Martha did not expect a spanking.
In fact, Martha had never been spanked. She didn't think about it. She certainly didn't fantasize about it. Her husband Warren had never suggested anything of the sort. He was not the type. Their sex life was mundane, a product of his conservatism and her reserve in bedroom matters. This is not to say that the sex was bad. Middle-aged -- she in her mid-forties, he a few years older - with two kids, it was a regular two times a week. Missionary almost always, but Warren was reasonably adept at giving her a climax during intercourse.
So on those afternoons when he was at work and the kids were at school and she was alone and when Martha was so inclined, she would go to the bedroom and close the door just in case and slip out of her clothes and let her hand drift down between her legs. But she never imagined a spanking. Mostly, she thought about different positions. Maybe a little role-playing. Once she thought about the fact that her masturbatory fantasies never involved her directly in another role but were simply fantasies of her playing such roles with her husband. She had smiled, but not ruefully. She was generally content, if not overly sated.
A spanking? Martha did not desire one. She would not have believed being spanked would turn her on.
Martha was wrong.
Not all of Martha's afternoons were free for private pursuits of self-love. She worked part-time at the local bookstore. This was not of necessity, as Warren made a very good living in finance. Martha loved books, and she enjoyed discussing them with customers. She was also active, biking regularly and enjoying periodic hikes in the nearby state park and at the nature preserve by the university. And she and Warren owned a Cessna that they kept at the local airfield not ten minutes away. She flew at least once a week.
You would not guess at these things by her appearance. Martha was by no means an unattractive woman. She had a pretty face, wholesome with just a hint of unintended flirtation. If asked, and if she wasn't too embarrassed to respond, she would probably have described her breasts as her sexiest physical asset. They were ample, and her curvy body suited them very well. She would not have thought to mention her behind, and that would have been an oversight, for Martha had a very nice ass indeed. These features were perhaps accented by the contradiction of her demure presentation. She had more than a suggestion of propriety, leavened nicely however by her warmth. More men than she would have imagined at wondered what simmered beneath that façade, the allure not unlike that of the buttoned-down librarian who nonetheless exudes an undefinable something. An appropriate analogy, for Martha who loved books had once thought she might become a librarian.
As such, the library was another thing that filled her time. She was not only a patron but a volunteer. And on one particular spring day she volunteered to work on an upcoming fundraiser for the town's library.
Rob didn't mind the work. Today they were making signs announcing the fundraiser. Rob was good at concept, while Martha excelled at the proper rendering of the message. They were in his living room, otherwise not much used since his divorce from Stephanie two years ago, as his adjacent home office was where he spent the bulk of his time now. His acquaintance with Martha was through ex-wife. They had all socialized together occasionally, Rob and Stephanie and Warren and Martha. But mostly it was the two wives. Rob hadn't seen Warren in years. He did encounter Martha now and then, sharing her love of books. As a writer he was a regular at both the bookstore and the library.
Rob liked Martha. He appreciated her artistic tendencies and her bubbly expressiveness, especially in the context of her tamped-down propriety. He admired her love of the written word. He thought she was cute. And he liked her ass. Since his divorce, Rob perceived increased possibilities in their relationship. It wasn't that he thought he was immune to infidelity while Martha was not. There was simply one less social barrier now to be surmounted. He neither sought to breach that wall nor respected it. Rob merely understood that it was now one wall where there had been two. But he really didn't think much of it at all that day. He was there to work.
Martha flirted with him. Or so he thought. It was hard to tell where her normal personality ended and the deliberate flirtation began. Rob loved her in jeans, as she casually was today. Perhaps that was clouding his judgment. So, too, maybe her glasses. She looked so damn sexy in them, studiously fetching. They were talking and laughing as they worked on signs, exchanging colored markers as they needed one and then another. They were tossing the only red marker back and forth as each required it. It was surprising, Rob reflected later, when Martha escalated things.
"Toss me the red?" Rob asked her, not looking up from his work.
"No," came the tart reply. He looked at her and she looked back mischievously. Martha wasn't even using the red marker. She went about what she was doing, pointedly ignoring him with a slight smile on her face.
"Have it your way," Rob said, and made as if to go and grab another piece sign stock. On the way, he deftly snatched the red marker and glanced with exaggerated triumph at Martha.
In their work, they were constantly moving about, needing one item or material or another. Martha took the marker back. Rob regained it. She asked Rob if he had a green marker, and as he turned to look she seized the red one and playfully smirked back at him.
"So naughty," he lamented.
