Neighborly

by Frenulum

Although it was a Saturday, when the telephone rang at eight o’clock in the morning Colin Rhys was already up and dressed and through with breakfast. There was no way to program his internal alarm clock for weekends, and he had long ago given up on any attempts to sleep in.

“Hello?”

A familiar voice came from the receiver. “Colin, good morning, this is Jean. Jean Adams, next door?”

He smiled at the thought that, after knowing him for ten years, she still felt she had to identify herself. “Mornin’, Jean,” he said, “What’s up with you on this sunny Saturday morning?”

“Sunny weather-wise,” she answered, and now he picked up the sound of some tension in her voice. “Not so sunny mood-wise, I’m afraid,” Jean continued.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s the girls. They had an 11:30 curfew last night. Didn’t come home, didn’t call. Finally rolled in at half past one in the morning,” Jean explained. She hesitated, and the brief silence was all the time Colin needed to figure out why she was calling. “Colin, remember a couple of months ago, when I was telling you what a handful the twins were getting to be, and... well, do you remember I asked if you’d help me out, if I needed it... in a certain way?”

“Yes, Jean, I remember,” answered Colin.

“Umm, do you — at the time, you thought about it and said you would help me if I really needed it. Can I — is the offer still open?”

Colin took a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. He would keep his word, of course; but it was not a small favor his neighbor was asking. “If you’re absolutely certain this is serious enough to involve me, I’ll stand by my promise,” he said.

“Oh, thank you —”

“But do you remember the conditions on which that promise was based?” Colin inquired. “If you’ve changed your mind on any of those points, I can’t help you.”

Jean was quick to reassure him. “Yes, of course, I remember. I spent a long time that day going over and over what you said, to make sure I was doing the right thing for the girls. No, don’t worry: you help me out, and we’ll all stick to your rules.”

“All right, then,” said Colin. “So we have a broken curfew, and no phone call. Were both girls sober?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” Jean answered firmly. “Neither one of them uses anything, not even a sip of a beer, but I’m always alert for the signs in any case.”

“Any excuses for the lateness or for not calling you?”

Jean sighed. “No, not really — just claimed they were having a good time, forgot to keep an eye on the clock, that kind of thing. For what it’s worth, Colin, I think they’re being straight with me. It’s just... I can’t let this kind of stuff slip by or soon my rules and limits won’t mean a thing. I mean —” Jean paused to find the right words. “Colin, they’re sixteen years old, and I’m thirty-two. That math isn’t hard to do. I know exactly what kind of trouble they can get into if they don’t keep their own behavior under control. I know what it’s like to have to finish high school as a single mother, and raise kids alone, and try to make ends meet, and believe me, I’m not going to let that happen to my daughters. But I can’t police them, I can’t keep them at home forever; they have to learn responsibility.”

“I understand, Jean,” said Colin, “Is there anything else I should know about last night? Do you hold them equally at fault?”

“I think that’s all,” replied Jean. “And yes, I do — share the blame, that is. I was going to let the girls sleep until nine. Could I bring them over at ten?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Colin, I can’t thank you enough,” Jean said sincerely. “I know this is a huge favor to ask, but you’ll really be helping me a ton — helping the girls, too. I really appreciate the helping hand, and... I appreciate that you care about me and my children.”

“No worries, neighbor,” Colin said, “I’ll see you at ten.”

“Ten o’clock. Thank you so much again. Bye!”

“Bye.”

Colin cradled the phone slowly. He poured a fresh cup of coffee and stood looking out his back door, which was open to let a pleasant breeze filter in through the screen.

There was nothing he needed to do to get the house ready for visitors. The population of forty-one year old confirmed bachelors can be divided pretty neatly into two groups: those who live amongst towers of pizza boxes and ripe laundry, and those for whom neatness and order are almost compulsive. Colin Rhys fell into the latter class — all the more so for having spent twelve years in the military, where any tolerance a man might have for clutter is soon cured.

He sipped coffee and let his mind wander back to the time Jean had first asked for help. They had both been working in their yards, and had stopped for a break and to catch up on neighborhood news over the back fence. She had told him that the twins were grounded, and expressed frustration with what she felt was her declining authority over her teenage daughters.

“It used to be that as a last resort I could spank them,” she had said, “But you’ve seen how big they’ve grown. And even if I could wrestle them into place, I just wouldn’t be very effective.”

He had seen her argument. Jean Adams was a petite woman, maybe five-one or five-two, slender and small-framed. Her twin daughters, Emma and Molly, were easily five-eight or -nine, quite fit from participating in school sports, and would no doubt shrug off a spank from their wisp of a mother as a mere annoyance.

Whereas he himself, a fit, strength-conditioned six foot four, could probably deliver a hell of a lesson.

Jean had pled for assistance. “It’s a last resort for me, spanking is, but if I don’t have some kind of ultimate threat then none of the lesser punishments carry any weight at all. If something serious comes up, and a scolding or a grounding or a lost privilege just won’t do, can I — would you... if I brought one of the girls to you, do you think you could spank her for me?”

Colin polished off his coffee, remembering how stunned he had been at his neighbor’s proposal. But they had sat down on a bench in her back yard and discussed it calmly and seriously, and after a while Jean had been persuasive. Her circumstances were difficult. She had moved into the house next door ten years earlier, with two adorable and absolutely indistinguishable six year old girls, and Colin had seen her maintain the amazing single-mother juggling act all through the years. From time to time he had lent a hand by watching the children for a few hours, or by rescuing the family when their car broke down, or by pitching in on a plumbing problem. And though he still would have characterized Jean more as a neighbor than as a close friend, he had often been impressed by the way she managed — just managed, sometimes — to keep her act together and all the spinning plates in the air.

When Jean had persuaded him to be a last resort resource for her, Colin had spelled out the conditions under which he would take on the task, and Jean had readily admitted their sensibility.

He glanced at the clock: still an hour to go. He washed and dried his coffee cup and put it away. Walking through the dining room he picked up one of the armless side chairs and carried it into the living room, placing the chair in a clear spot in the middle of the room. Preparations complete, Colin Rhys busied himself with paying some bills, listening for the doorbell.

At a minute to ten they arrived. Colin opened the front door to find Jean Adams flanked on either side by the twins, standing somewhat behind her.

Emma was on his left. She was dressed in zoris; a pair of dark blue denim shorts with no more than an inch of inseam, riding low and beltless on her slim hips; and two layered tank tops, lime over white, both cropped to leave her midrif bare in the style that all of the hardbodied teenage girls seemed to favor. Her hair, which reached the bottom of her shoulder blades when loose, was gathered up into a high ponytail. Her eyes were fixed firmly on a point somewhere below his own, and Colin already sensed that she was anxious and hesitant.

Molly was on his right. Like her sister she was bare-legged and bare-tummied, but she wore a bleached-out denim miniskirt instead of shorts, and a red cotton/lycra tee that hugged the high mounds of her breasts. Other than in those few items of dress, the girls looked alike, although over the years Colin had learned to tell them apart with fair accuracy. The real difference between them now was that Molly’s eyes were not downcast. She looked her neighbor right in the eye, and her air was one of defiance.

Colin stepped back and Jean led the way into his house. “Come, girls,” she ordered, her voice firm and commanding. The three of them came inside, Emma lagging behind, moving slowly, still looking down.

“In the living room, please, Jean,” Colin said to her, indicating the way with a hand. He shut the front door, and then joined the trio in the living room. “Molly, come here,” he instructed, walking over to an interior wall of the room.

The sixteen year old tossed her head in an “I don’t care” gesture and followed him to the place he indicated by pointing at the floor. “Molly, this is your spot. While you are in my home today, you will stand on this spot and face the wall, unless I have given you other instructions. You will not look around, and you will particularly not look at Emma. Take your spot now.”

The teen girl complied, glaring disdain at him. Colin thought: If I commissioned an artist to paint a picture entitled “Up Yours, Mister Rhys,” he could do no better than to capture that look.

Colin moved to the opposite end of the wall. “Emma, come here. This is your spot. While you are here, you will stand on this spot, facing the wall, unless I have told you otherwise. You will not look around, and you will not look at Molly. Take your spot.” As Emma moved to comply, she raised her eyes to his for the first time, and Colin easily read in them how frightened she was.

Once Emma was in place Colin took a position between and behind them. He glanced over at Jean, who nodded, indicating that she had fully briefed the girls. “Molly, Emma, you know why you’re here today,” he began. “Shortly, I’m going to give each of you a spanking. Your mother is not here as a court of appeal, she is here as an observer because I am acting on her behalf. In my home, my rules apply and you will follow them.” He looked at each girl as he spoke, noting with approval that neither one had budged.

“The first rule,” he continued, “Is that clothing that covers your bottom will not be raised, lowered, gathered, or held aside, it will be removed.” He heard a little gasp from Emma’s direction, and glanced over to make sure she was still in place. “Today it looks like a pair of shorts, a skirt, and presumably your panties are in the way. While you continue to stay in your spots and continue to face the wall, remove them now.”

Molly’s hands moved to the waistband of her skirt. Emma stood motionless for a second, and then stage-whispered, “Mom? Mom!” Jean did not respond, and Emma was forced to raise her voice a little more. “Mom — Mom, swim team!”

Colin did not understand the plea, but Jean had finally had enough. “You just hush and do what you’re told, young lady,” she snapped. “We went over this before we came. Don’t you dare keep Mr. Rhys waiting.” Emma’s shoulders slumped but her hands slowly moved to the button of her shorts. Jean turned to Colin and explained, “The girls are on the high school swim team. At the beginning of the season, they all decided — don’t ask me why — to shave off their pubic hair. That’s what’s got Emma in such a tizzy, though I can’t imagine what difference it makes.”

