Punishing Grandma
Kathryn M. Burke
Frank Wakefield was fit to be tied--and the chief cause of his distress was his own mother.
There was no denying that Gloria Wakefield was a unique specimen of the female gender. Even at her advanced age (she had just turned sixty-three) she acted like a woman a third her age. She had never really taken life seriously--she just "wanted to have fun," as that old song said. Her husband, George (Frank's father), had left her to her fate long ago, unable to tolerate her alarming tendency to spread her legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry who came by. Right now, Gloria was ensconced in Frank's house, demanding sympathy for being deserted by her latest boyfriend who had given her the heave-ho for her serial philandering.
Frank had to admit that Gloria looked sensational. Sexagenarian though she was, she looked like an old-fashioned "gay divorcée" in her forties. Dying her hair a jet black helped to create the illusion of youthfulness, but her unlined face, twinkling eyes, and hourglass figure (Frank had to work hard not to stare at his mother's cleavage, which she was inclined to reveal to all and sundry whenever she sashayed around the house) would have tempted men far younger than herself.
Right now Frank had his hands full. His son, Jeremy, had just turned twenty and had finished his sophomore year at the local college. The Wakefields were about to host a big party in their backyard to celebrate the college lacrosse team's recent victory at the conference championships. Jeremy, a key member of the team, had summoned his two dozen teammates to have a good time all afternoon and into the evening--and that's where Frank's heartburn regarding Gloria came in.
As she saw this bevy of muscular, lusty young men saunter into the premises, wearing next to nothing in this hot August afternoon, it was clear that certain impure thoughts were flitting through her head. To her way of thinking, this offered an ideal opportunity to engage in a specific kind of entertainment she had contemplated for decades.
She had sidled up to her grandson while he was getting big bowls of munchies ready for the team and had said, "Jeremy, dear, do you think your friends might--like me?"
Jeremy himself, who knew a thing or two about female beauty and had acted on that knowledge (not nearly as often as he wanted), looked her up and down and said, "Sure, Grandma! You'd be a big hit with them."
"I thought so," Gloria said suggestively. "Would I be a big hit with you too?"
And with that, she'd wrapped her arms around her grandson's neck and, standing on tiptoe, had pasted a most ungrandmotherly kiss on his mouth.
Jeremy was taken aback, but quickly got into the spirit of things. Who doesn't like being kissed, especially by a hot babe? It didn't matter that Gloria had forty-three years on him: she was still hot!
So Jeremy enfolded Gloria in a tight embrace and kissed back hard. But things got even more daring when Gloria reached behind herself and, taking hold of one of Jeremy's hands, slid it down so that it landed on her bottom.
Jeremy wasn't slow in copping a feel at his grandma's ass. Unfortunately, it was just at this time that his father Frank, crossing the living room and heading toward the kitchen, caught sight of the pair.
"Jesus!" he cried in horror. "What on earth are you two doing?"
Jeremy made a move to separate himself from Gloria, but she only reluctantly let him go. Regarding her son blandly, she said, "I'm not allowed to show affection toward my grandson?"
"That is
not
what you were doing!" Frank thundered. Turning to his son, he barked, "You--get out of here! Go tend to your friends, and let me not catch you doing anything like this ever again."
Jeremy turned tail and, with two bowls of nacho chips in his hands, bolted for the back door.
Frank turned his gaze balefully toward his mother. "Exactly what were you thinking?" he snapped.
"Oh, Frank, calm down," Gloria said dismissively. "You know I like to have fun. What's the harm?"
Frank had reached the end of his rope. This was only the latest outrage that Gloria had inflicted upon his family, and he'd had enough. Striding over to her, he said, "Okay, Ma, I'm gonna have to take matters into my own hands."
Gloria raised an eyebrow contemptuously. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning this!"
And with that, Frank pulled out one of the wooden chairs (with no arms) at the little kitchen table, sat down on it, pulled his mother down over his knees, and--began spanking her.
