... this is the second chapter in this story and though it is readable on its own, I believe that you might find the first part is worth reading first.
*
Nancy's house was on a much more affluent part of our bread round - detached houses with gardens and driveways, properties with garaging for more than one vehicle in an era when far fewer than half the households in the country had even one. When we delivered the bread each day it was to the back door, the tradesmen's entrance as it was known back then; I parked my bike against the wall and knocked.
My eyes bulged out of my head as she opened the door... Nancy was in her mid-forties, an old lady to a teenager like me, but this afternoon she was wearing nothing - except a broad engraved metallic collar with a purple velvet lining and a lead. As I closed the kitchen door behind me, she dropped to her hands and knees. Her skin seems just slightly too large for her body which , though it wasn't what you'd call lithe, was less elderly looking and certainly less fat than Vera. Her tits were smaller and her skin unblemished by the blue vein markings of my earlier conquest/client. Her hair was longer and more coiffed - held up in a bun shape on the back of her head.
"Master, I've a confession to make... I've been bad."
Until an hour ago I was a virgin and nothing in my life had prepared me for this. I stood there as she crawled to me, to kiss the toes of my (then very fashionable) Chelsea boot. She licked her way to the side zipper before gripping it in her teeth and pulling it down; she repeated her action again and I stepped out of my shoes. With one hand she passed me the end of her lead before leading me out of the kitchen, through the hallway and into the sitting room.
Laid out at either end of a plush sofa are the accoutrements of her intentions for play before her husband gets home from work at the bank. I recognise the riding crop, but have never seen tawse or paddle before. There is a razor strop and a bamboo cane with a steel tipped ferrule and a walking stick handle. As she comes to a stop, she hangs her head and speaks quietly.
"The master will want to beat his little slut, she's been bad..."
Though I wasn't sure of what her intentions were, the sight of the curve of her backside and her hanging breasts were definitely encouraging my cock to want to get involved in one way or another. I dropped the leash and reached over her to the riding crop, the twisted leather was cool against my palm but seemed to me to fit exactly into my grip. I felt a surge of horniness; power welled through my youthful body tensing my muscles and sinews. I brought the floppy end of the crop round in an arc to slap against the top of her behind, causing her to jerk forward and up slightly before a moan escaped from her lips. I was just about to apologise when she hissed her next words from between clenched teeth.
"Thank you Master, another please... harder!"
The following stroke left a red stripe across both cheeks, paralleled by the next... her reaction was to moan her next thank you and just to spit out another please after the third. My dick was trying to force its way through the material of my boxers as a kind of lust, unfelt before, coursed through every blood vessel to fill my mind with a dominance it had never felt before. So quickly that my actions filled the still air with a whistling noise I added three more stripes to her arse. Her knees gave way and she fell onto her face as an orgasm ripped its way through her body.
I was so virginal back then that I was at a loss as to what to do next and as her orgasm subsided I asked her what she wanted me to do. She raised herself back onto her hands and knees gulping air into her lungs, as she looked at me I saw that her makeup and mascara was streaked by the sweat pouring down from her brow.
"Would the master like his cock sucked by his slave-slut? Or maybe he can tell that she deserves to have her tits beaten with the thick leather tawse? Just tell me what it is you want me to do? Maybe you've decided that I am even naughtier for coming without your permission."
I reached for my belt and dropped my trousers; immediately she turned to kneel before me and without further instructions pulled my engorged member through the buttonless fly of my shorts. Her mouth is at the perfect height and she guides me into it, holding the base of it in both hands as she slides my manhood deep into the wet welcoming warmth of her .
For some reason it feels weird to be half dressed whilst she is sucking me off so to alleviate that feeling, as she continued, I removed my tee shirt. I threw it to the floor and as I looked down I saw that she was gazing up at me as my her head bobbed up and down on my prick.. I didn't understand the expression on her face but felt once again another huge surge of empowerment as she did.
My cock had never felt so huge as her cheeks hollowed to suck me back in after each upstroke... I reached for her and gripped both sides of her head before starting to thrust back and forward in time to her efforts. She let go of my dick with her hands and they reached up for mine... not to get me to let go but to instruct me in pulling her on and off my cock using handfuls of her hair. I was at the beginnings of an orgasm, starting with that empty feeling as if a void is being created below the vee of my sternum; unconsciously I sped up with my thrusts, and in response she gripped slightly with her teeth. Just below the pain /pleasure threshold it increased the sexual tension deliciously and I felt my ball bag shrink against my testicles in its normal prelude to coming.
My head lolled back and I closed my eyes, fucking her face faster and faster... my cock jammed hard against the roof of her mouth as the first spurt bursts forth. One of her hands cupped my balls, gently but with steadily increasing pressure squeezing them, timing her squeezes for the gap between each spurt as she continued to suck, milking me into her mouth. I couldn't stop the satisfied groan that I emitted as she went on, after the third spurt she pulled herself off my cock dragging herself against the pressure my hands are putting on her hair and aims the last of my come at her upper face. Two bobbled strands of white across the bridge of her nose and closed left eye against her streaked makeup and into her hair. As my orgasm subsides she rubs the last dribbles of my spunk into the soft skin of her cheeks, still milking me but more gently as I moaned in post-orgasmic bliss.
She stands and guides me until I was sitting on the centre cushion of the long deep blue velour sofa, before sitting flat on the floor facing me at my feet. After three orgasms in an hour and a bit, I realised that my dick was starting to wilt and for a second I was worried that maybe she would tell Geoff that I hadn't fucked her well enough and my avaricious dreams would remain unfulfilled. She reaches for the razor strop and for a moment fear flashed through my mind. She was after all probably less than ten years older than my mum - and if my mum ever picked up a razor strop then boy, oh boy, was I going to take a beating. I hadn't needed one for years, but that didn't stop me remembering those I'd received.
Nancy spread her legs out in front of her until her feet were touching the sofa either side of mine, her eyes are imploring as she folds the strop in two...
"Tell me which bad things I must punish myself for, please Master."
