Smacing That Ass

Poppy stumbled into the hallway. She giggled, fumbling her keys out the front door before closing it with a bump of her generous hip. She smoothed the front of her skin-tight dress down over her thighs, coughed, and steadied herself. She'd had more fun tonight than she could remember having since college. Loving the way her new dress hugged her figure, she strode confidently down the hallway. The way all those men had been unable to take their eyes off her the entire evening made her feel incredible. Real men. Men who knew how to assert themselves, who showed a woman their interest without being apologetic. God, she loved the way it juiced her confidence.

Her boss, Jerry, in particular, had been casting appreciative glances over her figure, and his wife was nearly half Poppy's age. Yes, it had been a good decision to wear this dress out. It was wasted on Charlie. Poppy had been a good girl all her life. Hadn't she earned the right to be just a little bad?

As she stepped into the lounge she was startled when the standing lamp flicked on. She froze.

There sat Brent in a pool of light, the expression on his face grave.

She'd not realized that he was coming home. Brent had been opting to spend most of his weekends in the city where he'd recently started working. She saw he was still wearing his suit, though his jacket was off and his tie was loosened. She felt something like warm honey being poured down her spine. Her boy was all grown up and so handsome that those city girls must be throwing themselves at him.

"What time do you call this?" He demanded, oozing a barely leashed menace. His tone stern, his manner commanding, nothing like his toothless lion of a father. He was definitely more her son than Charlie's.

"When did you get home?" Poppy prepared to defend herself and then remembered who she was. She was the mother here and Brent was her child. She stood up straight, placed a hand on her hip, and redirected haughtily, "What business is that of yours?"

"You've been out awfully late. Would dad approve, what with him being out of town on a conference?"

"I don't care what he thinks. I'm a grown woman. If I choose to go out and have drinks with my work friends that has nothing to do with him. Or you, for that matter."

Brent snorted, "Dad might be too soft to do anything about it, but," His eyes traveled up her length. She suddenly felt the thinness of her dress, clinging to her like a second skin, "This behavior reflects on all of us. I'm not going to stand for it."

"Stand for what? I was just having after-work drinks with some friends."

"Male friends?"

She remained silent.

"Until after midnight? Dressed like that?!"

Poppy looked down at her dress. It stretched over her wide hips and strained to contain her prodigious bust. She'd bought it because of how provocative it was. She wore it tonight knowing it would get her the attention she craved.

"Well, maybe if your father paid me some attention..." The muttered words came out before she could stop them.

Brent shook his head. He couldn't fathom it, how could his father ignore his mother for even a second? Those curves were the stuff of poetry. His father had had the wherewithal to win her hand but lacked the stamina to keep it. Brent would be damned if some other creep wormed his way into their lives just because his father was too cowardly to fight to keep his wife. Brent knew her better than anyone. She was someone who appreciated strong character and a firm set of boundaries. He knew this because it was the way she raised him

"What are you going to do about it, anyway?" Poppy threw back her chocolate-colored hair and scoffed. She was sick of the pleading of inferior men like Charlie. Having reached her limit she pointed out the room and ordered, "Go to bed Brent." She turned to leave, her dismissive tone stinging her son's pride.

He grabbed her by the wrist and halted her progress. "If you insist on acting this way I'm going to have to bring back some of the discipline that has been sorely lacking in this household of late. Dad might have dropped the ball, but I'm picking it up."

Poppy felt a thrill in her chest. She loved to see a man take command like this. "Oh yeah, Brent? How do you plan on doing that?" She challenged, cocking a shapely eyebrow. If Brent was anything like his father he would just roll over now. That was what all men did when she turned the full force of her femininity on them. Even the thought of that timidity made her lip curl with disgust.

Brent felt his anger rise. "The same way you disciplined me as a child," he replied in an icy tone, surprising her with his unflinching control.

"Ha!" Poppy snorted and made to move away from Brent. But he held her tight. She glared at her son's restraining hand but he bared his teeth and said, "I see you need a little lesson right now." He jerked her towards him. She squawked as he caught her roughly and bent her over his knee. Her huge breasts squashed against his leg, almost spilling out of her dress. Her big ass was laid out perfectly on his lap. Poppy was just opening her mouth to protest when the flat of Brent's hand landed with a resounding crack across her backside. The mound of flesh, tightly packed into the thin material, quivered from the blow.

