The author here is someone named Jean Marie, but she is relatively unknown to me. This is another orphan story I found, but it’s a pretty hot one, mixing F/F, M/F and menage.
Art by Funbun and Paula Russell
Jean and Jane
I bet you think that school teachers like me loll away our summers sunning at the pool, reading at the beach, taking trips abroad. We may do a little of that, but most of that precious down-time is spent taking advanced-degree classes, planning next year’s lessons, and so on. That’s how this summer has gone for me. Yesterday I was in a seminar, the dreaded PD, professional development time that all teachers must attend. This PD was on improving student reading and writing, and was held at the nearby high school. I walked into the classroom and was pleased to see Jane seated at a desk in the back of the class.
“I haven’t seen you since we were student-teachers together!” I smiled, sitting next to her. “That must be six years ago now, what have you been doing?”
We caught up on our pasts; we were both teaching the fifth grade at schools on the opposite sides of town, we were both still unmarried, though Jane was “seeing somebody seriously.” The instructor then cleared her throat and the PD began. Although the subject was one that I love, the instructor was deathly boring, so Jane and I soon began whispering gossip about old pals and such. After shooting us several stern looks over the course of the next half hour, the instructor interrupted her presentation to ask in her monotone voice, “Do I need to separate you two in the back?”
“Sorry, we’ll be good, ma’am,” I answered out loud, feeling like I was back in the fifth grade myself, then whispered to Jane, “I’d hate to be spanked in front of the class.”
Do you ever do this; bring up the subject of spanking to see the reaction you’ll get? I do it all the time. It gives me a special thrill, more than just discussing sex. And this time, it worked perfectly. Jane looked at me a little more directly, smiled a little more mischievously, and I suspected that we shared the same tastes in kink.
Later in the seminar, after breaking for lunch, we were asked by the drone up front to break up into pairs and share our personal interest in writing. Partner Jane volunteered that she used to love it, couldn’t find the time anymore, though. Then it was my turn. I told Jane the truth, a secret that I’d never shared with anyone in my profession before.
“I write a lot, usually late into the night… some poetry, some short stories, all of it… erotica,” I said, looking into her nonplussed but slowly-smiling expression.
“What is your distinction between erotica and pornography?” she whispered back, after clearing her throat to get the words out.
“Porn is pure titillation. Erotica is quality writing. Mine has a plot, usually some humor, well-developed characters…”
“Do you mean big breasted women and well-endowed men?” Jane joked.
I smiled back to show that I had a sense of humor about it, even though the subject was close to my heart. “I mean that I work hard to create real people in my stories, my next one might have to be about a beguiling blonde in a sexy sundress…”
Jane smirked slightly as she blushed deeply, realizing that I was describing her, then said, “I’d really like to read your work sometime…”
“Maybe that could be arranged.” I’d never confided to another peer what I just had, but I decided to trust Jane and confide more. “My work isn’t just sexual… it’s… kinky.”
She licked her lips seductively and stammered, “Well…now I know that I… I have to read it…”
We got our work done, but the rest of the PD was spent in mild, mutual flirtation. I guess that she thought it too dangerous to whisper, so Jane passed me a note.
“I’ve GOT to know more about your kinky side!” it read.
I turned it over and wrote back, “Let’s just say that my position on corporal punishment has always been – that it’s far too much fun to waste on children.”
I was enchanted watching her lascivious smile grow as she read my answer. Jane then scribbled, “My position on spanking is – “ and she scrawled in big letters, “SWITCH – it gets me equally hot being over the knee as it does turning a sweet young thing over for it.”
We were dismissed from the PD seminar at three in the afternoon, bursting out of the schoolroom door like kids in need of recess. In the parking lot, Jane answered my prayer when she said, “That was a chore; let’s decompress over a glass of wine somewhere…”
Fifteen minutes later we were strolling from our parked cars into a cute little bistro, where the hostess sat us in an out-of-the-way booth.
