I first met Quinn when she and my daughter Gretchen began acting in the same instructional theatre group. Quinn was actually a very good actress; as well as an accomplished singer and dancer. As the group did mostly musical theatre, she readily and regularly won the best roles. While she was gracious about it at first, by the time the summer of her sixteenth year had come, she was becoming quite the snob. Then, that summer, things went from bad to worse.

Quinn’s parents, both prominent attorneys, were quite active in their church; and every summer they went on a mission trip to some third-world location, taking Quinn with them. That summer, Quinn left as a gangly, boyish-looking brace-face. But, whatever country they went to that summer, there must have been something in the water. Quinn came back for the fall semester with no braces, and curves that made the older girls jealous; and she wasn’t shy about flaunting her new look. It seemed that no matter what the weather, she had to appear for rehearsals in tight-fitting tap pants and a sports bra.

She now had every boy’s attention, and made the best of it. I can’t tell you if it was intentional or not, but it seemed like over the next two years she made a point of stealing the boyfriend of every girl in the troupe. The conquest was patented in its effectiveness and simplicity: lots of touching with her hands in places close to but not quite “there”, “accidental” brushing up against arms and backs, hip movements that had every guy following her with their eyes whenever she walked out of a room, and lots of hugging and cheek-kissing. But it wasn’t that she was “putting out”; as a man I was within earshot when more than one boy complained of Quinn’s “No sex, No way, No how!” policy and the blue balls that resulted. She just wanted to put another notch in her lipstick case. By the time she turned eighteen and went away to school, everyone was glad to see her go.

It was that same summer that I lost my wife Leslie and daughter Gretchen in an accident with a drunk driver. Leigh and I were already moderately wealthy, having both inherited substantial sums atop lucrative professional salaries. The life insurance and liability settlements, combined with my wife’s estate and investments left solely to me, allowed me to retire to a consultancy position and establish a charitable fund dedicated to the performing arts in Leslie’s and Gretchen’s memory. Which was a good thing, in a way, because the major financial benefactor of the theatre group, Quinn’s parents, substantially scaled back their contribution once Quinn was at school. I was able to step in and not only equal, but surpass, their support. Such it was that the group decided to designate their Christmas fund-raising revue to Leigh and Grace, which is why I was at the show when things came to a head.

Rehearsals for the event where in full swing at the Thanksgiving break when Quinn showed up at the theater, home for the holiday. After a good hour of hinting, she finally came out and asked what role she would have for the show. The two directors were kind of stunned, and made some remarks that made it sound as if the exact role was still under consideration. Absolutely no one but the directors thought that Quinn should be anything but in the audience, but it wasn’t until half the parents threatened to pull their kids that common sense prevailed.

Quinn showed up the night of the review clearly miffed, and dressed to the nines. Her family was always well turned out, but that evening she was wearing “red carpet” clothes; in this case a shimmery black cocktail dress that was so tight that it left little to the imagination, and a pair of stiletto heels that accentuated what the dress encased. She was certainly the center of attention, which was her plan all along. And to every discreet inquiry as to why she wasn’t on stage, she had a sotto voce response that sounded gracious but was actually rather snarky.

The show went off without a hitch. The applause was thunderous, with a standing ovation for Quinn’s younger sister, Amanda, which was more than I guess the girl could take. While Amanda was backstage changing, Quinn set sights on her boyfriend. By the time Amada came out, she had the poor boy panting like a puppy in heat, rubbing everything she had up against him in full view of her younger sibling. Terse recriminations were exchanged between the sisters, followed by Amanda storming out, her hapless beau in tow.

Nonplussed, Quinn began making the rounds, clearly planning to not be stuck leaving alone. But despite her obvious attempts to hook up with someone, anyone, and preferably someone who could snag her an invite to the cast party, she came up dry. As the crowds in the lobby thinned, she was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Now it was just me and Kirsten, one of the directors, left. She gave me the same smile almost everyone else had that evening, but in the end all she could say was a choking “I hope you liked it.”

“I did,” I replied back. “I think I’ll just hang out a bit longer. I have a key. I’ll lock up.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Then she left.

I went over and locked the door behind her. I’m not sure why, but as I roamed listlessly through the facility, I somehow ended up back-stage. I saw that the house and stage lights were still on. I killed the house lights, and was about to kill the stage lights, when I heard someone call out, “Hey! Who’s there?”

I stepped out onto the stage, and saw Quinn standing behind the prop sofa that was in the center. The final number of the show, in keeping with the holiday season, was an ensemble rendition of “The Christmas Song”. As each cast-member came onstage singing their part, they placed a present under the tree, and then joined the others. The boys were seated on the sofa, and the girls (who always outnumbered the boys) stood alongside and behind. The stage was now bare except for the sofa, which was bathed by a soft spot.

I walked over and stood next to Quinn. After a moment of silence, I turned to her and said, “You need to go. I’m closing up now.”