But, to Brent's surprise, instead of protest or shocked silence, his actions were only met with laughter.

"Oh, come on Brent. I'm not a child. This isn't going to work." Poppy was baiting her son now. That smack had set something tingling in her belly. She wasn't sure she wanted it to go away just yet. Suddenly she felt alive for the first time in years.

Determined, Brent argued back, "Maybe I'm just being too soft on you. I seem to remember that you had some pretty strict rules about how a smack is to be properly administered."

"What do you..." but she was cut off as Brent brazenly peeled up the hem of her dress. She struggled in his grip but he held her with effortless strength. Her impressive backside, creamy white and flawless in complexion was suddenly bared to her son. She gasped at the cool air on her ass, the only protection to her modesty the briefest of thongs, which was almost entirely swallowed up by her plump cheeks. "Hey!" She started but then squealed when Brent landed a truly stinging blow on her right cheek.

Her flesh was wonderfully mushy. Where his hand struck it sank deep into the meat of her ass and sent out a swell of flesh that resounded through her body right up to her tits. He ground his hand into the wounded area as she protested and struggled against his hold.

She was still recovering from the shock of the blow when she felt his fingers pluck rudely at her thong. "Is this the sort of thing a decent married woman wears to drinks with 'work friends?" He asked.

Jesus, her son was fingering her underwear.

Brent pulled his hand back and grinned wolfishly at the red handprint that had already formed on her cheek. "Brent," she warned but was silenced again with another swift blow to her left cheek. This stung as bad as the first. Brent was not holding back. Her ass, cooler than the rest of her at first, warmed up rapidly under the first two blows. A healthy blush appeared as blood rushed to the affected areas.

"How dare you," Poppy seethed at her son. She never used the word "Stop," though which intrigued Brent. He would have let her go in an instant if she showed any signs of real distress. Instead, she only seemed to get more spirited. This excited him, this was the mother he remembered. Not some cowed housewife, but a vivacious woman who was not afraid to stand up for herself and, adding the perspective of his adult self, was not ashamed of her sensuality.

"Are you ready to apologize for acting like a wanton tease?" Brent growled deep in his throat.

"Why, you little..."

Brent slapped her twice in rapid succession, his hand rebounding off her tensed ass perfectly to line up for the next strike. His mother yelped and writhed in his grip. Her bottom was expansive yet shapely. Brent reveled in the sight and feel of it and the sound it made when he landed a smack, that would give him wet dreams for years. He wondered if she could feel his hardening cock jabbing up into her stomach as she wriggled ineffectually on his lap.

Each time Poppy opened her mouth to utter a demand or a reproach her son slapped her ass with speed and precision. Her poor bottom was soon glowing red and painfully sensitized. Worst of all she had to fight down the urge to moan. The tingling in her lower belly was turning into a tribal drum beat. How was Brent doing this to her? The exquisite pain, the humiliation of being spanked by her own son, and the stern discipline she was receiving stoked a fire deep in her long-forgotten libido.

Why couldn't Charlie be like this? He'd seemed like that when her friends had set them up on a blind date. An older man, experienced, and already successful. A man who appeared to know what he wanted and was not afraid to take it. On the surface he'd been everything she'd been looking for. How could she know it was all bravado? In less than a year of marriage she'd figured out how to walk all over her husband and have him thank her for it. But Brent? My God, Brent was every bit the man she'd been dreaming of. No one spoke to her like this. No-one turned her insides gooey like he was doing. It terrified and thrilled her in equal measures.

Brent, meanwhile, was marveling at his mother's responsiveness. Even at his young age he considered himself a discipline aficionado. He craved Alpha status but found it difficult to navigate in these modern times. How do you figure out where the line lay between assertive discipline and domineering control when the line seemed to always be shifting? His mother understood though. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her panting breaths. This was a woman who craved to be dominated.

When Poppy, ass and face burning with shame and frustration, finally came to the realization that her son would not cut her an inch of slack, she held her tongue. She glared at him balefully, trying to hide her awakening desire, and he offered a smirk in return.