“You always struck me as very vanilla, Jean,” Jane said to break the ice that was stifling our once fluid conversation, “I can’t imagine you writing kink.”
“Never judge a book by its cover,” I retorted. Her use of the word “vanilla” confirmed that she knew something about the scene on the dark side of my world.
She smiled, took a gulp of her white wine, and looked me in the eye with her sparkling baby blues. “I love erotica, consider myself something of a connoisseur. I remember discovering A Man with a Maid at age fifteen and feeling like a whole new world had opened up. Actually one had; I discovered the world of self-gratification…” We both laughed easily at the truth of her statement. I hope that you’ll get drunk with me and share your taste in spice, the way that you cook it up in your writing…”
“I’d feel more comfortable letting you read a story than blurting out basics…” I said looking at my hands, then taking an even bigger gulp of pinot noir. “I happen to have a floppy disc of some of my saved work in my car, and we both have our laptops,” I gestured to the two expensive pieces of hardware beside us in the booth, the ones we’d used in the PD seminar, the ones that we’d brought into the restaurant with us to keep safe, to keep from the interiors of our August-hot cars.
Jane didn’t assume anything, I liked that. It cemented the bond that I’d started to feel for her. She took my hands in hers and looked me in the eye. “I know the risk you felt in confiding your secret life to me… if you trust me, I’d feel honored to read your work.”
My impulse was to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her beautiful full lips and wordlessly say that I trusted her completely, that I was attracted to her powerfully. I wanted to get her libido jump-started before showing her my nasty stories.
But, my conservative nature dictated my actions; instead I brought her right hand to my mouth and kissed its back, whispered, “I hope you’ll be kind…” and scampered to get the plastic case of formatted discs from my car. When I returned, Jane had fired-up her laptop and ordered us each another glass of wine. I busied myself nervously playing with the small paper napkin underneath my goblet while Jane silently read. She paid me one of the most eloquent compliments anyone possibly could. First, Jane’s breathing became audible, then her right hand cupped her left breast through her sundress. She fondled her small titty right there in the bistro, as her eyes flicked back and forth across the flickering screen, until her nipples poked obtrusively through the thin cotton fabric. Next, she licked her dry lips. She’d been softly panting through her parted lips for several minutes; those delicate nostrils (in a button nose so cute that I always suspected was a plastic surgeon’s work and not God’s) just couldn’t do the strenuous job of heavy breathing required. Her hand left her boob to scroll down the page, then returned to rub the length of her svelte torso, headed inexorably toward her crotch. I was becoming aroused just watching her, but propriety overtook me, and I interrupted her reverie.
“What you think?” I whispered.
“Oh, Jeanie, this is good… this is better than good… this is…” said with her eyes still glued to the florescent glow.
I was honestly afraid that Jane might cause a scene, might pull a Meg Ryan on me, like in that movie, “When Harry Met Sally” and orgasm loudly and histrionically right there in our booth, if this went on much longer.
“There are more stories, more discs… would you like to go somewhere… more private to read them?” I implored.
That pulled her out of the abyss, “Yes, my apartment’s not far,” she pronounced determinedly as she closed her laptop. Jane was about to skootch across the booth’s seat to leave when she stopped short, looked at me, smiled languidly, and said, “Thanks for sharing, Jeanie, this is fun.”
I followed her in my car to a sunny little apartment bungalow, but as soon as we both exited our vehicles, that frostiness threatened to freeze me up so that words wouldn’t come, so that movement seemed awkward, even though my mind was racing with a hundred questions.
With the ease of an icebreaker plowing through the frigid waters of Antarctica, Jane took me by the free hand (our opposites were holding laptops), smiled, and said, “I have a Robert Mondavi white wine that is so much better than what we just paid six dollars a glass for…” She released my fingers to slip her key in the lock. We put our computers on the kitchen counter, as Jane got out the bottle and two glasses, but then she changed gears. “Before I pour that, before I say another word, I want to show you something,” and she took me by the hand again to lead me into her bedroom.
