Renee was a friend of the family and had been helping me out around the house for several weeks while my wife, a high-powered saleswoman, was one a business trip to China. She was quite a bit younger than my wife and I, around 20, and home from college for the summer.
"Be good," my wife joked before she left, "and keep your hands to yourself around Renee."
I have to admit that the thought hadn't even occurred to me. But my wife had good instincts. Renee was stunning: she had black curly hair, full lips, large breasts, a slim waist and an amazing heart-shaped ass that she covered every day in tight jeans.
Often, I could see the top of her thong underwear as she bent down to get something from the lower part of our kitchen cabinets. She liked to wear low-cut blouses or tank tops.
We have twins, my wife and I, so Renee's help was definitely required. I work out of my home office most of the time (I'm a financial planner) but even so, there are times when I have to leave to meet with clients. A live-in babysitter was essential when my wife was out of the country and couldn't cover for me at home when the boys were back from school.
Renee and I exchanged only the barest of pleasantries for the first few days. I was busy with work, and she was getting used to the two boys' demanding routines. They needed help waking up, eating breakfast and getting ready for kindergarten.
Then someone, usually me, took them to their school, where they stayed for half the day until Renee picked them up. Sometimes she would bring them straight home, other times they would go together to a nearby playground for a few hours, and eat lunches that she'd packed for them.
During the second week that Renee stayed with us, I got into the habit of checking out her outfits. Every day it seemed like she wore something that accentuated a different aspect of her body: one day it would be a black low-cut blouse that showed off her ample cleavage, the next day it might be a short skirt that barely covered her ass.
Traditional babysitting attire it wasn't, but with my wife not around, who was I to complain? Although I viewed her outfits as a special treat, it never occurred to me that she might be wearing them for my benefit.
That is, until one day when I came back from dropping the boys off at school, and caught her looking through the family photo album.
"Sorry," she said, "I just wanted to see what your wedding was like."
"That's ok," I said, "what do you think about it?"
"Your wife is so beautiful! She looks so young!"
"Thanks, I'll tell her you said that."
She mistook my tone for sarcasm.
"No," she said, "I didn't mean that she wasn't beautiful now, I just --"
"I know, Renee. Don't worry about it. We all get old."
"You still look pretty good, Mr. Hammond."
"Thanks," I said, "you're not so bad yourself."
She blushed.
"I wish I could find a guy like you," she said, "someone so stable, supportive, and handsome."
Now it was my turn to blush.
"I'm sure there are lots of guys out there who would love to date you."
"Yeah," she said, "I get a lot of attention, but not the kind that I really want."
The conversation was getting a little too heated for me. I excused myself and went back to work.
A few days later, I came home from a night out with my friends to find Renee asleep on the couch. On the coffee table nearby was a novel with racy picture of a young woman, scantily dressed, with her hands bound behind her back.
"She was made her boss's slave," read the back cover, "little did she know, it would be true love."
I picked up the book without waking Renee and took it with me.
The next morning, Renee was quiet at breakfast. She must have noticed that the book was missing.
"Renee," I said as she cleared the breakfast dishes, "I want to talk to you after you drop the boys off at kindergarten. Please come to my office."
She murmured something that sounded like an "ok," her eyes downcast.
I went to my office and put the smutty paperback on my desk, then sat back in my chair as I waited for Renee to return. I had skimmed it the night before, reading most of the sex scenes. I had to admit, it was surprising to me that a girl as wholesome looking as Renee would enjoy reading about some of the sexual practices described in the book.
It was the story of a secretary who was spanked, dominated, and used by her boss. He handcuffed her, whipped her, shoved his cock down her throat and called her all kinds of filthy names. He would cum in her pussy, mouth and on her face. She loved him and called him "master."
Really cheesy stuff, I thought. But I had to admit that I was turned on by at least some of it, and I knew that having the book in my possession might give me the currency I needed to get the ball rolling, so to speak. There was still a week to go before my wife came back, and I aimed to have some fun with the babysitter -- and if she liked it rough, who was I to argue with that?
I heard the door close. Renee was back. Timid footsteps creaked along the hall to my office, then there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," I said.
Renee entered. Her face turned white when she saw the book on the desk in front of me.
"What kind of slut," I began, "would read something like this around children?"
"They were in bed," she stammered, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"Is that right?" I asked, enjoying the sight of the beautiful young woman's breasts heaving in consternation, "or did you want me to find it?"
"No of course not, Mr. Hammond!"
"You've been dressing very provocatively lately, haven't you Renee?"
"Not on purpose, Mr. Hammond."
"I'm not so sure about that, Renee."
She was quiet. Her gaze was still on the floor.
