"Hmmmm. If you don't work out on a regular basis, I'll have to spank you!" I had told her, with a smile.
"Yes!" she replied instantly, with a twinkle in her eye. We went our separate ways.
That was a month ago and my friend had been sorely neglecting her formerly-frequent workouts on her Pelaton. True, she'd been through a lot of life-changing upheaval, but neither of us wanted her health to suffer as a result. Early forties, too sedentary a life-style (with the exception of chasing her dog around the house), carrying a little more weight than ideal (but still absolutely desirable in my eyes, particularly her beautiful face, ample bust and well-rounded butt). If there was one person in this world I'd like to get intimate with, it was Candace (Candy).
We had just completed a day of "working from home" together at her house. Minimal calls and since we were on different projects, independently productive. As darkness fell around 4:30pm, I raised the question which had been weighing upon me for days:
"HAVE you been working out as you promised? Regularly?" I looked across the kitchen table at her, waiting for Candy to make eye contact and volunteer an answer to my questions.
"I've done it a bit, yes" she replied, deliberately avoiding that eye contact I needed.
"Look at me, Candy - have you worked out more than twice a week, on average? Honestly?"
She raised her eyes to meet my stentorian gaze, trying to mesmerize me with her beautiful brown irises , "Maybe not more than twice a week, no" she meekly responded, once more dropping her gaze to some random mark on the table.
I wondered if my luck would hold - would she let me spank her? There really was no precedent for this in our mostly-Platonic relationship, we'd be crossing over a very important line - one barrier I was eager to smash through with abandon.
"Do you realize the consequences of your actions, or rather, lack of actions?" I questioned, the words coming out far more firmly than the butterflies in my stomach suggested. "Stand up, please."
Very slowly, Candy complied with my command, pushing her chair back with a screech on the worn flooring. "Now lean against the divide, please" I requested, indicating the three-foot high partial wall between the kitchen area and the living room area. "And stick your bottom out a little, bend at the waist."
She continued to follow my instruction, to the letter, placing her feet together and bending at the waist to lean on the partial wall, pushing some papers to one side as she did so. Her jeans-clad butt looked extremely alluring in that position. Nicely-rounded, filling the appropriate parts of the pelvic area of her jeans. It would be hard to convey the approximate size to anyone unfamiliar with her (is there a standard measurement for this sort of thing?), but I'd guess she was nicely-filling around a US sized 12 underwear.
Candy bowed her head and tensed herself, waiting for me to make a move. I barely knew where to begin, except to admire her exquisite form close-up, basically with her permission. A deep breath (from me) and I took a step back to Candy's left and raised by right hand, extending my arm to its fullest extent. I pulled my arm back at the shoulder and let it drop, without terribly much force, such that my slightly-cupped hand made a pleasing contact with her right butt cheek. It jiggled a little, but not for long. The amount of "give" was just right. Not too muscular, not too scrawny, not too fat. Just right. Perfect,
in fact. I'd never had the nerve to touch her butt before and on several occasions over the last few years, Candy had made it quite clear such attention was not welcomed, often recounting a story where somebody had groped her going up a flight of stairs, claiming there had been a loose piece of thread on her exquisite derriere.