“I wasn’t lying,” Jane said, as she gestured to a bookshelf. There, on proud display, was a dog-eared copy of A Man with a Maid, along with the rest of that series and about twenty other volumes of erotica. I stopped to notice how many that we had in common, but Jane was digging in her closet. She emerged with a leather paddle, a tawse, a big wooden hairbrush, and a thin English cane. “I’m well acquainted with each of these, as well as my boyfriend, Bobbie’s, blistering hand. So don’t think that what you write about is being read by unsympathetic, judgmental eyes. When I said that it was better than good, I…”
I kissed her, I kissed her as I had been longing to do for hours. Jane didn’t pull back, but rather melted into the hot kiss, melded her slender body into mine. I kissed her until I heard those delicate little nostrils of hers working overtime, laboring for air.
I took my tongue from out of her mouth, parted the seal that my lips had over hers, and let her catch her breath, as I gasped, “I’ve written about having sex with another woman, but it was all a lie… up until now…” my desire for her drenching every word, just as it was my panties.
“Well, it’s a sin to lie, Jean Marie… and sinners get punished…” Jane dropped the other implements onto her bed, and smacked the leather paddle against her open palm menacingly.
Then I was blindly undoing the buttons on the back of her sundress, as Jane was taking off my clothes. It was like it was a mad race, but Jane beat me due to her head start; she shrugged her shoulders and the sundress fell on top of the sandals she’d already kicked off, I tugged on her panties, and with a shimmy, they fell on top of her dress. She stood before me as naked as the day that she was born. Meanwhile, Jane had only gotten my blouse unbuttoned, my front-loading bra unclipped, and my slacks unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped. It proved to be enough.
“And were you lying in your story about being spanked by another woman?” Jane asked as she took a step nearer the bed.
“No, I’ve had a few women do that… besides my mom…” I said fumblingly.
Jane held my gaze as she sat down, and pulled my tight-fitting slacks down over my hips. “Good…” she said, then pressed her face against my flat tummy and took the waistband of my panties in her teeth. With her two hands on my hips, she slowly pulled this garment down to mid-thigh too. I was so turned-on I couldn’t see straight, I could smell my arousal that bedewed my bush and the crotch of my underwear. “And you smell good…” Jane whispered, nuzzling her face into my pubes. “But you confessed to being a liar, and that’s not good, young lady, that’s naughty…” Jane picked up the paddle and loudly slapped her palm again. She had beaten me in the undressing race, and it was clear that she now intended to beat my bottom. She helped me crawl across her knees. “Know what naughty girls get?”
“Yes, ma’am… spanked,” I said to her floor, my mind flooded with sensations. I was thinking that I found this position as erotic as any that I assume during love-making. I was thinking how sensual it was to have my bare tummy over the bared smooth legs of a woman in this highly-charged position. I was anticipating my first sexual experience with this lovely lady, with any woman. I was anticipating a spanking of light stingers with her hand, building to good, sound spanks, and climaxing with a rousing session with that leather paddle.
On this last point, I was mistaken. Apparently Jane felt that lying was a grievous error, and that I should grievously answer for it (to paraphrase Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”). There was no warm-up, no loving caress of my cheeks, no word of warning.
The paddle caught me on the summit of my fleshy hillocks with a painfully hard swat that felt like a blow with the flat of a shovel. My mouth flew open, contorted with the searing sting.
SMACK! Its equal landed just below the first, on the sweet spot where my fulsome fanny meets my thighs. I felt it not only in my bottom and legs, but deep in the orifices between these two regions. I dug my toes into the carpet to absorb the burn.