Colin understood, though. Emma was looking for any defense, anything at all that would limit her humiliation. And in the hope of keeping her panties on during the spanking, she had tried to suggest to her mother that it would be inappropriate to expose her bare pudendum to him.

In the meantime, Molly was bent over at the waist, skirtless, skimming her hot-pink panties down her legs. Colin looked at the girl: slender, fit, leggy, with the firm round bubble of her bottom showing faint bikini tan lines, bending over to reveal a glimpse of her intimate charms — and was suddenly aware of a serious error in planning. He had been thinking of the twins all along as kids — children — little girls. But they weren’t: they were sexually ripe, beautiful young women, curvy and alluring, and he was going to have to handle their half-nude bodies.

Colin wasn’t worried about the big head. He could concentrate on the job he had taken on, focus on the matter of discipline, and put out of his mind the fact that the spankees were lovely, sexy teenage girls. He was worried about a potential physical reaction: having his cock respond directly to the stimulating sight of two fresh, lithe, nubile bodies without bothering to get a permission slip from his conscious mind. He tore his eyes away from Molly only to see that Emma, shorts around her ankles and string-bikini panties hiding little, was every bit as tempting.

Colin turned to Jean, who was still standing, and offered her a seat on the sofa. Then he faced the girls, now nude below the waist as he had instructed. Standing midway between them, he was at least spared the view between their thighs, although even at an angle they made a hugely distracting sight.

“Today,” he addressed the teen sisters, “You are going to be spanked for two errors. The first and somewhat less serious is that you violated your curfew last night.” He began to pace slowly back and forth between the girls. “Both of you know how to tell time. You were with a group of friends who know how to tell time. It is certainly possible, when you’re distracted by activities and friends, to lose track of a few minutes. That would still be an error, but it would be an understandable error. It is not, however, possible to overlook the difference between 11:30 and 1:30 except either wilfully, or by an ingrained habit of carelesness. When I spank you today, my purpose will be to break that habit once and for all.”

The sisters, who had been doing it for so long that the impulse was irresistable, glanced at each other. “You will face the wall and you will not look at your sister,” ordered Colin, in a voice honed on the parade ground years ago. The twins jumped and their heads whipped back into place.

“The second error,” said Colin, picking up the thread, “Was in not calling your mother. You could have called the instant you realized you would be late. You could have called when you got in the car to come home. I want you to realize that every minute you were out past your curfew your mother had to deal with more and more worry and anxiety. Every minute. If you are ever in a position to ease the anxiety of a loved one by even one single minute, you are to do so. That is a responsibility, not an option. I will also spank you today to remind you that both your actions and your failures to act have the potential to hurt people you love. Molly, Emma, your spanking today won’t hurt as badly as you hurt your mother, but I’ll do my best to get close.”

He looked over at Jean again, and saw that she was nodding in agreement, as if to say “I couldn’t have put it better.” He placed himself once again midway between the girls and behind them, and resumed the lecture. “You will be spanked over my knee, for as long as I consider necessary and appropriate. Your mother has agreed that those determinations are up to me. By appropriate, I mean that your spanking will be tailored to your misbehavior. By necessary, I mean that if I don’t think we have accomplished the corrections I’ve just described to you, then I will spank you until we do.” He paused to let his words sink in. “My second rule covers how you may behave during your spanking. You are to hold still as best you can. I realize that some movements cannot be helped, and will allow those. If, however, you try to stand up, slide off my lap, or cover or otherwise protect your bottom, then we will start your punishment over again, from the beginning. Similarly, you may cry out as loudly and as often as you wish; but if you dare to instruct me by crying ‘Stop!’ or ‘No!’ or anything similar, your punishment will start over from the beginning.”

Colin walked to the chair in the middle of the living room, sat down, and composed himself. He let the room be quiet for a moment, as Jean alternated her attention between him and her daughters. Then Colin made an aribitrary choice. “Emma,” he commanded, “You may leave your spot. Come here now.”

The frightened sixteen year old turned until she could see her mother, but Jean’s impassive look in return told Emma that there would be no reprieve. With eyes downcast, Emma made her hesitant way over to where Colin sat. Fortunately for Colin, Jean was watching Emma, and Emma was looking at the floor, because for a couple of seconds he was paralyzed, his eyes locked on Emma’s hairless pussy as the long-legged teen walked toward him. It was so beautiful: a smooth creamy mound split by prominent, protruding, pink inner lips, rocking with Emma’s stride, and framed by girlish hips and toned abdomen and slender thighs. He tore his eyes away with effort and, recognizing that something was beginning to stir within him that he could not allow, he redoubled his concentration on the job to be done.

Emma reached the chair and stood before Colin. She was blushing hotly — no doubt at the exposure she had just endured. He looked up and kept his eyes locked on hers: to look down would be fatal. “Emma, do you understand what you did wrong last night? Answer ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir’.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, almost inaudibly.

“Do you understand why this is serious enough to call for a spanking?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you understand what outcome we want with respect to missing curfew?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you understand what outcome we want with respect to not calling your mom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Emma, do you understand the rules about moving and crying out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then come around to this side,” Colin said, indicating his right, “And climb over my lap so your head’s over here. I’ll give you a hand if you need it, but it’s ok to hold on wherever you want.”

Extreme reluctance showing in every movement, Emma did as she was told. She knelt on his right side and then clambered over his lap, until her bare bottom lay perched over his right leg. She squirmed for a moment, finding a stable position, and gripped the legs of the chair with her hands, her ponytail just brushing the floor. Rhys looked down at the teenage girl stretched over his lap. Her tank tops had ridden up somewhat, and though they still covered her breasts she was nude from there down to her toes. Her ass was fine and full and firm like only a teenager’s can be, with a faint vee of a tan line showing that, like her sister, Emma favored a very brief bikini. A phrase ran unbidden through Colin’s mind: “snacking ass.” A friend had once used it to describe “an ass so sweet you just want to nibble on it all day long.” And finally, what he feared would be his undoing: Emma’s thighs were so slender and toned that, even though her legs were together, her bare pussy peeked out through the gap at the top, every detail of the wavy-edged inner lips clear to see. Colin drew a deep breath, centered his thoughts as far away as he could from sex and sensuality, and began to spank Emma.

At the crack of the first spank Molly jumped — with her back to the room she had not known it was coming. Jean gasped at the sight of Colin’s powerful, muscular arm propelling his hand at blurring speed toward Emma’s naked, defenseless bottom. And Emma merely grunted, jaws and lips clamped together as hard as she could manage, as the fiery sting of the spank exploded through her ass. The second spank followed immediately, and the third, and soon Colin was working at a steady, implacable pace, landing blow after blow on Emma’s adorable pert bottom.

Every spank forced a stifled grunt from the naughty girl. She concentrated with all her might on keeping her mouth closed, knowing that if she let it open she would be helpless not to scream and cry at the terrible pain, and on keeping the tight grip of her hands on the chair legs. Cry after cry rose from her throat to die in her tightly clenched mouth. As Colin worked to cover Emma’s ass in stinging spanks, Molly listened to the awful sounds: WHACK! “Nnggg!”... WHACK! “Mnngng!” WHACK! “Mmmmng!”... WHACK! “Mnffffg!”

Spank after spank after spank: Colin peppered the upturned bottom of the helpless teenager, watching the delicate ivory and suntan hues of her beautiful buns turn pink, then rose, then red. He reached a point where he felt that the spanking had matched the severity of Emma’s curfew violation and, resetting a mental gauge, began to punish her for the overlooked phone call.

WHACK! “Rmmnnfgg!”... WHACK! “Mmmmmng!” WHACK! “Mmmfffmng!”... WHACK! “Mrrrgng!” Emma could feel hot tears pooling in her eyes, and her hands were starting to cramp. She was terribly afraid of slipping, and having Mr. Rhys think she had moved on purpose — the thought of having to start over was absolutely unbearable. The minutes crept slowly by as the fire in Emma’s ass grew more and more intense under the endless rain of smacks.

WHACK! That should do it, Colin said to himself. Then, aloud, “Emma, your spanking is over. When you’re ready to get up, you may.” The girl on his lap was panting, gulping in great gusts of air now that it was safe to unclench her jaw, and trembling from the horrible, scorching pain in her butt. She tried to rise, shakily, and slipped; then suddenly she felt Rhys’s arm around her shoulders, helping to lift her. She got unsteadily to her feet in front of him, and now that her head was upright the tears spilled out of her eyes in two thick streams, running quietly down her cheeks and dripping onto the carpet. If she was still embarrassed to have her bare pussy on display there was no sign of it: she just stood, tears falling, breathing hard, the very picture of misery and contrition.

“Emma,” he said, not unkindly, “Return to your spot now. Remember to face the wall. Keep your hands at your sides or clasp them in front of you. You will not touch your bottom.” He watched as she turned and shuffled slowly across the room, back to her designated spot. Then he looked over at Jean, who since the first spank had been silent and still, to see if he could find either approval or dismay in her expression. There was neither — but there was something, something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite read, a glint he couldn’t name. And Jean seemed to be breathing harder and deeper than she had been earlier — perhaps a sympathetic reaction to Emma’s panting? Puzzled, he returned to his task.

“Molly, you may leave your spot. Come here now.”

Unlike Emma’s, Molly’s approach was not hesitant. She walked toward Colin with a model’s stride, steps landing in a straight line, rocking her naked hips sensuously, and her direct, defiant glare had if anything grown stronger. She clearly felt that her nudity made her powerful, rather than exposed and helpless; and just as clearly she had resolved to let him and his spanking mean nothing to her.

