her soft blond curls tickled my nose, prickled my lips. I captured some of those silky curls between my lips, wanting to know their flavor, to taste every part of that feminine heaven that she guarded between her legs.

She lifted her hips gently, trying to press her mound against my face, urging the contact that I knew she craved—her clit with my tongue.

But I am a tease. Daniel is always telling me so. And so, true to my character, I teased the little clit by ignoring it. I stroked her pussy lips on either side of her clit with my tongue, lapped the soft warm opening just below her clit, drank the liquid that seeped from the engorged flesh all around her clit, and nibbled the hair of her mound just above her clit.

"Brandi, you naughty slut, stop teasing me!" Her voice was hoarse with its strict and lusty command, and I laughed against the trembling folds of her hungry pussy. I knew what she wanted most. I am a woman. How could I not know?

Then I seized that precious clit with tender pursed lips, sucked it in with my tongue and held it there, savoring the sensation of that quivering bud on my tongue, the delightful tangy flavor, citrus and tart flesh, and delighting in the husky moans that escaped Miss Conaway's throat.

The rhythm of her sighs matched the thrusts of my tongue as I lapped and sucked at her responsive clit, drawing it out further so that each tiny millimeter of that hardening nub could be treated to a delicate stroke of my rasping tongue. As I drew on the inflamed clit, I lifted my eyes to see Miss Conaway reach up with both hands to clasp the sides of the wing-backed chair. Her eyes closed, her head rolled back, and she tossed her head from side to side, her moans now louder, more primitive. I let her responses guide me, listened to her body, felt her thighs tense on either side of my face.

Then the clit in my mouth began to throb, and her hand groped for my head, snatching the silver clip from my hair so that my long hair fell down over her rigid thighs. She wound a fistful of my hair around her long fingers, and clutching my face to her wet pussy, she came and came, each pulsing throb of her clit a delicious treat to my mouth that drew answering jolts from my own cunt, which now clenched, and spasmed, and came, right along with hers, without my ever touching it.

I don't know how long Daniel had been standing there.

But when his resonant voice broke through the fog of our glorious feminine orgasms—and the tremors of our simultaneous eruptions receded to tiny shivers and intermittent quakes—a whole new and exhilarating sensation moved in to take its place:

I was in big trouble.

"Brandi, what are you doing?"

It was pretty obvious what I was doing, but Daniel had a way of phrasing his questions so that I had to explain my behavior in the most elemental—and embarrassing—way.

"I was—just—"

"Miss Conaway?" He turned an inquisitive eyebrow to our breathless guest, whose face was still flushed and glowing, and quite stunning.

"Your naughty wife," she panted, "has been at it again."

"Is that so?" he smirked.

"But, Daniel, I was just—"

"Be quiet, Brandi. You're going to be spanked like you've never been spanked before. Why is your dress down around your waist? Are you showing off your tits again?"

"Miss Conaway made me—"

His steely-eyed glare silenced me. "Save your breath, sweetheart. You're going to need it. Bend over the couch and pull your panties down."

I began to whimper immediately. This spanking would be for punishment, and Daniel was not going to put me over his knee in the loving way that he usually did. I would probably get 20 smacks with his hard wooden paddle instead of my favorite ping pong paddle.

Even so, my delirious pussy, my incorrigible cunt, my seemingly insatiable sex, which operated on its own system of unpredictable responses, began to tighten and flex like a rabbit twitching in a cage.

Oh, my darling husband. He knew my needs so much better than I did.

Miss Conaway, now her prim and proper self again—albeit a thoroughly sated wench—hastened to restore her disheveled hair and lower her dress back down over her knees.

Not daring to dally, I bent over the back of the couch, letting the soft velvet caress my nipples tenderly, hiked my dress up around my waist, and turned my head to watch Miss Conaway's response.

Even from several feet away, I could see her green eyes grow dark when I exposed my ivory bottom. Her smug smile of satisfaction lit her countenance.

Then Daniel commanded, "You too, Miss Conaway."