SMACK! Relentlessly, Jane paddled my entire backside with scorching spanks. When working my toes into her plush pile carpet didn’t contain the pain, I kicked. When gritting my teeth no longer worked, I cried out. When clawing her bedspread didn’t help, I pounded my fists on her mattress and floor. Mercilessly, Jane kept spanking. I rubbed my pubis into her thigh for relief (as characters in my fiction had), but it gave me little. Methodically, Jane covered the curved expanse of my derriere from hip to hip, and the entire length of my crack, as well as on the backs of my legs, then re-paddled the tenderest places twice. Jane finished by switching the paddle to her left hand, and giving me twenty wallops with her right palm. I knew this because she crisply numbered each one aloud after she crisply administered it.
It was over just as abruptly as it began, like a torrid cloud-bursting rainstorm. I knew this because she threw the paddle onto the floor, and caressed my throbbing buttocks with light fingertips as ticklish as the paddling had been agonizing. The contrast between punishment and pleasure was as marked as my cherry red cheeks, in an instant my plaintive whimpers turned to lusting moans.
“You took your spanking like a trooper,” Jane cooed, “that’s what my boyfriend always says to me after a hard lesson.”
“Does he spank you often?” I was able to enunciate as her delicate fingers circled ever-nearer to my private places.
“Very! If I haven’t done something wrong recently, he makes something up to spank me for, kind of like that pretense about you lying… and, while I’m thinking about it, let’s make that issue of your never having actually had sex with another woman a moot point…”
Jane’s tickling touch invaded the places that I longed for her to explore. The fingers of her left hand rimmed my anus, while her right’s penetrated my pussy.
“My, you’re wet!” she exclaimed in a whisper, as one and then two fingers worked their way in and out of me.
I gave myself over to the experience; fingers as knowledgeable as my own teased my sphincter and masturbated my sex. During the spanking, if you had asked me my opinion, I’d have wailed that Jane was being too hard on me, but the vigorous paddling had left me energized, sensitized, vibrantly alive. In the same way, Jane was practically attacking my femininity with her fingers, demanding an orgasm from me.
“I’m… I’m… I think I’m gonna cum,” I gasped.
“You’d better, Jane commanded, “and hard, or you’ll answer to my paddle again. Now, be a good girl and cum all over my hand, and I’ll reward you with a clit licking.”
Her no-nonsense fingers corkscrewed even more rapidly, disappearing and reappearing at the entrance of my vagina, as I watched upside down, still stretched out over her knee, submissive to anything that Jane wanted my body to do. I closed my eyes and fantasized about her pretty face nestled between my thighs, her wanton mouth sucking me there, her big blue eyes looking into mine, imploring me to cum. More blood pounded into my temples as reality returned, as I felt one saliva-slick finger penetrate my rectum, and push its way up my butt hole. I got a mental image in my fertile but dirty mind of the remembered vision of Jane slipping her house-key into her front door lock. In the same way, my tumblers fell, Jane had discovered a key that unlocks my libido; I’m very anal-erotic. With a half twist of her impaling finger, click, my orgasm in the neighboring passageway was unleashed, let loose, allowed to run rampant, to riot.
I don’t know if there was a fire in Jane’s neighborhood, but there were sirens screaming suddenly. I don’t know how copiously my vagina spent, for my whole world became liquid, warm, and enveloping. I don’t know the muscle strength of our best female Olympic athlete, but mine rivaled hers, as my body contracted and relaxed in rhythmic convulsive spasms. I don’t know about time, it became ephemeral, but I regained consciousness later, much later.
I opened my eyes to see the ceiling of Jane’s boudoir come into focus, to feel her carpeted floor beneath me. My womb and private orifices radiated with the same warmth that glowed from my well-spanked tushy. I felt so sublime, I wondered if I’d died and gone to heaven. Jane’s smiling face swam into view.
“Hello there… I wondered how long you’d take to revive…” she purred, stroking my face tenderly.