Gloria didn't protest very much. One of her previous boyfriends had a thing for spanking, and she found she liked it too--as long as the guy didn't hit very hard. Frank, for all his anger, only whacked his mother with a few gentle slaps--but then, realizing that his actions were ineffectual, made two significant changes:
He whipped up Gloria's skirt and pulled down her panties, exposing her bare bottom. And then he started spanking that bottom with a fair degree of force.
Gloria only smiled. The warm glow emerging from her battered butt was actually rather pleasant. And there was another unexpected consolation. It was quite clear that Frank was getting a bit excited at seeing his own mom's naked posterior (with a hint of the well-used cleft out of which he had crawled into life forty-odd years ago). Gloria could feel her son getting a hard-on as he continued to thwack her, and she pushed her hips against that stiffening rod as she rested contentedly on Frank's lap.
She couldn't help letting out little grunts every time her son spanked her, and eventually those grunts--not to mention the sharp sound of a hand slapping bare skin--brought someone else to the scene: Frank's wife.
Vera Wakefield had done her best to defuse any hostilities between her husband and her mother-in-law. She even tended to take Gloria's side on many occasions, even though she didn't at all approve of the older woman's seemingly insatiable desire to have the male organ stuff itself into her various orifices. But women had to stick together, didn't they? It was a tough world out there, still ruled by men--and ruled badly, in Vera's opinion.
So when, perceiving strange noises coming from the kitchen, she'd trundled down the backstairs, she saw something she never expected to see.
"Holy cow, Frank!" she cried, taking in the spectacle. "What do you think you're doing?"
Frank paused suddenly in his spanking, although he couldn't help noticing how red his mother's bottom had become. "Mom's been very bad!" he whined.
"Bad? What are you talking about?"
"She--she kissed Jeremy in a way no grandmother should ever kiss her grandson. And--and she did something else too!" But Frank couldn't articulate that business of Jeremy's hand on Gloria's butt--exactly where his own hand was now resting comfortably. He was doing his damnedest not to think how smooth and firm and round her ass felt.
"Oh, Frank," Vera said, "you must have misunderstood. Anyway, she's your mom! You don't spank your own mother!"
"I can and I will!" he said venomously.
He was about to resume when Gloria spoke sharply. "Frank Wakefield, you stop that right this minute!"
You have to understand that Frank was--well, the polite term is henpecked. There's an impolite term, but we won't mention that. Actually, he was afraid of women--both his mother and his wife. If he'd had a daughter, he would no doubt have been terrified of her too. Everything was so confused today: you weren't supposed to treat women like sex objects anymore, and what had passed for common courtesy in prior days (holding doors open for ladies and so forth) was now regarded as insulting and patronizing. Frank simply didn't know what was expected of him anymore.
And, in point of fact, he was petrified at the thought of losing access to the vagina that Vera possessed. He was ashamed to admit it, but sex was one of the transcendent pleasures of his life, a sublime recompense for the tedium of his job as an insurance salesman. (He didn't even have an attractive secretary whom he could dream of running off to Tahiti with.) So having Vera deny him her pussy was a perennial source of dread.
"Okay," he said glumly, letting his mother slide off his lap. She landed on her feet, pulled up her panties, smoothed out her skirt, and kissed her son sardonically on the top of the head.
"Bye," she said as she headed to the backyard.
Vera glared down at her husband as he sat forlorn on the chair. "I hope," she said heavily, "I never see anything like that again." Her unspoken message was clear:
If I do, buster, you won't get to stick your dick in my twat ever again.
Frank, nodding disconsolately, slunk away to some secluded part of the house.
Meanwhile, Gloria was--well, glorying in the attention of those two dozen lacrosse players. They couldn't believe this gorgeous older woman was Jeremy's grandson: she looked, in some ways, even better than his mom, who herself was quite a knockout and had inspired unwholesome thoughts from more than one teammate. As Gloria sauntered around the various young men scattered around the backyard, she coyly stroked one guy's cheek, blew a kiss toward another, felt the biceps of a third, and actually smooched a fourth just as she'd done with her son.
All the other guys just stood around, watching and dreaming. Gloria went over to Jeremy and said, "I think these guys are ready for some action, don't you think?"
Jeremy, eyes glittering, could only nod.
