"Dad's going out for a few hours and I'm home alone. Why don't you come over and we can spend some quality time together."
When Johnny called me I was just sitting at home vegetating, bored out of my mind. He was currently grounded for some reason, otherwise we'd have been out on some sort of date. Johnny's a year older than me, nearly twenty, and in my opinion, for his dad to actually ground him, he must have pulled some really asinine stunt. He's such a child at times.
Still, he's great fun, and as long as I don't let him lead me into doing anything truly outrageous we have some good times together. However, I knew just why he wanted me to go over for what he called quality time. He's hoped to talk me into bed.
"I'm surprised that your dad is going out while you're grounded. I'd have thought he'd stick at home to make sure you stayed home and didn't go inviting visitors over. As you're doing right now, knowing he won't be there."
"Normally he wouldn't," came Johnny's laughing reply, "but it's a command performance. My grandmother has spoken and dad snaps to. I heard him assuring her that I'd be fine for the night, so I'm thinking he won't be home until tomorrow."
Definitely making a major move to get me into bed. I'd have to depress that a little.
"OK. I'll come over for a while. But just to visit. Don't go getting your hopes up."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Hah! You've probably already changed the sheets on your bed and dabbed on fresh aftershave. I've told you before I'm just not sure I'm ready to go as far as you want to."
"Relax. I'm not going to force you, you know. If you say no, I can accept it. Maybe not very happily, but I can accept it. And I reserve the right to try to change your mind."
And it would be fun letting him try. We arranged a time and I agreed to be there.
I sighed after I hung up. I really was going to have to make a decision about Johnny. It seemed to me to be reaching a point where I either slept with him or dropped him, and I had a niggling suspicion that my choice was going to be to drop him.
Not that there was anything wrong with Johnny per se. It was just that he seemed to lack a touch of gravitas, seemed younger than me at times. I don't know. Maybe I was just maturing faster than he was. Maybe tonight would help me decide.
I got dressed with some care before heading over to see Johnny. A blouse, I decided. Undoing buttons would slow him down a little, and you can always call a halt after a predetermined number of buttons. On the flip side, a t-shirt getting peeled off is a commitment. For a similar reason I wore a front fastening bra. That coming undone could be chance. Leaning forward so he could undo the fastening on my back could also be construed as commitment.
A skirt, not too long. It was a real toss-up between a skirt and jeans or slacks. I finally opted for the skirt as while it would encourage him and provide easier access compared to slacks or jeans, it was also easy to push back into place. Once any sort of trousers were off it was a lot harder to just slip them back on. I could just imagine Johnny's reaction if he saw me trying to stuff my bottom back into a pair of tight jeans. I'd probably be ravished on the spot.
The piece de resistance was a lacy black thong. Mainly because I just knew it would drive him wild when he finally got to see it. I had no doubt things would go at least that far. It was the 'and no farther' bit I had to watch carefully.
It was around eight and I was driving towards Johnny's place when my phone rang. A quick glance showed it was Johnny calling. Probably wanting to know where I was. I wasn't really late. Well, I mean I wouldn't be when I actually got there. There was no need to start chasing me up this early. I ignored the call, feeling a little miffed. I'd said I'd be there. What difference does a couple of minutes make? Then messages started arriving, so I turned off the phone. It was distracting me.
I pulled up at Johnny's place and I was almost on time. I mean, what's half an hour here or there? I rang the bell, surprised that Johnny wasn't on the doorstep, jumping up and down impatiently. Even more surprised when he didn't come haring along to open the door. I tried the handle and it turned so I went in. I'd probably caught him in the loo.
"I'm here, Johnny. I think I need a drink. I'm going to raid your dad's bar."
I heard an answering shout from somewhere in the house, so at least I knew he was there. I'd been starting to wonder if he'd got tired of waiting and gone out.
I was bent almost double, inspecting the contents of the cupboards under the bar, a bottle of whiskey in my hand while I poked around. I was somewhat startled to find a hand flip my skirt up and start fondling my bottom. A bottom that was, I might point out, essentially bare, because my thong did not cover my buttocks in any manner, shape or form. Maybe I should have worn slacks, not that that would have stopped Johnny from stroking my ass.