"That's better," he said in modulated tones. As he spoke he began to soothingly stroke circles on her pink and tender skin. It was far too intimate for the touch of a son, but she did not shy away. She had to fight the urge to rub against his hand like a cat in heat.

Her whole backside was a patchwork of red handprints. But, after the fury of her spanking, his soft hand felt incredible on her raw skin. She couldn't help herself, when Brent's stroke let his fingers stray too far into her ass crack she let out an involuntary groan. Her asshole and pussy were burning with need. She could feel her panties sticking to her wetly. When she looked up, face flushed almost as red as her ass, Brent was giving her a soul-searching look. She blanched and hurriedly looked away. She could not let him, her own son, know what this had done to her.

Brent was intrigued by her sudden shift to submissiveness. It was not unwelcome, but he reasoned that there had to be more to it than just the spanking. Narrowing his eyes he ordered, "Stand up."

"You can't order me around like this. I'm your mother..." She started but she stopped when he casually lifted his hand. She suddenly felt trapped. If she stood up Brent might see her arousal. But if she didn't the spanking might continue and that would only make her situation worse.

She tried to stand up rapidly. She had to catch her breasts just before they tumbled free of her dress and tuck them back into place. This cost her precious time though and when she tried to turn to flee Brent held her by the part of her dress which remained rolled up to her waist. It had required a considerable effort earlier to get that tiny garment to fit over her womanly curves.

"Stop," he warned, emotionless, as she tried to pull free. "Let me have a look at you." For a woman who loved to have her body admired, she squirmed like a teenager in her first bikini when Brent turned his high-beam strength gaze on her. He took her by the hips and swiveled her so that her broad ass was eye-level with him. She shifted her weight as he went over her bare backside with meticulous scrutiny. He shook his head at the ruby glow and sighed, "You brought this on yourself you know."

Poppy stiffened. She was about to retaliate when she cottoned on that those were her own words he was using against her. Words she said dozens of times to him when dishing out the punishment he, no doubt, had richly deserved. She swallowed her retort.

Brent realized something then. A theory had been developing while he meted out her just desserts. He remembered back to his boyhood. He suspected now that his mother had been acting out the discipline she so desperately craved herself. He saw in her shame and wide-eyed alertness a poorly concealed need.

"Turn around," he commanded.

Poppy resisted. But, seeing his unflinching gaze and, realizing she was defeated, slowly began to revolve her body.

Brent let out a short laugh of surprise. Poppy moved to cover herself but her son caught both her hands. Her face burned fiercely with the shame as he took in her crotch. Her panties were soaked through. Her lust was so overwhelming it ran down her thighs in glistening rivulets. He could smell it coming off her in waves. Brent tutted as he let his eyes roam up and down his mother's mostly bared lower half. Wherever his eyes landed her skin felt like it was blistering with the heat of it. Poppy had to fight to keep her hands at her side. She was not going to let Brent see her discomfort.

When he moved she flinched, expecting another blow to land. Oddly, she felt slightly disappointed when it did not. The ache in her bottom was already transferring to an ache deep in her nethers which only served to increase the humidity in her already swampy panties. Poppy's thick thighs rubbed together almost, but not quite giving her the friction she needed to soothe her lustful discomfort. The humiliation of her wantonness being paraded in front of her own son stung her eyes.

She was completely taken aback when, instead of more punishment Brent said, his voice heavy with sympathy, "You poor girl. Look at you." She followed his gaze and saw again her messy crotch. "Dad doesn't know how to take care of you, does he?" Brent continued his motion, moving with the caution of someone approaching a skittish horse until his fingers rested lightly on the feeble string which cut deep into her fleshy hips. Poppy's hands bunched and uncurled repeatedly. This was so wrong. She had to put a stop to this. But Brent was saying out loud all the things she'd been thinking for years. How did he know?

He had to dig his fingers deep into the indentations in her skin to get them under her panties. "I can hardly fix the problem if I don't have a look first," He cooed. Poppy let out a nervous hum of uncertainty as her son began to peel down her panties.

Poppy was horrified with herself for letting this happen but Brent's authoritative gaze pinned her in place. She felt the smoldering coal in her lower belly flare with heat as he exposed her sex right in the middle of the family living room. Her panties rolled up into a thin band which he left cutting into her midthigh. Brent shook his head and made sympathetic sounds in the back of his throat. Her pussy was in a pitiable state. Her untrimmed pubic hair was wet and in complete disarray. Her pussy lips were inflamed and reddened with unrequited desire.

