Texas Heat: Brandi Bottoms UpbySabrina Leigh©
(A naughty spankee, a tattletale neighbor, and a paddle-wielding husband... everyone’s satisfied!)
I had been a good girl all week. Too good. A spankee can only go so long without a good over-the-knee paddling, and then she feels the effects of withdrawal. Her bottom feels neglected, needs to be warmed, attended to with harsh, loving care.
So I did what any spankee would do when she has received a directive. I violated it.
I oiled my body luxuriously with a pungent-scented suntan oil and donned my skimpy bikini. Miss Conaway was right—the bright pink top was no more than two tiny patches of fabric held together by string, covering only my nipples and leaving the fleshy part of my breasts exposed. The matching bottom was a triangle that barely covered my mostly-shaved mound, with a string that ran up the crack of my ass, making me squirm in delicious discomfort.
I spread out a towel over my chaise, turned on the portable radio, set my timer for ten minutes, and lay down on my tummy with my sweet bare bottom exposed.
At first I was afraid that Miss Conaway might not even be home, but eventually I glimpsed movement behind her mini-blinds. Oh yes, she was home. And she was watching. I put on a show, rolling over after ten minutes, massaging more oil on my breasts. I was tempted to remove my top completely, but decided I would rather not risk being reported for indecent exposure.
I imagined Miss Conaway inside her house, watching me, rubbing her hot swollen pussy the way she had rubbed it after spanking me last week. At the memory of that sweet spanking, I felt my cunt contract with mischievous pleasure.
After thirty minutes and the assurance that my misdeed had not gone unnoticed, I gathered my things and went back in the house.
That evening, when my husband, Daniel, came home, I greeted him at the door, wearing a low-cut white sundress that showed off my tan.
After handing him his favorite drink—a Manhattan—I looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes and asked, “Would you like me to suck your cock, sir?”
“Mmmm—that sounds like a good idea. I’ve had a tough day. That’s just what I need to unwind.”
He sat on the couch and I unzipped his trousers while he sipped his drink.
I ran my tongue around the head of his cock, licking the juices that were already gathering there.
“You always know just what I need, Brandi,” he moaned, threading his fingers through my long dark hair.
I moaned with pleasure at the taste of his yummy cock and the feel of his hands in my hair. Then I went to work with my tongue on the underside of his beautiful hard organ, feeling the veins pulsing against my sensitive tongue. I sealed my lips around the base of that massive column, creating a suction that drew a deep groan from him.
“God, I love fucking your mouth,” he said, gathering my hair into his hand so that he could better guide the movement and rhythm of my head over his lap. “That’s a good girl, suck me good. You know how I like it.”
“Mmmm,” I mumbled around his cock, loving the feel of his hand pulling at my hair to control me.
“You love to suck cock, don’t you, little slut?” he murmured.
Before I could moan in agreement, the doorbell rang.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, as I broke the suction of my mouth around his cock. “If that’s anybody other than Ed McMahan telling me I’ve won the Clearing House Sweepstakes, I’m going to be really pissed.” Daniel got up and zipped his trousers and went to the door. I waited obediently by the couch, still on my knees, with my fingers crossed in the hopes that it was the one person I was expecting.
My wish was granted when I heard my husband say, “Miss Conaway, come in.”
He ushered our neighbor into the living room and offered her a drink.
“I’ll have a martini,” she said icily, seating herself primly on the edge of a chair.
“Vodka? Gin?” he asked, moving to the wet bar.
“Er…yes, thank you,” she replied.
My husband gave a puzzled frown, and, realizing that she had probably never had a martini, proceeded to fix her a very dry gin martini with two olives.
The silence was broken only by the sound of my husband shaking the liquor and ice cubes in a steel mixing container.
I could feel Miss Conaway’s cold stare, but I kept my eyes lowered, afraid that she might see the mischievous smile on my lips, that even now were swollen and shining with my husband’s juices.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Daniel asked.