When she reached the chair, Molly spoke before Colin had a chance to. “I remember the questions,” she said, and held up a closed hand, opening each finger in turn to count off her responses. “My answer is yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, and yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

Colin felt his anger rising at the girl’s sassy attitude. That could be dealt with shortly. First, he’d take care of last night’s issues. Molly arranged herself in place, and although Colin noted that her ass and her hairless pussy were exactly as delectable as Emma’s had been, his ire at her attitude prevented any untoward reaction. When Molly was settled, he began to spank her.

To say that the first blow came as a shock to Molly would be an understatement. She had calibrated her expectations based on Emma’s fairly well-restrained behavior, figuring that if Emma could take it, it wasn’t much to worry about. But she had underestimated her twin’s strength of will, and she had grossly underestimated how much the spanking was going to hurt.

Hurt? The word isn’t adequate. One spank hurt. The next one hurt and drove the first one home, the third multiplied them, the next one threw in an exponent. Molly found herself longing for something, anything, that merely hurt, as the spanks fell one after another on her unprotected bottom. At the first contact she had yelped, at the second screamed, and by the tenth she was crying continuously, while every fresh stinger drew another scream or screech.

WHACK! “Owwwwwwwwww!”... WHACK! “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”... WHACK! “Owwwwwwwwweeee!”... WHACK! “Yeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrg!”

Three minutes into the terrible ordeal, already weeping hard, with the tears running up her inverted face to vanish into her hair, Molly made an awful mistake.

WHACK! “Oweeeoweeeeee!”... WHACK! “Ooaaaawwwwwwww!” WHACK! “Stop! Oh, stop, please, it’s too much! Waaahh, hhaaahhhh haaaanhhh haaaaaaa, Waaaahhh, haaaaahh...”

Colin stopped. Emma buried her face in her hands, not wanting to believe what her sister had just done. Jean was immobile. For a moment, there was no sound in the room but Molly’s ceaseless crying.

“We’ll begin again, Molly,” said Colin patiently.

“Oh, no, please, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!, I’m so sorry, please don’t start over, I’ll be quiet, I’m sorry please! I didn’t mean it please! oh please!!...”

“We’ll begin again, Molly.” WHACK!

Defeated, the naughty girl fell back into position, feeling the pain crashing over and over into her ass, now already tenderized to a glowing pink. Again, Colin worked steadily and rhythmically, paying no heed to Molly’s renewed screams and cries. When the teenager’s tortured ass was so red that he could no longer make out her tan lines, he decided that she had paid for missing curfew, and as he had for Emma he started in on the second part of her punishment.

By the time that, too, had been discharged, Colin’s arm was heavy, his hand hurt, and his ears were ringing from Molly’s endless squeals of pain. But there was one more matter to attend to. He looked over at Jean, caught her eye, and said “Insolence?”

“I agree,” the twins’ mother grimly replied.

Colin returned his attention to Molly. “That concludes your spanking for last night’s misbehavior, Molly,” he told her. The teen girl, once defiant but now utterly cowed, began to struggle to get up. “Wait right there, Miss, I’m not done with you,” Colin said firmly. “I have another rule that I had hoped I wouldn’t have to explain. Your mother decides what discipline your behavior merits, not I. And she has many options short of physical punishment. However, if you misbehave in my home, especially during a spanking, then that decision is up to me. Molly, I am appalled by your insolent behavior to me this morning. I will not accept it. I will not accept anything short of your complete, mannerly respect. The worst of it, Molly, was your cavalier, insolent response to five vitally important questions that you didn’t care to listen to. Let me see, I believe your answer was...” Here, he adopted the same sneering tone that the naughty teen had used. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Molly, completely abashed, spoke through her crying. “I’m s-sorry, sir. I’m v-very sorry for s-speaking that way.”

Colin’s reply iced her heart. “You very soon will be.” He grabbed the compliant teenager around her hips, repositioning her slightly on his lap. “Five snippy answers. Five more spanks.” Molly cringed and braced herself.

Whhhhiiiip! With a powerful stroke, Colin sent his open palm crashing directly against Molly’s left upper thigh. The slap sounded like a shot. A crimson handprint bloomed instantly where it had fallen.

“Aaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Molly screamed, her whole body stiffening from the scorching pain.

Whhhhiiiip! Whhhhiiiip! Whhhhiiiip! Whhhhiiiip! As the dreadful blows alternated between her thighs, Molly’s screams filled the air.

“You may get up when you are ready, and return to your spot,” Colin said, his anger spent. After a long pause, the sobbing girl managed to move, to rise, to find her footing, and to return shaking and weeping to her appointed spot, where she turned without question to face the wall with her hands at her sides.

Rhys waited a moment, both for his own tension to ebb and for Molly to quieten. Then he got up and returned to his lecture post between the two girls. “I have two more things to tell you, young ladies. First, another rule, but in this case one that is binding upon your mother. I did not consent to spank you as part of your punishment, but only if I bore the whole responsibility. Therefore, when you return home, you will find that last night’s misbehavior will not be mentioned again. There will be no sharp remarks or scolding. You will be free to go out on your own again as your schedule would normally allow. You will not lose driving or any other privileges. This incident is completely closed.”

He got a very strong sense just then of how hard it was for the girls not to look at each other, and smiled faintly at the thought.

“Finally, know that the arrangement between your mother and me is a standing one. In the future, should you misbehave, she might decide on any number of consequences. She has the option, in serious cases, of choosing spankings, which from now on will be given here, by me, under the same rules. I hope that you learned something today, and I hope that I won’t see you again under these circumstances.” Colin looked at both girls, standing in their spots, facing the wall, with their beautiful bottoms glowing scarlet. “If you have any questions, raise your hand.” He paused: neither of the girls moved. “Very well. You are free to move, and you may get dressed.”

He watched the twins as they gingerly picked up their discarded clothing. Now that the spanking was over and he would not have the girls over his lap, Colin gave himself permission to look at the svelte, semi-nude teen beauties with a man’s eye, not a disciplinarian’s, and he felt a happy twinge from his cock as he watched them get dressed. Molly fastened her skirt but just held her panties, apparently having decided to leave them off, and Colin noted with interest that, below the hem of the brief miniskirt, the crimson marks on her upper legs were clearly evident.

Emma, on the other hand, had slowly and cautiously eased back into her panties, a strip-tease in reverse but every bit as sensual, and was now eyeing her skin-tight denim shorts with doubt. “Emma,” Colin said kindly, “If you’d just like a towel to wrap around you, you’re welcome to borrow one.”

The chastised sixteen year old shot him a grateful look and replied, “Yes, please, Mr. Rhys.” Colin fetched a clean towel from the linen cupboard and handed it to Emma, who wrapped it around her waist and tucked the end in to make a sarong: modest enough to see her the short distance back home.

Jean watched her daughters dress in silence. When they appeared ready, she dismissed them. “Off you go now, girls,” she said. “I’m just going to have a word with Mr. Rhys, and I’ll be right home.”

The girls started to leave. When Emma passed Colin she stopped and looked squarely at him. “Thank you, Mr. Rhys,” Emma said, her voice sincere.

“You’re welcome, Emma,” he replied, surprised and pleased by the young girl’s gesture. Then Molly reached him. She too paused, and then suddenly she was close, wrapping her arms around him, her tear stained face pressed against his chest. Her impetuous hug ended as suddenly as it had come on, far too soon for Colin to react in any way.

“Thank you, sir,” said Molly. And then she was leaving. Colin felt in retrospect the delightful pressure of the teen’s hard little breasts against him.

Colin waited until the girls had gone, and then gave Jean a bemused look. “That was unexpected,” he confessed. “If I’d tried to predict their reaction, gratitude wouldn’t even have been in the running.”

“Oh, I don’t find it all that surprising,” said Jean. Colin noted again that something was just a bit... off... with his neighbor. Her voice was pitched a little bit low, and she sounded a little out of breath — and there was still that unusual spark in her eyes. “They understood that they needed to improve their behavior,” Jean continued, “But they didn’t have the initiative to do it. Now they do. I think you made them both feel more... hopeful.”

Jean walked across the living room until she was standing before Colin, and reached out to lay her hand on his arm. “Colin, I’m deeply grateful to you as well. You were so clear, and you treated the girls so well, and I really think they’re going to learn from both your words and the spanking. Thank you.” She let her hand drop and stepped back. “Now I should get home to them.”

“You’re welcome, Jean,” said Colin. “Now don’t forget your promise: this is over and done with.”

“I won’t forget,” she replied. And then grinned. “You might say it’s all behind them.” He answered with a laugh, and saw Jean out the door.

Alone in the house, Colin stood in deep thought. During the interval when Jean had been standing close to him, expressing her thanks, he had found the needed clue to her odd demeanor. For in that time, his nose had detected a very familiar, unmistakable scent.

Arousal. Hot, wet pussy.

The tension and pitch of her voice, her deep breathing, her wide, moist eyes, and the scent of her sex, all added up. Jean Adams had been completely turned on.

Now that was something to think about.

A moment later Jean Adams walked into her house, and was surprised to find her daughters waiting by the door, as they apparently had been since being sent home. Obviously, they weren’t a hundred percent sure that their mother would stick to her agreement, and were waiting to see if any further consequences were coming.

Jean quickly put their worries to rest. “Girls, why don’t you change into something more comfortable,” she said in a perfectly normal, everyday voice. “I doubt you’ll want to be out and about today, so even though it’s still morning, why don’t you just put on your nighties. Those won’t rub against your sore behinds.”

The girls exchanged a look, and then gathered their petite mother into a double hug.

“We’re sorry about last night, Mom,” Emma said, resting her face against her mother’s head.

“We’ll be more careful, Momma,” added Molly.

Jean could hear that both of her daughters were on the verge of a fresh crying spree. She patted them both on the back. “Now, now, hush, you two. That’s all over with. Now scoot, go put on something that won’t hurt, and I’ll get lunch started in a few minutes.”