"Brent," Poppy whined pathetically. Her blatant lust scalded her with shame. How could she let her own son see her like this? She'd had her bottom paddled like a small child and now she was a quivering mess. Why did her body have to betray her now?

Brent ignored her. Seeing her son's effortless authority filled her with a confusing flood of pride and need. Brent held out his hand. Poppy knew she should move back but he was holding her firmly around her hips, hand gripping a thick roll of ass flesh. She was frozen with mortified fascination. Would he really touch her down there? Her gut clenched at the thought. What was wrong with her that she wanted him to do it so much?

Poppy gasped as her son dipped a precise finger into the dripping folds of her exposed cunt. Poppy jerked involuntarily at the contact but Brent held her tight. When he pulled the finger back it had a slick sheen. Poppy whimpered. This was shameful. Brent rubbed the finger against the ball of his thumb, smearing her oil around and analyzing it with grinning enthusiasm. He gave her a knowing look that made her stomach do a flip before pointedly placing his finger on his tongue and tasting her tang like he was checking it for impurities. By the smile that curled up the corners of his mouth, he did not find any.

"Poor mom," Brent palmed her sex and gave it a gentle squeeze. "No wonder you go out looking for attention when you're not getting the treatment you need at home." He caressed her slit with his lubricated finger. She took in a breath, pushing out her chest, her face a mask of barely restrained emotion. He pushed the finger through the fleshy valley, parting the curtains of her labia. Heat surrounded his digit and liquid clung to him like he was brushing the leaf of a dewed lilly. He curled the finger up to dip into the tiny honey pot at her core.

Poppy gasped as her son's finger sank into her, exploring her most intimate regions with possessive confidence. Her pussy convulsed around him reflexively. Already she felt she was just an unguarded moment away from coming right in front of him. He carefully plumbed her interior while, at the same time, bringing his thumb to rest right on the point of her aching clit.

He let his thumb draw a slow circle while his finger continued its exploration. "Such a beautiful, neglected pussy," Brent sympathized. Poppy whimpered. "Come here," he pulled her to him with the hand on her ass and the one gripping her pussy. Poppy penguin-waddled the few steps to her son and let him plop her down on his lap, his finger still inserted in her tight hole. He pulled it out with a slurp and held it up in front of both their faces. She watched, fascinated as he let her juices drip off his middle finger only to be caught by his outstretched tongue. "Mmm, ambrosia," he met her stunned expression with a self-satisfied grin.

"I know, I've been tough on you mom. But it was you who taught me the importance of strict boundaries. You've been a bit naughty recently, haven't you?" Poppy did not react at first, but her mind immediately shot back to her thoughts of Jerry. The pride she felt earlier turned sour and she felt her cheeks burn. Brent's gaze did not relent until she finally capitulated and gave a small nod. "Good. Admitting you made a mistake is the most important step. You also taught me that making good choices should be rewarded. That was a good choice, so..." Brent slid his mother's panties all the way down. Despite her misgivings, she complied and even assisted by lifting each leg in turn. Her panties bundled on the floor, he placed a firm hand on her warm, soft inner thigh and gave it gentle pressure until it slid aside. He did the same to the other and Poppy now sat astride her son's lap, facing away from him, her legs spread wide. She could not believe how obediently she was complying, or how much she wanted to. The night air felt cool on her exposed pussy. Something rigid was pressed into her lower back. It sent a shiver through her.

Brent's fingers danced from her knee up her thigh. "Just relax," He whispered in her ear, "I'm going to make you feel so good you won't want to go off and parade around for strangers." His lips brushed her neck, detonating a wave of goosebumps across her body. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Then Brent's hand sank into the wet tangle of curls between her plump thighs. They descended through the humid thicket while he kissed up her neck. He took her earlobe between his teeth and teasingly nibbled it just behind her diamond earring, a gift from her husband on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. This was so deliciously wicked. Poppy gulped the air just as Brent's fingers found her cleft once more. She was so wet his fingers just slipped right down her channel. Her fleshy folds parted like sea fronds and she arched her back as two thick fingers forced themselves inside her cramped entrance.