I took hers in my hands and kissed her smiling lips passionately. I fell in love with how soft her mouth was, with how perfect her body felt lying on top of mine, with her hardening nipples making Jane’s arousal known as they poked me insistently, with that audible breathing whistling tunelessly in and out of her upturned nose. I ended the kiss by giving her a peck on her tiny beak.
“I promised you cunnilingus if you came good and hard…” Jane said energetically, her face leaving mine, her body uncovering mine to kneel between my parted legs. Suddenly, she was tugging off my laced up sneakers, fully pulling down both my pairs of pants at once. Jane threw these articles over her shoulder as soon as they were off my body.
“Oh, god… I don’t know if I have the strength…” I sighed, as Jane assumed the position of my climactic dream. But just as soon as her talented lips and tongue kissed my other set of lips, this thought was banished. “Oh, god… oh, god… oh, ooooooooooooooooooh!”
Jane knew just how much pressure to exert, just how much suction to apply, just what flicks with her tongue I found most stimulating. She seemed to innately know that mindlessly humming created a vibration in my sex that took my head off. She knew that stopping to talk briefly brought my mind, as well as my body, along on the journey.
“There’s lubricant in the drawer of that bedside table…” she teased, then reapplied her mouth to my clit to take me higher.
“After you cum, I’m going to grease up your tight little asshole…” she continued three minutes later, when I was higher than I’d ever been.
“If you liked my finger there, you’re gonna love my string of anal beads pushed up there slowly and yanked out fast…”
I was teetering at the pinnacle of the precipice. Just the thought of what she was saying made my ignored little rosebud shudder in anticipation. I could feel my next orgasm building inside me. The image of base-jumping filled my mind. I imagined that I was just about to dive off the pinpoint tip-top of the mountain that Jane’s tongue had carried me up to, from there to soar and sail and summersault and float and free-fall my way through the most incredible orgasm of my life. I could feel the very floor tremble beneath me; the mountain must be a volcano, ready to erupt and explode simultaneously with me. I was going to cum like gangbusters, then Jane was going to treat me to an even more powerful climax by pushing me up the mountainside again with her tongue in my twat, shove me off its summit, and yank the ripcord of her sinful toy out of my rectum at the last second. Then I was going to take Jane over my knee, paddle her adorable derriere even more soundly than the blistering one she’d given me, lick and suck and finger-fuck her to nirvana, too. Oh god, it was going to be so good… oh god, I’m going to cum like a banshee, oooh, just a little more of that, just like that, god I wish she’d violate my butt hole again, that was soo… Damn, the floor really is vibrating…
Jane pulled her face away from my pudendum, poked her head up like a cute little prairie dog sensing danger by her hole, and listened.
“Shit! It’s Bobbie… he wasn’t supposed to be…”
She was up, wiping her mouth with her arm, searching the floor frantically for clothes that were a room away, and realizing this, yanking open a dresser drawer to retrieve fresh underwear. “….He’s gonna be so pissed! Get up…”
I wasn’t happy to have been abandoned on the mountain, to feel my mind-blower of a climax slip away as I slid down the steep slope. I was less quick to move, less able to grasp the seriousness of the situat…
Bobbie the boyfriend was then filling the bedroom doorway. He had found Jane’s panties on his way in from the garage. My mind was just putting together that the rumbling we’d sensed was actually the automatic garage door opener as Bobbie arrived home unexpectedly. My mind was spinning, much like Jane’s panties that were twirling around Bobbie’s extended finger. I was still so out of it, I didn’t grasp that I was nearly naked in front of this hunky stranger. His steely gaze went from his red-faced lover to my jism and saliva soaked pubic patch, and that’s when I realized I was attired in white sweat socks, an open black bra, and an unbuttoned navy blue blouse only. I tucked my tits into their cups and fastened the clasp, was looking around for my pants. Bobbie sensed this and took an ominous step forward, placing one giant work boot on top on my knotted-up pairs of pants.
“What’s goin’ on here, ladies?”