She looked at me for a minute, a petulant look on her face, and asked, “What is wrong with these people, Mr. Apiary? Why do they treat me so badly?”

“What’s wrong with them!?” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you!?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” she retorted.

“Yeah, nothing that a good hard spanking and a good hard fuck wouldn’t cure!” Did I really just say that out loud?

“What was that?”

The dam was broken. “You’re an eighteen-year old major bitch, and a first-class prick-tease, and you don’t even see it, do you?”

Her brilliant reply? “Fuck you! And for your information, I’m nineteen now.”

I shoved her face-first over the back of the couch and delivered five hard swats; WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! to her upturned rump, then pulled her back up.

At first she just glared at me with that “Is that all you’ve got?” look. But as I glared back, the look in her eyes changed from her initial defiance to a different look, one that said, “Is that all there is?”

I took off my coat and tie and draped them over the arm of the sofa. “Lose the dress,” I said. She stared at me; for the first time a look of uncertainty crossed her face. “Take it off, or go home. The choice is yours.”

She slowly reached behind her neck and unfastened the collar holding up the halter-style top part. I had assumed that she was going braless, because her nipples had been sticking through the fabric all night long. So, I wasn’t surprised that as the top fell to her waist, her naked breasts popped into view. What did surprise me was how exquisite they were. Each was about the size of a large orange, pale and firm with a slight upturn. There wasn’t a bit of sag. Each was capped with a puffy coral colored areola; and, of course, a hard, protruding nipple which looked practically the size of tire valve stem.

With the dress still hanging from her hips, she started to reach down to undo the straps to her heels. Doing a quick mental calculation of her height to the back of the sofa, I said to her, “Leave them on. Just lose the dress,” as I took off my dress shirt and folded it over the coat and tie. She looked at me puzzled, then stood back up, reached behind, unzipped the dress, and let it fall to the ground. Now I was surprised again. She wasn’t wearing any panties.

I gazed over her naked body. She was incredibly beautiful. Her pale skin was flawless, and she had just the hint of a bush of blonde hair on her mound. Now, I must admit that I hadn’t seen a naked female body in a long time. My wife and I didn’t exactly have a great sex-life when we were younger, and it was practically non-existent the last few years before her death. So, naturally, my cock was now noticeably tenting the front of my dress pants, and I could tell from the look in her eye that Quinn was aware of it.

“Bend over the back of the sofa, facing out into the audience, and place your hands on the cushion” I barked. She quickly complied. The difference in the height between the sofa back and her height in those heels caused her ass to jut up and out, just as I suspected it would. I stood behind her, taking in the sight of her perfectly formed butt cheeks, slightly reddened from the hasty spanks I had just administered; while her hairless slit peeked out from between as she held her legs tight together.

I lightly ran my palm over those wonderful fleshy mounds, and she shivered. I dipped my finger just ever so slightly into her feminine crease and slowly stroked up, then down, and she squirmed. “Hold still,” I instructed, and repeated the action. She still squirmed a bit, and this time spread her legs. My finger-tip came away wet. As I started to draw my belt from its loops, she heard and looked back. “Eyes front!” I sternly said. Her head snapped back around as she focused on the empty seats out in the audience section.

Taking a step back and to the left, I leaned to her ear and whispered, “This is going to hurt.” I’m not sure what she thought I was about to do, but whatever it was, she spread her legs a little further apart and stuck her ass a little higher. When I raised my belt and then brought it down, hard, across her ass, she jumped up and yelled, “What the hell!?”

“Bend back over the sofa or go home,” I said evenly. She just stared at me, rubbing her butt. “Look,” I said, “you can either bend back over and we can finish this, or you can put your dress back on and go home. Your choice.” She thought a bit, then turned and bent back over, her legs back together. I guess she originally thought that I was going to just take her, not continue the spanking. I looked at the angry red welt that I had just left, and ran my hand over it. “Spread your legs again,” I commanded in a soft, low voice; and she did.

I went back to my position and laid another lash across her backside. She grunted in pain, but held her position. I put down eight more in rapid succession, creating a lattice-work of welts interspersed with pale, white, untouched spots that covered her tender flesh. Stopping, I again ran my hand over her punished backside, feeling the heat rising as she trembled. She moaned. Remembering that her pussy had been wet when I started, I dipped a digit in between her lips again; and this time it came back even wetter than the first. Her labia had begun to plump, a sign to me that they were becoming engorged from excitement of a sexual nature.

I stepped back, and lay down another ten hard strokes. There was no longer any white showing. Her ass was now an even shade of flaming crimson from the crease of the tops of her thighs to the top of her crack. Quinn was breathing hard and whimpering; but she remained bent over, her legs still spread. Juices were now oozing out of her slit at a rapid rate, puddling on the floor between her feet. Her inner cunt-lips were now visibly protruding.