"Knock it off, Johnny," I snapped, slapping at his hand. "I'm here for conversation, remember. Not carnal curiosity."
"And pleased I am to hear you say so," said this deep baritone, sending shivers through me.
That voice just oozed illicit sex and wild passionate nights. It was a voice that any woman would excuse a little carnal curiosity. What it wasn't was the voice of Johnny, who had a pleasant tenor, with no spine-chilling sexuality.
I shrieked and bounced upright, spinning to face Simon, Johnny's father.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I yelled. "How dare you touch me like that?"
"I live here," Simon pointed out, most unreasonably in my point of view.
"But you've gone out," I protested. "Johnny said you were going somewhere with your mother."
"Ah, Johnny was slightly mistaken," drawled Simon. "My mother was actually here to pick up John and take him away. There's some show or something she wants him to see. I thought he seemed a little perturbed when she marched him out."
"I don't fucking believe this," I muttered. "Why the hell didn't he tell me?" Then I groaned, remembering the ignored phone calls and messages.
"Maybe he did and your phone was switched off," suggested Simon, "and please don't swear. I don't like it and you're old enough to know better."
I blinked and stared at him. He had the gall to start correcting my manners? I do try to watch my language and usually apologise if I have the occasional slip, but to have Simon reprimanding me on top of finding him there instead of Johnny was a bit much.
"You are not my father," I enunciated clearly, "so I don't see that it's and of your fucking business what I fucking say."
"My, my," he said, shaking his head. "That's throwing down the gauntlet, isn't it?"
He reached down and took the bottle of whiskey I was still holding and put it on the bar. His hand closed over my elbow.
"This is called picking up the gauntlet," he said, sitting on the couch.
With that he pulled me over his knee and flicked my skirt up. And there was me wearing that damned thong. I should have gone for granny pants. His hand came sharply down on my bottom and I squealed and protested.
"You know, if I was your father I'd probably still be spanking you for your rudeness and disrespect, but I wouldn't have been enjoying it nearly as much. Now I'd like to point out that this is my house and my rules apply. Understand?"
Understand? Too right I understood. He was spanking me, slapping my poor bottom with a great heavy hand. My whole bottom shook every time that hand landed, and I was wailing and apologising like crazy. Neither really helped. He just kept right on paddling until he was satisfied.
"That was uncalled for," I protested. "You could have made the same point with a single spank, and you know it. That was plain brutality."
And why, I wondered, hadn't he let me up? I was still lying over his knee with his hand resting on my bottom. I was, I found, dreadfully aware of that hand. Not only because it was on my bottom, my bare bottom, please note, but it was resting closer to other places that I liked. What would I do if he moved his hand slightly?
The very thought of it sent a lick of heat running through my loins. Not that it was alone there. It promptly joined the little fire it found, generated by that spanking. I pushed my hands against the couch, trying to indicate that I wanted off his lap.
"Don't be in such a rush," Simon murmured softly. "First, tell me what the hell this is supposed to be."
With that he just calmly peeled my thong down, taking it right off and dangling it from one finger. I was just staring at it. He was holding my thong and I was across his knee with my skirt lifted. It logically followed that he could see, not just my bottom, but certain other interesting bits hat were as bare as the day I was born. Literally. I'd shaved before coming over. Just in case I'd decided to say yes, that's all. Not that I was intending to.
This time when I frantically pushed against the couch he let me go and I bounced to my feet. I made a hasty snatch at the thong and missed as he moved it out of reach.
"It's called a thong," I muttered, "and you had no right to take it off. That's assault, that is."
"Possibly," he said. As if he cared. I could hear the remorse dripping from his voice, I don't think. He pointed to the couch.
"Sit down. I'll get you a drink. Not the whiskey, though. I think a nice sherry. I have some here I think you'll like."
"Ah, could I have my panties, please. I'd prefer not to be sitting here without them."