“I’m afraid I must get right to the point, Mr. Hughes.”
“Please, call me Daniel.”
“Er, Daniel. My visit is not a social one.”
Yeah, right, I was thinking. It isn’t a social one. It’s a purely sexual one.
“Oh?” Again, the puzzled frown knit my husband’s handsome dark brows, and he lowered himself onto the sofa, next to where I was kneeling, and crossed one well-muscled, elegant leg over the other. I peeked out of the corner of my eyes to see Miss Conaway squirm on the edge of her chair as she watched his sleek movements. My husband knew well the effect that he had on women, and he used it often to his advantage. (Of course, I had every confidence that even though he used his good looks and the promise of his animal sexuality to get what he wanted, I was the only one with whom he actually carried out that promise.)
Miss Conaway cleared her throat and straightened her spine. Beneath her thin cotton blouse, her nipples had hardened visibly and stuck out like two dried plums.
My husband had surely not missed this—he was a keen observer of women’s sexual responses. To stoke the fire a little, he reached down and began to massage the back of my neck, fondling my bare shoulder until one thin strap of my sundress slid down off my shoulder, revealing more of the fleshy globe of my breast. His gesture was rewarded with the widening of Miss Conaway’s pale blue eyes.
“Mr. Hughes—I mean Daniel,” she began. “Are you aware that your wife goes sunbathing in the yard during the day while you are not at home?”
He gripped my shoulder and I looked up at him. “Is that true, Brandi?” he asked.
“Yes, Daniel,” I replied.
“I thought you had been going to a tanning salon,” he said.
“Sometimes I like to stay home so I can play the radio and listen for the phone—in case you call,” I added subserviently.
He turned to our neighbor. “Is there some problem with my wife sunbathing, Miss Conaway?”
“Yes—no—well, it wouldn’t be a problem if she would wear appropriate attire.”
“I see.” I could hear the amusement in his voice as he moved his hand to the other side of my neck and imperceptibly nudged that slender strap off my shoulder. With both straps down around my arms, the fleshy tops of my breasts were plainly visible. It was all I could do to keep from looking down to admire them. Clearly, though, Miss Conaway was making no effort to look away; her gaze was riveted on my beautiful tits.
“Her bikini is entirely too revealing. I spoke with her about it last week, and she promised she would not sunbathe in such a lewd costume again. But today I looked out—to admire my garden—and there she was at it again.”
“Brandi, it seems you’ve offended our neighbor.” My husband’s voice was thick with passion and the domination that he loved to exercise over me.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled meekly, glancing up at Miss Conaway through my dark lashes.
“Sometimes an apology is not enough!” Miss Conaway exclaimed. “What assurance do I have that this won’t happen again?”
“Yes, I understand your point,” said my husband. “Brandi, go get my paddle.”
“What?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
Miss Conaway practically snickered with delight, still squirming as she rubbed her horny pussy on the edge of the chair.
“You heard me. I want to make sure we don’t have another incident like this. It’s one thing for me to catch you misbehaving, but when your bad behavior is pointed out to me by the entire neighborhood . . .”
“But . . . you’re not going to spank me? Here? In front of--?” I sputtered.
“You’re stalling, Brandi,” he said in a sing-song voice. Then more harshly he added, “Miss Conaway needs to see that you are paying the price for your offensive behavior. Now go get the paddle, before I have to double your swats. Is that what you want? Twenty spanks, instead of ten?”
“No, sir.” I thrust out my lower lip in a pout and rose to my feet, shooting an accusatory glance at Miss Conaway.
As I left the room, I heard her say, “There’s no need for her to give ME a dirty look. I’m not the one who was exposing my titties to the neighborhood.”
When I returned with the paddle, my husband took it and asked, “Are you wearing panties, Brandi?”
I hesitated. I knew he would find out soon enough that I wasn’t wearing any, but I wondered what it would cost me. Sometimes he spanked me for wearing panties; sometimes he spanked me for not wearing panties—it just depended on his mood.