"Look at me Renee," I said.
She obeyed. Tears started to form in her eyes.
"Tell me that you're a cock-teasing slut, and we'll never discuss this again."
"What?" she turned bright red, and seemed genuinely shocked. But she looked me in the eyes.
"Say the words, Renee. Say 'I'm a cock-teasing slut' and we never have to talk about this again."
"No!" she said, defiant now.
"Very well," I said, "I'll just have to make you. It's what you want anyway, isn't it?"
I grabbed the luscious 20-year-old and pulled her over my lap. She struggled against me, but I pulled both of her hands behind her back easily. I delivered several hard slaps to her skirt-covered ass.
"Stop squirming, Renee," I said, "you're only making things harder on yourself. Just say what I told you to say and I'll stop."
"NO!" she screamed, "you can't do this! I'm a nice girl!"
"Do nice girls read books like that?" I said, smacking her ass again, "I don't think so!"
I reached under her skirt to feel her panties.
"Do nice girls flash their thong at their employer?"
SMACK! I spanked her again.
"Please stop, Mr. Hammond."
"What kind of girl are you, Renee?"
"I'm -- I'm a good girl!"
SMACK!
"I just don't think I'm getting through to you, Renee."
With my free hand, I yanked down her panties, tearing them at the waist so that they came off her legs without having to pass over her shoes.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, "those are my favorite!"
"They're going to come in handy you little slut," I said, using the torn panties to secure her hands behind her back. Now I was free to lift her skirt and continue the spanking. When I flipped her skirt up to expose her incredible ass, I felt my cock twitch in my pants. I knew it was going to need some attention very soon.
"Renee," I said, pushing a finger into her sopping pussy, "I do believe the spanking has gotten you wet. Would a nice girl get wet from a spanking? I don't think so."
She moaned as I worked my fingers in and out.
"I'm -- I'm a good girl," she moaned.
SMACK!
"Wrong answer again, Renee. I think you might actually like this."
"No!" she moaned. Her ass was beginning to turn a nice shade of pink.
"I still don't think I'm getting through to you, Renee. I think I'm going to have to use my belt."
"NO!" she cried, squirming even more over my lap, "Don't use your belt Mr. Hammond. I'll sue! I'll tell your wife!"
"Something tells me you won't, Renee. And I think you know what the magic words are. Tell me that you're a cock-teasing slut!"
"I'm a nice girl," she whispered.
I unhooked my belt with one hand and pulled on it. It made a whipping sound as it moved through the loops on my pants. I coiled it in my hand and ran it across Renee's already-reddened ass so that she could feel the smooth leather.
"One last chance Renee. What do we call girls like you?"
"I'm a good girl," she said, defiantly.
"Ok, you asked for it."
I brought my belt down across her bare ass.
CRACK!
"What do we call girls like you, Renee?"
"I'm a good girl!"' she repeated, her voice cracking. I worked two fingers into her pussy, probing her wetness and teasing her clit as I wound up for another smack. I aimed this stroke of the belt directly across her pussy.
Renee moaned in pleasure.
"Rub my pussy, Mr. Hammond."
"What was that, Renee?"
"Rub my pussy, please, sir."
I spanked her ass hard with the belt. I could almost see the welt it would leave rising before my eyes.
Renee moaned in a mixture of pleasure and pain. There were tears streaming down her face.
"What are you, Renee?"
"I'm a slut, sir," she whispered.
"I didn't hear that," I said, giving her ass another sharp smack with the belt.
She gasped.
"I'm a slut, sir. Please rub my pussy sir. Please stop spanking me."
"I'm not going to let you cum until you say what I told you to say before."
"I'm a cock-teasing slut."
"I didn't hear you!"
I smacked her ass several more times with the belt, leaving large red welts.
"Please stop, sir."
"You will refer to me from now on as 'daddy'," I said, spanking her ass more gently with my hand now.
"Yes sir," she whimpered.
"What was that, slut?"
SMACK!
I smacked her ass so hard that my hand stung stung.
"I'm a cock-teasing slut, daddy!"
"Get on you knees, slut," I said, lifting her from my lap and putting her on the floor. Her hands were still securely tied behind her back.
I unzipped my pants and watched her look of surprise as my cock sprang out of its enclosure. Though I am a fairly average looking man for my age, I sport a member that is quite large and thick when fully aroused.
"How - how big is it?" asked Renee timidly, looking up at my unit in awe.
"Why don't we find out, slut? Would you like to measure daddy's cock?"
"Yes, daddy," she said, still on her knees, wriggling against her bonds.
"If I untie your hands will you promise to behave yourself?"