"That's me!" came the retort.
"You know what happens to naughty girls?" Rob said. "They get spanked."
Martha looked back at him and smacked herself on the rump. Immediately, she blushed. Rob thought that perhaps this was all going a little further than she had intended. Nonetheless, he connived to swipe the red marker once more. When she then maneuvered into position to retake it, he was ready for her.
Rob had moved his chair away from the table at which he was working and was silently daring Martha to try what she might. Her look was one of defiance. Rather sexy, Rob thought, and when she shot out her hand, he grasped her wrist. She laughed, but he inadvertently pulled her off balance and she fell askew over his lap. Suddenly, she was face down, her derriere presented.
What happens to naughty girls, happened. Rob simply reacted, bringing his free hand down upon her ass. His playful spank was firmer than he'd intended. The sound filled the room. Martha's entire body started, and she gasped. Rob spanked her again.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise.
He was still holding her wrist, pinning her in the position. Again, he brought his other hand down. Again, she emitted a soft cry, a little less startled and a bit more enthused this time. Martha, married, prim and proper, was over his knee. And he was spanking her.
Rob did not stop. Martha did not protest, either verbally or physically. He realized that she was liking it very much. Rob was as well. She was not in a position to feel it, but his dick was rock hard, and he became aware of this all of a sudden.
At this point, he also noticed that one of his knees was positioned between her legs.
Martha felt Rob's knee pressing against her. Between her legs. The pressure. The friction. His hand kept coming down on her butt, a repetition. But the feeling between her leg was constant. There was growing erotic pleasure, but she suddenly became aware of the intensely physical delight that Rob's knee was giving her. The momentary understanding that she had to make a decision crossed her mind. And she decided.
Martha surrendered to the pleasure and conveyed it in the sounds she was making.
How long it continued, she did not know. She was lost to time. There was a continuum to her arousal, and she did not realize the degree to which this was increasing. When she grasped just how far things were going, it was too late. Martha was going to climax.
She froze. Then she released the sound of her ecstasy, a tortured moan. The first wave came, and she ground into Rob's knee. Another wave. Another. More. Over. And over. And over. She felt like she was draining, some pent-up desire flowing out of her like a liquid euphoria.
If the spanking had been a surprise, her orgasm had come as a complete shock to Martha. Once it had run its course, she was there, a post-orgasm wife over the lap of a man who was very much not her husband. The spanking had ceased. The grip on her wrist had relaxed and she could tell Rob was now only helping her keep her balance.
She wriggled off his knee and rose, unable to look him in the eyes. Marth was now intensely aware of her wetness. And the hardness of her nipples. She glanced down to see if her bra and her top were concealing them. To her chagrin, they were not. It didn't matter, of course, she thought to herself. You just had an orgasm. In front of him. An orgasm he facilitated.
"I should go," she said simply. Thankfully, he did not attempt to dissuade her. There was nothing she could imagine him doing to make it better. Her face must be beet red, she thought. Martha gathered her things as Rob rose and respectfully showed her to the door. He said nothing but his face was kind. She was grateful for that and tried to convey as much with her eyes as she departed.
When Martha pulled up in front of Rob's house, she found herself thinking of the past two weeks. She felt so
bad
. And that felt so
good
. Martha had never experienced anything like that at all. Not in seventeen years of marriage, not while engaged, not while dating. She had always been unequivocally faithful. No, she hadn't set out to get spanked. And the orgasm was something as if out of nowhere. Just the thought still stunned her. But think about it she did. In those afternoons when she was alone. At night, with Warren. God, the sex since had been unbelievable. Five times a week, and she'd have had more but he was already mystified at her sudden insatiability.
She felt so naughty. And therein lay the conundrum. Martha needed to get spanked again. To be subject to punishment for her transgression. Yet that transgression was in itself the punishment she sought.
And it wasn't just penance.
As good as these two weeks of sex with her husband had been, there had never been anything like being over Rob's knee, and certainly nothing like the ecstasy that had resulted.
There she was, seeking consequence in the very forbidden act that required it. Where would it end?
She knocked on the door.
"I'm very embarrassed about... last time," Martha told Rob, standing there in his living room. She did not look at him. He did not respond.
"I need... it was very naughty. I need... to be... disciplined."
She could hardly articulate the thought. Martha had not spent her life fantasizing about such a thing. She did not harbor fantasies about being subject to punishment. Yet she yearned for it now.
When she raised her eyes, she found Rob meeting her gaze. He sat down on the chair.
"Take off your jeans."