“No, sir,” I admitted. Miss Conaway gasped.
“Good. Get over my knee and assume the position.”
My husband patted one of his thighs with the paddle and I lowered myself gingerly across his strong legs.
Miss Conaway was sitting just across from my husband, and slightly to his right, so that she would be able to observe my bottom as it received its beating. In turn, I would be able to peek out between the strands of my long hair and watch her face.
Her breath was already becoming shallower as my husband began speaking to me in that soft gentle voice, the harbinger of painful pleasure.
“Where are your hands, naughty girl?” he asked me.
“Flat on the floor, sir.”
“And your legs?” he asked, sliding the paddle up under my skirt and tapping the insides of my thighs.
I spread my legs wide, wondering if he was going to spank me through my skirt.
My question was answered when I felt a gentle tug on the hem of my dress, and the cool air wafting across my bare bottom as my husband exposed my firm round cheeks for Miss Conaway to see.
I heard her quick intake of breath at the sight of my fleshy buttocks framing the moistening pink sex between my legs.
“Now, Brandi, you’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?” he asked mildly.
I allowed myself a small sniffle before mewling, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, don’t start whining, I haven’t even spanked you yet.”
I swallowed hard and replied, “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now, I’m going to spank you extra hard today, because I think you need it. Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Once again, in agreeing to be punished, I had relinquished all control to my husband, and in giving him that power, I set myself free.
Then he landed a smacking blow on my bottom, and I yelped in surprise.
“Did that hurt?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I sobbed.
“Good.” I couldn’t see his face but in my mind's eye I could see his lascivious grin.
The second smack was harder, louder, and seemed to be delivered in slow motion.
“Notice how her bottom jiggles, Miss Conaway, when the paddle strikes it?” He spoke to the neighbor as if I were some sort of exhibit in an anatomy classroom!
“Yes,” she croaked hoarsely. “Lovely.”
With the next three smacks, I wailed loudly and begged Daniel to stop. I reached around with one hand to caress my burning butt cheek.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he cautioned. “That’s two extra swats, Brandi. Where are your hands supposed to be?”
“On the floor, sir,” I whimpered.
“That’s right. Now PUT them there, and KEEP them there!” He punctuated his words with two scorching whacks on my butt, which was now feeling like fresh meat that had been through the tenderizer.
“Yes, sir!” I cried.
“You, see, Miss Conaway,” Daniel stroked my bottom lightly with the paddle and again spoke to the lady seated nearby, whose face was flushed. “You see, when I punish Brandi, she knows that I’m doing it for her own good. Don’t you, darling?”
“Yes, sir,” I moaned, wishing he would get on with the paddling and skip the play-by-play.
“But I also do it for my good. I need her spankings as much as she does. It’s a symbiotic relationship—my dominance, her submission—and we both receive a great amount of satisfaction from it.”
“Yes, I can understand that,” said Miss Conaway, licking her lips greedily. She clasped her hands in her lap, but I knew that she was itching to get at my bottom with those smooth, delicate hands.
“I believe you do,” said Daniel. “Now, how many swats do I have left?”
“Five!” blurted Miss Conaway, and I had to pretend to cough to cover my outburst of laughter. She was so eager to see my sweet, sexy bottom punished.
“Ah, yes, five,” said Daniel. As if he didn’t know! He had never lost count, in all the years he’d been spanking my ass. “Count them out and thank me for each one, Brandi.”
He landed the first one on my right cheek, just above the thigh.
“One!” I screamed. “Thank you, sir!”
The next one went just opposite that one, on the left side. Daniel was nothing if not symmetrical.
“Two and thank you, sir!” I exclaimed.
Now my bottom was really burning, and I couldn't remember why on earth I had thought this would be fun. I just wanted this spanking over with. It took all the strength I had to keep from pulling my legs together, knowing that the next spank would surely be in the middle.