The young ladies scooted as ordered, and Jean made her way to her bedroom, where she took the unusual step of locking the door behind her. She could hear the twins in their room down the hall, but couldn’t bear to wait until they were safely downstairs again. She stripped off her shoes and slacks in frantic haste, fingers fumbling at the laces and snaps. She tugged off her panties, the damp cloth peeling reluctantly away from her humid twat, and from the back of a dresser drawer retrieved her vibrator. Jean sat on the edge of her bed, spread her legs, and with a trembling hand pressed the softly buzzing cylinder against the top of her slit, just over her clitoris.

She closed her eyes. This was going to be quick. She let an image come into her mind: Colin Rhys’s fit, manly, powerful figure. She had seen him many times working shirtless in his yard; now she imagined him nude. Her hips churned urgently and she felt her face grow hot. She grabbed a pillow off the bed, pressed her face into it to muffle her moans of release, and climaxed.

The day passed normally at the Adams household, or nearly so. It was unusual for the twins to be dressed all day long in their short nighties — little more than elongated tee shirts, really, that would disclose a glimpse of reddened buns whenever one of the girls reached up for something. And it was unusual for Jean to give the girls permission to eat lunch, and later dinner, standing up at the kitchen counter.

But normal otherwise: some homework got done, and some loafing, and some telephone chatter, and a chore or two. Jean spent a good part of the day doing laundry, not so much out of necessity as for the privacy it gave her to think. To think, to plan, to decide; to undecide, to reverse herself and argue with herself and debate one way and another, until she could hardly think at all. Several times she found herself with her pubic mound pressed against the throbbing washer, only to pull away in shame when she realized what she was doing.

Jean was distracted throughout their evening meal, but the twins had recovered their spirits if not their ability to sit down, and their constant chatter kept them from noticing their mother’s mood. The three Adams ladies cleared up together, and when the task was done the girls left Jean alone in the kitchen. She looked at a list posted by the telephone, lifted the handset, and dialed.

Five digits into the number, Jean hung up. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking unseeing out the back window, trying to end the swirling storm of conflicting thoughts inside her head. She reached for the phone again and grasped the handset, but left it on its hook. Call! she urged herself. Don’t! a voice answered. She turned away from the phone and took a few steps toward the kitchen doorway. With every step, she was acutely, unnaturally conscious of her body: nipples stroked by the fabric of her blouse, pussy lips sliding against each other, the tensing and flexing of her buttocks as she walked. She stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, and gave in.

“Colin, hi, it’s Jean Adams again,” she said, her hand damp where it gripped the telephone. “Am I disturbing you?... No, no, they’re fine — they haven’t managed to sit down yet, but otherwise they’re feeling chipper. And I think they’re relieved, really, to feel like they, oh, like they have a good reason to behave better now.... Well, no, that’s to your credit, and thank you so much again....”

Jean summoned up her last scrap of nerve. “I, uh, I wonder if you might, uh, have some time tonight I could, um, stop by for a few minutes? If it wouldn’t be imposing too much?... Uh, well, just to, um, there’s something I’d like to talk with you about?... Right now?” She cast about quickly for a plausible excuse. “Well, I have some laundry in the drier I can’t leave. Would half an hour from now still be ok?... Sure?... Ok, thanks, Colin, thank you, I’ll be there soon.... Bye.”

She watched her hand shake as she cradled the handset. And then rushed off to change.

Jean Adams tapped on her daughters’ bedroom door. Emma pulled it open, releasing a blast of pop music into the hallway. Over Emma’s shoulder, Jean could see Molly, lying face down on her bed, with a textbook and a spiral notebook open in front of her. The condition of Emma’s bed made it clear that she, too, had been doing some face-down studying. Jean could see Molly’s bare thighs below the hem of her nightgown, and though the individual blotches could no longer be made out, the area was still decidedly pinker than the rest of Molly’s skin.

“Girls, I have to run next door to talk to Mr. Rhys for a little while,” Jean informed the twins, after dialing their radio down to a bearable volume.

“Gee, Mom, what about?” Molly inquired, turning her head to look over her shoulder.

“Oh, odds and ends,” Jean replied, “Nothing you two need to worry about. I just came to tell you where I’d be, and to suggest that you make an early night of it. I know it’s been a... trying day for you both. Sleep’s the best thing right now.” She turned to go and then caught herself. “Emma, where’s the towel you borrowed? I might as well return it now.”

Emma retrieved it and handed it to her mother. Both girls were eyeing her with curiosity. “Here you go, Momma.” She paused and added, “That’s sure a pretty dress, Mom, you look great.” Jean was wearing a sleeveless, knee-length, burgundy shift, with black piping around the neckline and a row of black faux pearls running down the bodice.

Jean waved the compliment away. “Oh, this old thing. I just washed all my bluejeans and they’re not dry yet, that’s all.” Not used to prevarication, Jean blushed a little.

“Well, ok, Mom, we won’t stay up too late,” Emma said.

“Have a nice visit!” Molly added.

Emma watched her mother head down the stairs, and slowly closed the door. The girls were quiet, listening, and in a moment they heard the front door close behind their mother.

“Odds and ends,” quoted Molly.

“In her brand new dress,” observed Emma.

“Heels and hose.”

“Perfume. Her good one.”

“Powder, eyeshadow, liner.”

“Oh, this old thing,” Emma said, in an excellent imitation of her mother’s voice.

The twins looked at each other, trying to keep straight faces, and burst out laughing.

“What’s goin’ on, Em?” Molly asked seriously.

Emma looked thoughtfuly out their window at Rhys’s house, seeing a light snap on in a first floor room. “I don’t know, Sissy. I just don’t know.”

Molly clambered off her bed and joined her sister at the window, standing directly behind her. She reached around Emma with both arms, and cupped one of her sister’s breasts in each hand, feeling the nipples begin to erect through the thin cotton nightie. “Well, cat’s away, Em. Feel like some playtime?”

Emma purred at the familiar pleasure as Molly gently, delicately caressed her breasts. “That feels nice, Sissy.” She let Molly continue to fondle her for another moment, then turned to face her sister and embraced her in turn. She pulled Molly close, tilted her head, and kissed her.

The twins sank into the soft, loving kiss, their lips playing sweetly against each other, two identical mouths meeting and parting only to merge again. It was Molly who eventually leaned back. “Door and lights, honey, or we could get busted.”

Emma opened her eyes, grinned at her twin, and went to lock the bedroom door. “Pro’lly don’t want to put on a show for the neighborhood, either.” As soon as Molly had snapped off the overhead light, Emma grabbed her nightie and skinned it off over her head. Her solid, just-blossomed breasts quivered from the motion and her nipples woke to full stiffness in the cool breeze coming through their bedroom window. Molly’s response was to fling her nightgown aside as well, and the sixteen year old beauties met again in a standing kiss; naked now, their breasts pressed together, firm mound to firm mound, nipple to nipple. Their lips opened as their passion grew, and a tongue darted inside a sister’s mouth only to be met by its welcoming mate. They toyed with each other, kissing, licking, and sucking, and their hands began to wander. Emma stroked Molly’s back, using fingers and palms and nails to vary the sensations, while Molly worked her hands up between them until she could once again fondle Emma’s titties, rolling and tweaking the stiff nipples the way she knew Emma loved.

Caught up in their shared passion, Emma swept a caressing hand down to Molly’s ass, forgetting for a crucial second how they had spent their morning.

“Owww!” Molly yelped, jumping back out of Emma’s embrace.

“Oh, Molly, I’m sorry!” said Emma, genuinely concerned. “I just forgot for a minute.”

“It’s ok, Emma. It’s not that big a deal. Just kind of startled me,” Molly replied.

“Here, let me take your mind off your poor little sore red buns,” said Emma, approaching her twin again. Emma bent at the waist, holding Molly around hers for support, and began planting tiny kisses on Molly’s right breast. Molly purred at the attention, and Emma gave equal time to the other mound. Her kisses grew firmer and spiraled in toward the center, and soon Emma was sucking Molly’s tits, switching between them, teasing her sister’s nipples with tongue and lips until Molly’s purring became a heartfelt moan of pleasure.

Emma rose, shifting her hands to Molly’s spit-slickened globes as she leaned in for another deep kiss. When they ended it they were both breathing heavily, staring into each other’s passion-widened eyes. “Onesies or twosies?” panted Molly.

“Better be twosies, I don’t think either of us can wait,” Emma responded. “We could maybe try on our sides, that way nobody has to be on the bottom.” They moved to Molly’s bed and arranged themselves: Emma, lying on her right side, with her left leg drawn up to spread her thighs apart as far as possible; Molly the same but facing Emma, heads pointed in opposite directions. It took a while to get settled, particularly as both girls were moving gingerly, wary of their tender bottoms. But soon enough, each of the teenage beauties was looking straight into her sister’s bare pussy, the outer lips drawn open by the spread of their thighs. Emma made first contact, swiping an outthrust tongue along Molly’s inner lips, but only by a heartbeat as Molly planted a loving, licking kiss right on Emma’s sweet pink clittie.

“What did you want to see me about?” Colin Rhys asked his neighbor, after he had settled her into a living room chair and offered various refreshments to no avail. He took a seat facing his guest.

“Well, about the girls, and... about spanking, I guess.”

“You said earlier you were pleased with the outcome,” said Colin, “Have your views changed?” There was just a hint of challenge, or perhaps gruffness, in his tone of voice, which made Jean even more nervous than she already was.

“No, no,” she hastened to reply, “I definitely think that it was... very good for them, and helped a lot.” Colin waited quietly while Jean gathered her thoughts. “I’m certain it’ll be a long time before they misbehave that badly. But,” Jean said, “I’m equally certain that, eventually, we’ll find ourselves at that point again.”

