Shopping for clothes did not have the same thrill alone as it did with Emma. Despite her being new to the neighborhood, Emma had quickly become the close friend I had been missing for years. The kind of friend you shared things with, family problems, secrets, shopping trips. In fact, in the month since she had arrived, I felt closer to another female than I had since college. Thus, it was with a bit of melancholia that I had gone to the mall that Saturday. Emma had begged off, citing a migraine as reason to skip out on me. So finding that perfect black skirt I had been seeking was just not the triumph it might have been, had Emma been along to share the victory. Still, I could show off my prize to her now that I was home. Perhaps her headache was better. With that thought in mind, I quickly changed out of my jeans and into the short, black skirt. I checked myself in the mirror and was pleased with the image I got in return. The ten pounds I had dropped since Emma encouraged me to start running with her really made a difference. “Not bad for a 42 year old,” I thought, smoothing the tails of my white blouse down over the black fabric. Just one final touch, then I would show Emma my find. I slipped the black stockings over my toes, pulling the elastic up to my thighs. Sandals with three-inch heels completed the ensemble. I ran my fingers through my short red hair, checked my lipstick, and then marched across the yard to Emma’s.
I received no answer to my usual knock. Perhaps she was sleeping. Our neighborhood was still one of those in which people rarely locked their doors so I turned the knob and let myself in. Her living room was empty so I headed to the bedroom, certain I would find her sleeping away her migraine. When I opened the bedroom door, though, I was hardly prepared for the sight that met my eyes.
I froze in embarrassment. Before me stood Emma, wearing a white satin bustierre, white panties, and white hose peering above her black riding boots. In her hand was a riding crop. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a bun and she was wearing her glasses. That sight alone was enough to shock, but even more embarrassing was the sight of a young man on his knees in front of her. He wore nothing save a thick black dog collar from which extended a leash. His penis stood stiff at attention. I inhaled suddenly at the sight of it, easily as long and thick as my forearm. I had seen a few penises besides my husband’s over the years, but nothing to match this man’s outside of an x-rated video. Time stood still as I took in the scene. Then Emma’s voice broke the spell.
“Erica, I am glad you are here. I need your help with this slave.”
I stammered my apologies for interrupting and began to back out of the door.
“Slave,” Emma barked sharply, “Bring Erica to me.”
The man rose to his feet in response to her voice, his thick cock pointing straight towards me like some sort of medieval weapon. My knees felt weak, I could not move. The man’s hands touched my shoulders, gently guiding me towards Emma. I noted the soft fullness of her breasts over the cups of her bustierre and the way the boots added inches to her height. She was younger than me by at least ten years, there was a firmness to her body that I had long since lost. I had never acted on my bisexual fantasies nor even considered Emma as anything more than a friend but now my thoughts turned to the lascivious.
“Now, Erica, since you have had the gall to barge in where you were not invited, you must pay the penalty,” the icy tone of Emma’s voice made my stomach tighten. “I believe you need to be taught a lesson about invading another person’s privacy.” As if commanded, the man suddenly reached under my skirt and roughly yanked my panties down around my ankles. Emma’s crop lifted the hem of my skirt in back, exposing my white cheeks to her inspection. “Yes,” she said, softer now, less angry, “I think a spanking is in order.” The man guided me to the bed and bent me forward. My elbows sank into the deep feather mattress, causing my buttocks to arch higher. Suddenly, sharp red pain filled my head, my eyes. I cried out as the leather flap of the crop smacked my bottom once, twice, a third time. The man held my back down, keeping me from rising. “Emma,” I cried through my tears, “For god’s sake, what are you doing?”
“Hush, or it will continue,” she answered. Then, with my buttocks on fire, she was kissing my face, kissing away the tears. Her lips moved to mine. Soft, full, a feeling I had not known before. Her tongue snaked into my mouth. Involuntarily, as if by instinct, I returned the kiss. Our tongues darted and danced. The pain of my spanking was replaced now by the squishy heat emanating from between my thighs.