And I was right. On the third spank, the edge of the paddle caught my tender pink pussy, and I cried out in delicious agony, “Three, sir, thank you, sir!”
“You see how obedient she is?” my husband, now becoming breathless himself, demanded of Miss Conaway.
She giggled, “Oh, yes, it’s working very well!”
Then the paddle arced up from beneath like a prize fighter's uppercut, lifting my hips off of Daniel's thigh and making my toes bounce on the floor. I could feel the wet juice from my hot pussy trickle down my thighs.
“Look at her bottom jiggle!” cried Miss Conaway, now lost in the delight of my embarrassing punishment.
I validated her pleasure with, “Four! Thank you, sir!” and my husband chuckled, a rumbling sound from deep within his chest.
“That’s my good girl,” he said, and landed the final blow, an excruciating wallop that rocked me forward on his lap so that my clit rubbed hard against his thigh, almost making me come right then and there.
“Five!” I shouted in joyous agony. “Thank you, sir!”
In the quiet room, I could hear Miss Conaway breathing rapidly and felt my husband’s thighs tense beneath me from the exertion.
“Now then. Are you going to behave yourself, Brandi?” He reached down with one hand and peeled the bodice of my dress away from my dangling breasts, groping and kneading my bared titties, pinching and rolling the nipples roughly between his thumb and forefinger.
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered, thankful that my spanking had finally come to an end.
“You took your spanking very well. Don’t you think she did, Miss Conaway?”
“Oh, yes,” the woman sighed.
“I think she deserves a little reward for that,” said my husband.
My pussy began to cream instantly. My husband knew when I needed a good spanking. He also knew what I needed after a good spanking.
He slid two fingers easily into my sopping wet cunt and began driving in and out, in and out.
“You’re dripping wet, Brandi.”
It was one thing for Miss Conaway to witness my bottom being spanked, but knowing that she was now seeing my pussy being fucked was a new and thrilling sensation. My juices were dripping freely, my pink wet pussy was exposed to her, spread out and swollen as my husband rammed his skillful fingers into it, and there I lay, my bare, red, glowing bottom in the air, over my husband’s knee, completely vulnerable and exposed and there wasn’t one thing I could do about it. In fact, there wasn’t anything I wanted to do about it, except reward my audience by obediently coming all over my husband’s hand. And that is exactly what I did.
I rocked back onto his hand again and again, letting the fabric of his trousers rub my clit while his fingers rhythmically probed the wet walls of my cunt. While he cooed and coaxed me with sweet affirmations, such as, “That’s what my sexy girl wants, to be finger-fucked like a little slut over my knee,” my pussy tensed and convulsed, winding up, up, up, tighter and tighter, until finally, I wailed like a wild animal, letting my cunt grip his fingers the way my mouth had gripped his cock.
When my orgasm subsided to delightful little tremors, I lay as limp as a rag doll over my husband’s knee, while he rubbed my bottom gently, muttering, “That’s my good girl. Now what do you say, Brandi?”
As always, I thanked him for my spanking, and added, “Thank you for letting me come, sir.”
“I think you need to apologize to Miss Conaway,” said Daniel, as he lifted me from his lap and settled me to my knees on the floor beside him.
Miss Conaway waited breathlessly, leaning back in the chair and relaxing her knees so that her slender milky thighs spread slightly.
I kept my head respectfully lowered as I turned to Miss Conaway. “Please accept my apology, Mistress,” I said.
“I forgive you, little pet,” she said, gently stroking my hair. “But if it happens again . . . “
My nipples poked out over the top of my bodice, which was now almost down around my waist. I knew that those creamy globes with their mauve centers presented a delightful vision to the lovely Miss Conaway, and curious thoughts floated unbidden into my mind. I found myself wondering what her nipples looked like.
I even found myself wondering what her pussy would taste like. Ah, well. Perhaps I would find that out another day.
Readers: Don't forget to vote—it's easy! And e-mail feedback is nice, too. Thanks, Sabrina