“You think they’ll fall back into the habit of ignoring curfews?” queried Colin.

“No — well, probably not. But something else. They’ll push some other limit or break some other rule, sooner or later. They’re good girls, I don’t mean to say they’re not, but they’re... falible. All I’m trying to say is, I’m very, very doubtful that today was the last time they’ll earn a spanking.”

Colin looked irritated at rehashing old subjects. “That’s why I agreed to act in that capacity when you needed me. I reaffirmed that when I spoke to your daughters this morning. What’s the issue, Jean?”

When the petite woman replied, her voice was shaky and her hands clasped; she had trouble looking directly at Rhys. “I’ve always — rather, I’ve never made the children do anything I wouldn’t do, and... I was thinking this afternoon. Today I made them — I think it’s not fair to have you spank them if... if I, uh, haven’t, um, done that.” She looked into his eyes for help, but his return gaze offered none. She’d have to find the courage to spit it out. “I want you to spank me,” Jean said, “Before you have to spank either of the girls again. To be fair. If I can’t go through with it then it’s not fair to put them through it.”

She looked up again, to find Colin very slowly, very slightly shaking his head. But it was not denial: it looked like disappointment.

“You want me to spank you.” A statement, but asking for confirmation.

“Yes, sir,” said Jean. Immediately surprised at the language she’d chosen, she felt a blush come flaming to her cheeks.

“Now?”

“Yes,” Jean replied, and then as if she were no longer in control of her own mind added, “Sir.”

“And the reason you want this, is that you believe it’s wrong to subject Emma or Molly to a punishment that you haven’t experienced.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jean,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “I’ll ask just once more. Are you asking for a spanking for the sake of your daughters?”

Her face felt hot. She gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Rhys drew in a breath, exhaled sharply, and contemplated his nervous, blushing neighbor. Options spun through his mind, but all things considered, he really had little choice. Minutes passed in silence, Jean staring at the floor, darting the occasional glance at him, while he thought.

“Very well,” Colin said, breaking the long silence. He pointed to a spot directly in front of his chair. “Take your position there,” he ordered, “Facing me.”

Jean was nonplussed. “Why not —” She broke off when she saw Colin’s face: stern and tight-lipped. It was not an expression that invited questions or delays. “Yes, sir,” she said, standing and moving to the indicated spot.

“Undress.” Rhys issued the command in a clipped voice.

“Um, this is a dress, not a two-piece,” Jean said, “Couldn’t you just pull up —”

“You knew my rules when you came here,” Rhys interrupted, the anger in his voice barely withheld. “In fact, you knew the rules when you chose what to wear.”

His words filled Jean with fear. “Oh, no,” she thought, “He knows. He knows!” Her trembling fingers fumbled with the back zipper of the dress. “But he can’t know, how could he? It’s all inside my head.” She drew the zipper down, freed the hook that held the neckline closed, and stepped out of her dress.

Her breasts were bare. Jean’s A-cup tits, pert little cones of flesh, needed no support, and she wore a bra only when a sheer or light-colored fabric made concealment necessary. Clad now in black lace panties, sheer black thigh-high stockings, and heels, Jean folded her dress and laid it carefully on a nearby table. Her eyes searched Colin’s face for a reaction, or for a clue to his mood, but she could read nothing. If he had spared a glance for her nearly nude body, she had missed it.

Jean paused only for a second before grasping the waistband of her panties and sliding them down her legs, bending nearly double to slip them over each shoe in turn. When she straightened, Colin was presented with his first glimpse of her pussy. Her bush was unshaped but closely trimmed: a putting green rather than a fairway.

Rhys stood up, took a step toward her, took the panties from her unresisting fingers, and tossed them onto her folded dress. It seemed a simple enough action, but something about having Colin handle her intimate apparel sent a tremor through Jean’s whole body.

He was behind her now. She stood in place, not looking around, feeling him right behind her, desperately wondering what he was doing, where he was looking. “Is he looking at my ass?” Jean wondered. She was in excellent shape, and not carrying any extra weight, but she worried nevertheless that he would find something to be critical of. After all, she knew that the benchmark for perfect rear-ends had been set for him only hours ago. The seconds ticked by slowly; she could do nothing but wait.

Jean heard her neighbor’s footsteps recede, then saw him come back carrying the chair he had used for spanking her daughters. He set it in place, and came over to stand directly in front of her, closer than normal. Jean was acutely conscious of the size difference between them, which was emphasized by his closeness. Despite Jean’s high heels Colin towered over her by a foot or more, and his imposing, muscular build completely dwarfed the petite, slender woman.

“I’m going to spank you tonight, Jean,” Rhys said. She shuddered not only at his words but at his voice. He’d been firm with her daughters that morning, but his voice had always held an undercurrent of gentleness and patience. It was firm now, but its timbre spoke only of anger, barely contained. Her earlier fears came rushing back, no matter how much she tried to believe that he could not see into the deepest part of her mind.

“I’m going to put you over my knee,” Rhys continued, “And spank you like I spanked your children this morning. You heard me tell them that their spankings would last as long as necessary and appropriate. That will be true for you as well.” In Jean’s brain, panic blossomed, spreading through her body to quicken her pulse and knot her stomach. He knows he knows he knows.

“Tell me why you’re about to be spanked, Jean,” her neighbor commanded.

“Be- Be- Because I, I asked you to,” she stuttered.

“NO!” roared Rhys, anger now on the surface. “You’re being spanked for lying. You’re being spanked for deceit. You’re being spanked for trying to con me. You’re being spanked for trying to use me. I. Will. Not. Be. USED!”

“No, I — what? No, I didn’t, I’m not lying, I, I —” stammered Jean, her eyes downcast, unable to look into Rhys’s angry face. “I told you why — how I felt about —”

“Oh, yes,” he scoffed. “It’s all about the children. It’s all about noble self-sacrifice.” He took her chin in one powerful hand and tilted her face up until he was looking her straight in the eye. Jean was aghast at his look of outrage. “Well that was a lie, Jean Adams. Tell me again why you asked for a spanking. Tell me the truth.”

Jean was quiet as she trembled in his grasp. She couldn’t tell him the truth. And it was equally clear that repeating the lie would be a very bad idea.

Colin grew tired of waiting. “All right, then,” he said, his voice suddenly much quieter, “I’ll tell you. You asked for a spanking because it turns you on.”

“No, I —”

“Spanking makes you hot, doesn’t it Jean?”

“No —”

“Spanking makes you horny. Spanking makes you wet.”

“No —”

“I bet you’re already wet, Jean, is that right?”

“No!”

“I bet you’re wet right now, just thinking about what’s coming.”

“No!”

Rhys took a step back. “Spread your legs!” He snapped out the order as if addressing an infantry company.

“No, please —”

“DO IT! NOW!”

With a moan of despair Jean complied, stepping to the side with one foot to part her thighs.

“WIDER!”

“Please —” Jean begged, but did as she was told. She stood with stocking-clad legs far apart, balanced on her high heels, head bowed, both anticipating and dreading the feel of Colin’s hand on her sex.

It did not come. Instead, she heard his voice, soft and dangerous. “Well, well, well. We don’t have to check, do we now? We don’t have to wonder if you’re wet, do we, Jean? No. Because your cunt’s so wet it’s already dripping down your legs. I can see it from here.” His next words were deliberate and left no room for denial. “Tell me now, Jean, while your juices run down your thighs, tell me why you want me to spank you.”

Her shoulders slumped. “It excites me. Sexually. It makes me hot.”

“Are you into pain, Jean?” Colin asked.

“No. No, it’s not the pain,” she answered, unable now to conceal anything. “It’s the... authority. Today I... oh, god, this is so sick... I got hot when you spanked the twins.”

“But it wasn’t their pain that excited you, was it, Jean? You didn’t like to see your children hurt. You didn’t enjoy that at all,” Colin said, and now some of the usual gentleness of his voice had returned.

“No, I didn’t. It was you. I — I’ve been making decisions for sixteen years. Every decision. Little ones, big ones — I’m always the authority. Today it was you and I — that just made me hot, to have you in control.” She paused, still standing with her legs stretched wide, and then wrapped up her confession. “That’s why I asked you to spank me. I don’t want the pain. I’m afraid of it. I want... to feel your authority again. Because it arouses me. It makes me hot.”

Colin’s voice came from a new direction, and she looked up to find him seated in the spanking chair. “Come here,” he commanded. Jean went to him and, unbidden, climbed over his lap. “I’m not going to spank you because it makes you aroused, Jean,” he said. “I’m not available for your use as some kind of a human sex toy. And I wouldn’t have spanked you just as an exercise in motherly solidarity. That misses the point: you don’t have to know how it feels, you only have to know if it’s effective.” He lay his right hand on Jean’s bare ass and felt her jump at the unexpected contact. “I am going to spank you because you’ve behaved despicably: lying to me and trying to manipulate me for selfish reasons.”

Her voice came back from below his left leg. “For what it’s worth, sir, I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s worth a lot, Jean,” he replied, “But it doesn’t mitigate your spanking. And for the record, you should know that I consider lying a far greater crime than staying out too late.” With that pronouncement he raised his right hand and delivered the first spank of Jean’s life.

WHACK!

The blows fell in rapid succession on Jean’s bare bottom. Each smack propelled a gasp of pain from her lips, more breath than voice, and her legs flailed freely with every swat.

WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaang!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaaoh!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Ahhhaaaaannng!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!”

Soon, Colin had to wrap his free arm around his petite neighbor’s waist, just to hold her in place on his lap. One shoe had come off Jean’s foot and was hanging by a strap around her ankle. Swat after swat after terrible blistering swat he worked on, steadily, propelled by anger at her scheming and lying, as merciful as a hurricane.

WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Hhhrraaaaag!” WHACK! “Hhhaaangaah!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaarg!” WHACK! “Hhnnaaah!” WHACK! “Ahhhhh!”

Jean’s ass was wracked by pain as Colin delivered a serious butt-scorching. But the heated flush of her face, her peg-like nipples, the moisture seeping from her cunt, the retracting hood of her clit, and the churning tension that was spreading from her core to every part of her body had nothing to do with pain, and everything to do with yielding to her powerful punisher, helpless and controlled.

WHACK! The blow drove her mons against Colin’s leg, and her orgasm hit with storm-like fury.

Colin had seen it coming, and now as Jean hunched her pussy against his leg and cried out with release, he stopped spanking her, letting her ride out her climax in relative peace.

When the wave had passed, Colin began to question the deceitful wench beneath his hand.

“Tell me,” he said, feeling the heat radiating off her crimson ass. “If I hadn’t caught you lying, and if I’d given in to your request, it would have made you horny, right?”

Jean was still panting from her orgasm, and didn’t answer immediately.

WHACK! “Aaaaaaaaaa!”

“Answer!”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Jean gasped.

“So then what?” quizzed her tormentor. “You just wanted to be aroused? What good is that?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Answer me!” WHACK! “Tell the truth!” WHACK! “Tell me!” WHACK!

“I, I, I was thinking — I hoped —”

WHACK! “Out with it!” WHACK! WHACK!

“I hoped you’d fuck me, sir.”

“I see. So you not only planned to use me to get hot, you planned to use me to get off. Just a sex object, am I? Wore a dress tonight to make sure I got a good look at you, right?” Jean’s silence confirmed the accusations.

WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaang!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaaoh!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Ahhhaaaaannng!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaah!” WHACK! “Hhhrraaaaag!” WHACK! “Hhhaaangaah!” WHACK! “Hhhaaaaarg!” WHACK! “Hhnnaaah!” WHACK! “Ahhhhh!” WHACK!...

Molly was breathing hard, every indrawn breath a sudden gasp. She was so close, so close, and Emma knew every nerve ending in her cunny like a pilot knows a harbor. “Oh god, Em, oh god, don’t tease me honey, oh, oh, please, oh god that’s so good, so good,” she panted. Her head was lying on Emma’s thigh and her face was smeared with Emma’s tangy pussy-juice, the source of which lay just inches beyond her nose. Her nostrils were full of her twin sister’s aroma as Emma ate her right to the brink of cumming.

Suddenly, Molly’s breath caught. Emma’s delicate, talented tongue was dancing minuscule circles right on the nub of Molly’s erect, exposed clitoris, driving her up, up, up.... The teenager’s beautiful body tensed. “Oh, oh, oh, Emmie, there there there oh oh oh oh ohaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Then Emma hung on for dear life as Molly’s tension broke and she started humping her pussy into Emma’s face, riding the pulse of her orgasm. Emma kept stroking Molly’s clittie with the broad part of her tongue, knowing from experience that she could give her twin another cum.

“Oh, Em, here it — I’m gonna — eeahh, ah, ah ah ah yessssssssss! aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” And then, in the throes of her second climax, Molly buried her mouth once more into Emma’s dripping snatch, moaning her orgasm right into her sister’s soft pink petals.

The twins fell apart, rolling onto their backs and wincing simultaneously as their tender buns hit the bed. Slowly, each girl straightened her cramped left leg. The room was quiet except for Molly’s heavy breathing, as the twin beauties enjoyed the afterglow of their vigorous lovemaking session. Then Emma spun over and around, bringing herself face to face with her supine sister, and began gently to lick Molly’s face clean of her own cunt-honey. When she had lapped up every bit of girl-goo, she gave her sister a kiss, whereupon Molly took Emma’s head in her hands so that she in turn could lap her own spendings off of Emma’s pretty face.

They lay quietly then in a tangled embrace, enjoying the peace. Emma, head propped up on one hand, idly stroked one of her twin’s proud titties. Suddenly, she stopped, and lifted her head off her hand.

“What is it, Em?” Molly asked, seeing her sister snap to alertness.

“Shhhh!” Emma rolled and sat up, ignoring the flash of pain from her aching buns as they took her weight. She listened intently for a few seconds. “Listen, Sissy!” she whispered, “Do you hear that?”

Molly was still for a moment, ears straining. Then she whispered, “I hear it.” There was a long pause while both teenagers listened carefully to the rhythmic sounds drifting in through their window. “Is that... what I think it is, Em?”

Emma turned back to her sister and they exchanged identical wide-eyed looks. “It’s coming from Mr. Rhys’s house,” Emma said. “Somebody’s getting a spanking!”

“Mom’s over there!” Molly exclaimed. “Do you think — could there be another kid getting punished, and she’s watching, like with us?”

“I don’t think so,” Emma answered slowly. “I think...”

Just then, the crack of a spank was followed by a particularly loud exclamation — loud enough that the twins could make out the voice.

“Mom!” both girls whispered, eyes growing even wider.

They listened intently, and now it seemed easy to recognize their mother’s voice whenever her gasps of pain were particularly emphatic. “Wow, Sissy, he’s really givin’ it to her,” breathed Emma.

“But why, Emma, why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she did something wrong this morning. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to talk, or something,” Emma speculated. “He was pretty strict about rules and all.”

Molly listened through another dozen spanks. “Oh my god, Em, she was wearing a dress!” she blurted suddenly.

The implications were clear to Emma instantly. “He’s spanking her naked!”

“Maybe she had a bra on.”

“No way.”

The picture of their mother, naked over Mr. Rhys’s lap, having her bottom spanked to a fiery red, made both girls shiver. They listened in awful fascination as the sounds of a first-rate ass whipping drifted between the houses. It seemed to go on forever.

He could tell she was ramping up to another orgasm despite the pain. She was frigging herself against his leg as he spanked her, and he could see the moisture leaking from her cunt every time she kicked her legs apart. Colin’s resolve was melting fast. He did not want to be used; he did not want Jean to think she could just waltz in and demand sex from him. But he had a lovely, sexy, aroused woman on his lap, effectively naked, sexually superheated, eminently fuckable, and there was no doubt that the stimulation was getting to him. Seeing her nude body, feeling her squirm on his lap, watching her cum: all had conspired to make him horny as well, and even now as he smacked away at Jean’s rear end he felt his cock slowly filling.

WHACK! One last stinging spank, and Colin stopped. In a single motion he gathered the petite woman into his arms, flipped her face up, and rose from the chair, her weight of no consequence to him at all. Startled by the rapid change and by suddenly being cheated out of her second orgasm, Jean flung her right arm around Colin’s neck. He carried her toward the stairway.

“You still looking to get fucked?” Colin demanded bluntly.

“Oh, god, yes!” Jean answered, fighting to catch her breath. “Please, please fuck me, sir, I need you so bad.”

They were half way up the steps. “I’ll give you one chance to change your mind in a minute,” was Colin’s cryptic response. He strode into his bedroom, shifted Jean into a one-armed grip, tore the bedspread off his bed, and tossed the horny woman onto the sheets as if she were a mere pillow. Jean landed on her backside, and the effect was as if he had taken a hearty swing with a paddle at her tortured ass.

“Yeeooooowww!” she complained. Colin took hold of her ankles and lifted until she was bent into an L. His fingers worked at the tiny buckles of her high heel straps, and after a frustrating moment he managed to get them off her feet. He sat on the edge of the bed and spun Jean around, freshly insulting her tender bottom, spreading her stocking-clad legs in the process so as to have unrestricted access to her gaping pussy. Knowing how wet she was, he plunged two thick fingers straight into her cunt without any warning or preparation.

Jean moaned at the welcome intrusion. She’d been dying to be penetrated since that morning, aching for the contact, and as Colin started to work his fingers in and out of her dripping snatch she felt herself rapidly regaining the preorgasmic plateau she’d abandoned in the living room. “Oh, oh, that’s good, that feels so good, ahhhh, yessssss,” she hissed. “My clit, rub my clit,” she begged.

“Not so fast,” Colin said, twisting his embedded fingers left and right and drawing more gasps of pleasure from his neighbor. “You wanted to get fucked, you’re going to get more than fingers.” He withdrew his hand slowly, over Jean’s pleading objections, and silenced her by slipping his gooey fingers into her mouth. When she had sucked them clean, he stood up and stripped his shirt over his head.

Jean lay back on the bed, legs spread, watching him. A hand trailed down to her twat and a finger found the bud of her clit, massaging it gently, keeping herself on the edge. She drank in the sight of Colin’s powerfully built frame, giving special attention to the thick, muscular arm that had powered his punishing hand into the rumps of all three Adams girls that day. Colin turned his back to the bed and took his pants off, then lowered his boxer shorts. When he was naked, he spoke, still with his back to Jean.

“You have one chance to change your mind, Jean,” he said. “If you don’t want sex, say so now.” And with that, he turned to face her.

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes grew wide. Her finger ceased its dalliance with her clit. Her legs began to come together, driven perhaps by an instinct for self-preservation. “Oh. My. God,” she breathed, barely audible. “Oh my fucking god!” Her eyes were riveted to his crotch, seeing nothing in the world but his erect cock. “It — it — it’s the size of my arm!”

Jean reached out a tentative hand and tried to wrap it around Colin’s massive cock. Her thumb and forefinger barely made it half way around the shaft — with two hands she could just get her fingers to meet. She stared at the mighty staff with awe bordering on reverence. “You can really fit this inside a girl?” Jean asked, doubt evident in her tone.

“A mother, yes. Women who haven’t had children can usually manage, but it tends to be a bit difficult at first,” he answered. “So, yes or no, Jean. I don’t want to just stand here talking.”