"Wha-what?" The smile vanished, and her pretty coral lips parted in astonishment.

"You heard me," said my husband. "You're overdue for a good spanking, and you know it. I invite you into my home, and you take advantage of my hospitality. I was willing to overlook the fact that you've been spying on my wife and me and spanking Brandi's ass without my permission. Each incident by itself may not seem so bad, but taken together--I consider all that a gross breach of my trust. It's time you were on the receiving end of the paddle, Emily."

Miss Conaway's mouth still hung open, but her eyes told the tale. Those green eyes were positively radiant with anticipation, even while her mouth protested.

"Daniel, I really don't think that—"

"Enough talk," he cut her off. "I'm going to get my paddle, and when I get back, I expect to see you bent over the couch along with Brandi and ready to receive your spanking.

"Over the couch?"

"You heard me." He stalked from the room.

The rain was tapping on the skylight of the silent living room as the indomitable Miss Conaway, speechless for once, slowly stood up, smoothed her skirt over her long thighs, and gingerly folded herself over the back of the couch alongside me.

Now we were sisters in commiseration and exhilaration, in sin and redemption; having come together, we would now be spanked together.

Daniel returned with his paddle which was carved from some exotic hard wood. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing muscled forearms. My bottom tingled in anticipation of what was to come, knowing that since he would be standing when he spanked me, he would be able to achieve much greater momentum, and my bare ass would revel in the agonizing consequences.

He stood behind me where I could not see him, but his powerful presence was palpable.

"No panties, Brandi?"

"No, Sir, I thought—"

Without warning, the paddle descended on my butt with an ear-splitting crack, and my companion in spanking, the virginal Miss Conaway, jumped as if she had been smacked. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, what with the sparks shooting from my behind to my liquid knees, and my predictable pussy rubbing against the arm of the velvet couch.

"Did I tell you not to wear panties?" he demanded.

"No, Sir," I whined.

"Brandi, you have quite surpassed your own naughtiness. I doubt you'll be permitted to come again tonight. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Disappointment swept over me upon learning that Daniel would not give me a good fucking after blistering my ass. But, being the naughty little nymph that I am, I scooted up a little higher on my tiptoes, so that I could at least try to rub my clit into a satisfied state during my spanking.

The paddle came down again as I was adjusting my hips over the plush velvet, and the force of the blow rocked me up and back, scraping my cunt lusciously across the knap of the fabric.

The next swats came fast and furious—I think there were ten in all, and I barely had time to catch my breath, much less have an orgasm! My ass was on fire, my humiliation complete, as I wailed and begged Daniel to stop.

His laugh was a wicked deep boom as he reached down and man-handled each butt cheek roughly, making me bawl like a baby at the lightning heat that forked across the surface of my skin, alive with pain.

"Go to the corner and stay there until I tell you to come out," he ordered.

Sobbing, I knelt in the corner, my dress bunched around my waist, my ass flaming like a bonfire, my pussy swollen and in need of comfort.

By the time Daniel walked around the couch to Miss Conaway, she was already sobbing too. Daniel lifted her dress to reveal her beautiful alabaster bottom, full and rounded and womanly, framed by the pristine white satin garter belt.

Naturally, I was peeking through the silken strands of my long hair to watch the process of Miss Conaway getting her come-uppance.

"Should I spread my legs, Sir?" she asked obediently between sobs.

Daniel chortled as he studied her beautiful ass the way a sculptor may study a block of marble before he begins to create his masterpiece.

"Yes, my dear, and do it quickly. You should have already had your legs parted for me."

When she opened her long legs, I again got a glimpse of that pretty pink pussy that I now knew so well. What a perfect vision of symmetry and shape: two white globes of unspanked flesh, adorned by the even whiter vertical straps of her garter belt which tapered below the rounded curve of her bottom to fasten at the tops of delicate beige stockings that covered long slender legs. And all designed, along with her vulnerable stance, to draw the eye to her beautiful rosy cunt, glistening with the shiny droplets of her combined lust and trepidation.