She let one hand slide up his cock to cradle the massive plum of a head, which sat like the business end of a battering ram atop his rock-hard prick, while the other roamed lower to cup his heavy, dangling balls. “Yes,” she whispered, “Fuck me with this unbelievable thing. I can take it. I want it.”

Colin climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Jean’s parted legs, looking down at her. His gigantic pole, which was indeed as thick as Jean’s forearm, bobbed tantalizingly close to her open gash. “All right,” he said, “But first I’m going to finish your spanking.”

Jean blanched at the awful pronouncement. She had thought it was finished, although in retrospect he’d never said so, as he had done earlier with the girls. Before she could beg for mercy, Colin continued, “Six more. Hold your legs.”

Jean was confused. “What? I don’t —” But Colin had taken hold of her legs and was bending her in half.

“Hold your legs,” he repeated, and Jean reached up to comply. Her knees were almost touching her shoulders, and she gripped her legs just below the knee, helping to hold herself in position. Lying on her back, almost folded in half, she was acutely aware of how exposed she was with her nyloned legs framing tits, pussy, and ass, and she could not imagine how he would punish her in that position.

“Spread them wider,” Colin commanded, and the frightened woman urged her legs even farther apart. Her twat gaped open over the crimson cushions of her ass cheeks, which were half revealed by her doubled-over pose. Colin looked directly into her eyes and said levelly, “This is to make sure you never, ever lie to me again.”

With that his hand came whizzing toward her, with his full strength behind it, to land with a punishing slap on Jean’s taut, sensitive inner thigh. WHHHHAAAAAAP!!

It hurt too much to scream. The pain smashed into Jean’s brain as her whole body rocked with the shock of it. She hadn’t even drawn a breath before the second blow flamed into her other thigh. WHHHHAAAAAAP!! Her head rolled back in agony, every muscle in her neck straining, as four more searing swats lanced into the same tender, vulnerable spots. WHHHHAAAAAAP!! WHHHHAAAAAAP!! WHHHHAAAAAAP!! WHHHHAAAAAAP!!

She finally got some air, and might have let loose a pent up scream of pain if Colin had not moved quickly over her and covered her lips with his own. She could feel the unbelievably huge head of his cock poised between her pussy lips as they kissed for the first time. She released her silken legs and wrapped them around him, encouraging, demanding, as their tongues danced together. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, holding him to her, prolonging their kiss. And all the while, her nervous system was flooded by sensations radiating from her core: the deep, heavy ache from her thorough spanking; the brightly flaming pain from her just-thrashed thighs; and the ominous pressure at the gateway to her cunt.

Colin lifted his head, rising up on his arms to look down at his lovely neighbor. “Your spanking is over, Jean,” he said, and there was no longer any sound of anger or dominance in his voice.

She smiled up at him. “Fuck me, Colin. I can feel how hard you are. Don’t wait. Fuck me.”

She felt him reach down; felt the head of his cock rubbing all over her pussy, gathering moisture; felt him recenter on her fuck-hole. And then pressure, easing off for a moment, coming again: stronger this time. More. More — and then she felt herself stretching, yielding, accepting him.

“Oh, god, it’s so big,” Jean moaned. He backed off just a tiny bit, and she could actually feel her passage contracting, trying to force the immense invader out. He pressed in again, reseating his cockhead in her cunt; took two more of the tiny strokes and then pressed farther, forcing his giant tool up the narrow channel bit by bit. “Oh, oh god, you’re doing it, I can’t believe it. Oh, Colin, it feels like having a baby, oh! oh! oh! take it easy, nnnnngggggg!”

Slowly, patiently, Colin worked his long, thick ramrod into Jean’s tight, tiny cunt, which squeezed him so snugly that every millimeter of progress was an effort. Stroke by stroke he drove himself deeper inside her until at last he felt the head of his cock hit the entrance to her womb. Jean’s eyes, which had been squeezed shut since her quim first yielded him entry, flew open at the sensation. “Ohhhhhh! Colin! That’s so — oh my god I am so stuffed!” She raised her head and looked between their bodies. “Oh! There’s so much more!” She looked quite apprehensive.

“Well, there’s more of me, but there’s no more of you,” Colin said with a grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s a funny thing to say to a girl you’ve been spanking all night,” she said with a smile in return.

“This is different,” he replied.

“I’ll say! This is wonderful. Oh my god, Colin, that was harder than giving up my cherry. I can’t believe how much I’m stretched.”

“Told you I’d fit.”

“I wouldn’t call it fitting when there’s enough cock left over to equip a normal man,” she joked. She reached down between them and caressed the exposed length of his shaft. “That is so amazing.”

Colin gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah, well, the bottom part is used to having to play outside. Feel ready for some rock and roll?”

“Start it real, real slow, baby, but I’m all yours.”

The room reeked of pussy. Molly and Emma knelt by their bedroom window, breasts pressed together, each girl with her head over her sister’s shoulder and an arm around her back. Below, Molly’s other hand busily frigged Emma’s pussy, and Emma’s did Molly’s. Their hands were drenched: each girl had cum twice already and there was no sign of their intense mutual masturbation slowing down. All of their attention was tuned to the sounds coming from Mr. Rhys’s bedroom window, which was nearly opposite theirs. The sounds from his living room had been remote and faint; these were perfectly clear, and the girls had heard their mother climax three times, each one sounding more powerful than the last.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah, that’s so good, mmmm, mmmm, yessss... Oh, yeah, fuck me.... Ohhhhhhhhhhh, fuck me baby, yeah, oh, like that, mmm... Aaaahhhhhhh, oh god that’s good...”

The naked teens rubbed each other’s twats with open palms, stroking the whole mound, letting slick pussy lips ride between their fingers, sweeping clits with broad strokes, lubing all of the delectable pink flesh with cunt-honey.

“Oh, aaaaaaaaahhh, gonna make me fuckin’ cum again, makin’ me cum, oh god, you’re gonna fuck me right in half with that monster, yeah, yeah... Gonna cum, here it — yes, yes yes... Oh baby, here I — ahh, ahhh, ahhhhh, AAAAAAHHHH, yaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Two sweet mouths pressed into two soft shoulders to muffle the sounds of twin teenage orgasms. Fingers were a blur; hips undulated desperately against them, seeking even greater release. The girls came hard and deep and long, and their enormous sexual tension finally started to abate. As one, the twin sisters lifted their heads and joined in a kiss, brushing their lips softly together, affirming their mutual love. Each girl kept her palm cupped over her sister’s bare pussy mound, unwilling to break the intimate contact.

Emma ended the kiss by turning her head to the window. “Listen, Sissy, they’re still going.”

“He gave her four cums already, Em. Alicia says —”

“Alicia Manning?”

“Yeah, the school slut. She says most boys can’t give a girl, like, even one.”

They thought about that awful prospect as their pulses slowed and their bodies began to relax.

“My legs are getting crampy,” Molly said. “I’m gonna go stretch out. I don’t think I want to listen any more, anyway.” The beautiful twin sisters got haltingly to their feet and climbed into Emma’s bed together. The sounds of sex continued to drift through the window.

She watched his face grow tight, his expression distant. She felt the tension where she gripped his biceps. “Cum, baby,” she whispered, looking deeply into his eyes, “Cum for me. Cum inside me. Let me feel it.”

He pulled nearly out of her, and suddenly he was short-stroking her tight cunt, faster and faster, and then with a shuddering groan he plunged deep. “Uhn! Uhn! Aahh! AAaaaahng!” She felt the flood pouring into her, felt the impact of the spurts and the sudden heat. And then the rictus passed and he was fucking into her again with long, deep strokes, pumping out the last reserves of sperm, sliding slowly down his post-orgasmic slope. When his eyes regained focus she lifted her head up to kiss him.

Colin had too much self-control to collapse on top of Jean — he would have smothered her if not crushed her — but he had been supporting his weight on his arms for a very long time. Jean, feeling the tremor in his arms, understood and intervened. “Why don’t you just lie beside me, now,” she offered gently. “You wore me out, anyway — I don’t think I can keep going.”

He shot her a grateful smile and eased his erection slowly out of her clutching cunt. When the head came free, he rolled over onto his back beside her.

Jean sat up suddenly and, leaning forward, held her pussy lips open with her fingers. “I just have to see this,” she said, and gazed with amazement at her gaping fuck-hole, stretched beyond belief by Colin’s prick. “I’m not kidding,” she told him, relaxing back onto the pillow, “It’s like delivering a baby.”

“You exagerate,” Colin rejoined, “But I’m sure your memory has dimmed a little in the last sixteen years.”

Jean wriggled down the bed until her head was at his crotch, watching his mammoth cock slowly softening and contracting. She lifted it to her lips and started to lick up the gooey blend of semen and pussy juice that liberally coated cock and balls.

“You trying to start something?” Colin asked impishly.

“No, just cleaning up after myself like a good little girl,” Jean replied with equal good humor. “I wouldn’t want to earn a spanking for sloppiness.” She continued to wash his cock with her tongue, collecting mouthfuls of creamy goop and swallowing them happily. “Later on, I might try to start something, if you don’t think you’d mind too much.”

Colin laughed. “You’ve already established that you can talk me into it.”

The girls lay naked in Emma’s bed. Their sexual passion, energy, and adrenaline was spent, exhausted both by their romantic oral lovemaking session and by the intense voyeuristic frigging that followed. But it was pretty much impossible for Emma to leave her twin’s pussy alone, given an opportunity, and at the moment she had one finger between Molly’s puffy lips. Her finger was slowly and gently making repeated circuits around the small opening in Molly’s hymen, just tracing the edge.

“That’s really nice, Em,” Molly sighed, after enjoying the sensations for a long while. “What’s that name, again?”

“Demi-lune,” answered Emma, knowing exactly what Molly meant by the question.

Molly sighed again. “I love that name. Demi-lune. It sounds so, like, romantic.”

“It’s just the shape, Sissy. Half-moon.”

“I know. But I still like it. ‘Hello, my name is Molly Adams, and I have a demi-lune cherry’.” Both girls cracked up at that, but when the giggling stopped, Emma went back to her gentle, absent-minded stroking.

“I wish I weren’t a virgin,” Emma said.

“Why?”

“I dunno. I guess, mostly, I just want to know what it’s like with a boy,” Emma replied. “It’s not like I want to have a lot of sex all of a sudden. Or even a boyfriend. I just don’t like not knowing how it feels.”

“Yeah. I guess I know what you mean,” said Molly.

“Plus... um, I hope this doesn’t creep you out or anything,” Emma began.

“What?”

“Um, you know like when you’re, um, playin’ with my pussy, like a while ago?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, a lot of times I wish... you could rub me inside.” Emma swallowed. “Up inside my... vagina.” She glanced furtively at Molly, looking for any sign of shock, and relaxed when she saw none. “I just... Oh, Molly, don’t you think that would feel so good?”

Molly reached out and stroked her sister’s hair. “I’m sure it would, Em, with you.” A moment of quiet passed. Then Molly said, “I wish I weren’t a virgin, too.”

“Why?”

“All the stuff you said. Plus, um, Mom made it sound pretty good. Fucking, I mean.” Both girls blushed at the reminder — they certainly had a new view of their mother to contemplate.

“Don’t say ‘fuck’,” Emma reminded.

“Mom just said it, like, a thousand times.”

“Well, she’d still kill you if she heard you. What would you say? ‘But Mom, we heard you say fuck when you were fucking Mr. Rhys’?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck’,” retorted Molly.

“I won’t.” Another giggle-fit ensued. Emma reluctantly drew her finger out of Molly’s quim and stretched out beside her, face to face.

“Molly?”

“What?”

“If you were going to lose your cherry today,” Emma inquired, “And you just had to pick right now, who would you pick?”

Molly thought that one over for a while. “Yuck,” she said, “What a question. I mean, I can’t even think of a boy I’d want sitting at the same table at lunch. Let alone one I’d even, like, kiss. I mean, take Jason, for example.”

“Barnes?”

“Yeah. For example. He’s pretty nice.”

“You like him?” Emma asked eagerly.

“Cool it, Em. No, I mean I like him — he’s nice, and he’s funny, and he, like, helped me in Math a couple times last year without trying to make me feel dumb. But... it’s like if I even try to imagine him, like, seeing me in my underwear, I feel like barfing.”

“Bleah.”

“Let alone seeing me naked, or touching me, or... all the sex stuff.”

Emma gave her sister’s views some thought. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she sighed.

“How about you?” asked Molly. “Who would you give your cherry to, if you had to pick right now?”

“If I tell you,” Emma said nervously, “You gotta promise not to laugh or get upset or think I’m weird or ever say anything ever.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Promise, Em. You know you can trust me.”

Emma gave her a peck on the lips. “That’s true, Sissy, I can. You’re my best friend.”

“So, who?”

Emma gulped. “Mr. Rhys.”

Molly goggled at her. “Whoa.”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘Whoa’?”

“Just, like, whoa. Emma. Mr. Rhys? Are you serious?”

“Yes I am,” Emma said, a bit defensively.

“Emma, he’s, like, old!”

“He’s not that old. And weren’t you just going ‘Yuck’ over every boy our age?”

“Yeah,” Molly admitted.

“And he’s experienced, which means he wouldn’t do anything stupid, or make it hurt too much?” Emma pressed on.

“Okaaaay...” Molly allowed.

“And he’s a gorgeous hunk, unlike all those weedy little snot-faced school boys?”

Molly smiled. “Ok, I’ll give you hunk. He is like so buff.”

“And did he not give Momma four cums, just during the time we were listening? And didn’t Alicia the Slut say boys weren’t very good in that department? And if you were giving up your cherry and having sex for the first time, wouldn’t you want it to be good?”

Molly gave her sister a curious look. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a long time.”

Emma snorted. “Yeah, like two minutes. C’mon, it’s obvious.”

There was a long, companionable silence while the teens let their thoughts drift down that particular avenue. Then Emma spoke up.

“The only problem is, I can’t see any way I could get him to do it,” she sighed.

“Get Mr. Rhys to pop your cherry?”

“Yeah.”

Molly looked at her sister incredulously. Could she possibly be that naïve? “Um, Emma, I think I know how you could get him to do it,” she said.

“Really? You have some kind of plan?” Emma asked eagerly.

“Well, I dunno if ‘plan’ is the right word,” Molly replied. “But I know what would work.”

Emma’s eyes searched her sister’s face for any sign she was being teased, but Molly looked perfectly sincere. “How, Sissy? Tell me!”

Molly shook her head in amusement. “Um, you go over to his house, and ring the doorbell.”

“Yeah?”

“And when he answers,” continued Molly, “You say ‘Hello, sir, I’m here today as a sixteen-year old virgin, and I would be very happy if you would pop my cherry and teach me all about sex. May I come in, please?’”

A pillow smacked into Molly’s face. “That’s mean, Molly,” Emma pouted, “I thought you were being serious with me.”

Molly put the pillow aside and shook her head wonderingly at her sister. “Sometimes, Emma... I think you need to get out more. I’m completely serious — I wouldn’t tease you about this.” She climbed off the bed and stood, holding out a hand to Emma. “C’mere, Em.”

Emma took the offered hand and let Molly lead her over to their full-length mirror. Enough light filtered in to the room for her to see her reflection.

“What do you see, Emma?” Molly asked gently, standing behind her.

“Me. Duh.” Emma was still feeling a little peeved.

“Ok. But what would he see?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Molly,” said Emma.

“Look at yourself,” Molly urged, soft-voiced and coaxing. “Think what he’d see if he were looking at you.” Molly bent down and put a hand on Emma’s ankle, and then slowly trailed it up her leg. “He’d see long, sensuous legs.” Her hand reached Emma’s hip. “He’d see a curvy figure, with a beautiful slim waist and elegant hips and a luscious ass.” Molly let her hands follow her words, touching ever so gently when she reached her sister’s bottom.

“My ass he’s seen,” Emma said glumly.

“Not in this light. He’s only seen it as something to spank,” Molly continued, still using a soft, persuasive voice. “Not as something to caress and fondle, just like I like to.” She reached around Emma with her other hand and brought both up to her breasts. “He’d see two sexy, beautiful titties —”

“They’re just B-cups —”

“Beautiful, lovely breasts, not fat and saggy, but just big enough to fit his hand, or his mouth.” Emma’s nipples crinkled, either from Molly’s touch or at the thought of having Mr. Rhys licking her there. Molly stroked the side of Emma’s face. “He’d see a beautiful girl, with a tempting mouth and bright eyes and a cute little nose. He’d see long, pretty hair.” She bent down again and urged Emma’s legs apart, reaching through them to cup her pussy.

“He’d see this... treasure of yours. He’d want it. He couldn’t help himself.” Molly’s voice was just a whisper, and Emma strained to hear her. “And inside these sweet lips is the real prize. Men always want virgins, did you know that, honey? They obsess about it. They dream about it. There’s no way he could say no.” Reluctantly, Molly let her hand slip away, and she stood and put her lips to Emma’s ear.

“So think again about what I said, Em,” she whispered. “See yourself with him, in a sexy outfit — short skirt, tight top, high heels to show off your legs. See his eyes, drinking you in. Then tell him you want him. Tell him you’re a virgin. Tell him you want to give your cherry to him. Tell him you want him to teach you. Ask him to fuck your virgin pussy. Say that. Say ‘Please, sir, please fuck my virgin pussy.’ He will, Emma. He’ll have to.”

Emma’s eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard. Molly was so convincing; she seemed so sure of herself. She opened her eyes and took one fresh look at the reflection of her nude body, and saw it: her sexiness, her desirability, her allure. Maybe. Just maybe.

“Oh, Molly,” she sighed, “You make it sound so easy. But... isn’t there just a little chance he’d refuse?”

Molly stepped out from behind her sister, and joined her in front of the mirror. The twin reflection was twice as alluring — or more.

“Well, Em, even if there was,” Molly said, “There’s no chance at all he’d turn us down if we both asked together. If we offered him twin teenage cherries.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

Molly’s answer was a kiss.

“Molly,” Emma said, when their lips finally parted, “That sounds like a plan.”

Author’s notes on Neighborly

This is a work of fiction, and no reference is intended to any actual person.

You probably know from other stories of mine that I like ladies bare of pubic hair. But just for the record, the twins’ story is not contrived. I had a niece on a high school swim team, and she once told me all the girls had gone bare together (for team-bonding reasons, not for hydrodynamics). Allow me to add a public service announcement: if you are a reasonably attractive high school senior and your uncle has a heart condition, don’t tell him things like this.

I don’t deliberately put myself into my stories, and I didn’t in this one. But I’m Colin’s height (6'-4") and I once had a girlfriend who was shorter than Jean (she was 4'-11"), so when I pictured them together it was fun to revisit some old memories of my own. (On the subject of his looks and equipment, I plead the Fifth).

Finally, my usual note on how the tale was written. I was within a couple of paragraphs of finishing another story, and usually I let myself work on only one at a time. But one night I happened upon a photograph of identical triplets bending over a bedstead, with three lovely bottoms prominently offered, and the germ of this story came most insistently to mind. I pared the scene from three girls down to two just to be able to handle it, and wrote Neighborly in a few focused evenings.

Please let me know how you liked this one.

If your browser supports JavaScript, you may click on this link to send comments.

Otherwise, see the instructions in the story index.

Neighborly

by Frenulum

Read more stories by Frenulum