I lay the belt on the arm of the sofa. I guess she assumed that I was done with her, because she started to rise up. “Stay down,” I instructed. She resumed her position, waiting to find out what would come next. I ran my finger up her slit once more, then down to her clit, and she knew.

I played with her clit for a moment; then slowly drew my middle finger back up, pushing in deep enough to find her entrance. Once I found it, I began to push in, only to find that her passage was so tight I could barely get past the first knuckle. She was a virgin! I’m not sure why I was surprised, based on the reputation she had gained at the theatre as a pure, cold tease. I guess I just assumed that having been away at school, not wearing any underwear tonight, and apparently not being reticent at all about letting me see her naked, meant that Quinn was sexually active.

I pushed in harder, and Quinn started moaning again. I started pumping my finger in and out, expanding her virginal orifice in the process. Her juices continued to flow; the air now filled with her pungent aroma. I curled my finger, looking for her G-spot. I found it, as evidenced by a guttural sound that came from deep in her throat, accompanied by a shaking of her lower torso that continued as I rubbed the sensitive area with my fingertip. I found her clit with my thumb and began a soft strumming motion. It only took about a minute for her to suddenly cry out in ecstasy as her orgasm tore through her body.

I withdrew my finger and quickly dropped my trousers and shorts. She was still recovering from her climax when I stepped forward and put the head of my rock-hard cock up to the entrance of her untested opening. Grabbing her hips for leverage, I quickly and forcefully shoved through her hymen. She let out a sharp yelp and then a hissing sound as I stopped; the head just past the tattered tissue. I gave her a five count, and then drove forward until I was balls deep, my purple helmet pounding into her cervix. She gasped, and I could see her hands clutching the cushion. I paused, and then slowly withdrew until my dick was all the way out.

Quinn turned to look at me, a question in her eyes. My answer was clear; I put my dick back up to her opening and quickly shoved in balls-deep; again hitting her limit and again eliciting a sharp cry. I could feel her pussy grasping at my shaft as I fully withdrew again before once more fully impaling her.

I let my dick rest inside her vaginal tract as I took stock. As I said, it had been a long time since I had fucked my wife; and I hadn’t been with another woman since she and I married. I was going to take advantage of this moment. Who knew when another would come along. I slowly drew about halfway out, and then slowly went back in; still hitting up against the entrance to Quinn’s womb, but not battering it like Vikings at the gate this time. Even though I had roughly torn through her hymen, she was still incredibly tight. I kept at this slow pace and she continued to generate large quantities of pussy juice while she started moaning my name.

As she slowly loosened up, I picked up the pace. She was grunting in time, pushing back against me, when she suddenly erupted in a second orgasm; twisting and shaking so hard that I was afraid that she would tear my cock off. I held still until she came back down, and then started sawing in and out again. I was so into my own pleasure that when she finally spoke, I almost didn’t hear her. I stopped thrusting long enough to say, “What? What did you say?”

“Pinch my nipples.”

Did I hear that right? “What was that?”

“Pinch my nipples. Please, pinch them.”

I took my hands off her hips and reached under to her breasts which were dangling down. Her nipples were easy to find. I took each between a thumb and the tip of my forefinger and gently squeezed.

“Harder! Pinch them harder!”

I pinched harder. “Harder! Make them hurt!” So I squeezed them between my thumbs and the middle knuckles of my forefingers. “Aagh! Yeah! Just like that! Hurt them!” I kept a tight grip on each nipple as I started pumping her pussy again, using her tits to pull myself in. “Yes! That’s so good! Yes! Keep doing that!”

I was now close to the edge, and knew it. I was about to pull out, and had started to loosen my grip on her abused breasts. She must have sensed what I was about to do, and screamed, “No, don’t pull out! Cum inside me!” That was all it took. Giving each nipple one last excruciating tug as I pulled hard for extra leverage, I rammed home, making brutal contact with her cervix one last time as I emptied a full load of spunk into her. As my searing white lava splashed her most intimate places, she came again.

I let go of her tits as I lay across her back, breathing hard. Her body was twitching, as if waiting for someone to throw a switch. I reached down between her legs and found her clit. Figuring that if she liked her nipples pinched hard, she might like that same feeling somewhere else, I grabbed her pea and pinched it just as hard. “Aye!” she screamed, as an orgasm stronger than the first three combined took control of her body. I held on for dear life as she convulsed for what seemed like a full two or three minutes. It was only after she was done that I realized that not only was I still in her, I was still as hard as when I started.

Never one to waste a stiffy, I was about to start fucking her again when a cell phone on the couch rang. It was hers. As she reached for it, I decided that discretion was in order and was about to pull out when she hit “Ignore”. But then I had an idea. “Give me your phone,” I said. She handed me the phone. “Now, hold still and don’t move.” I activated the camera app; then pulled my dick out of her freshly fucked cunt, stood back, and aimed. Within seconds there was a gushing of the vermillion vestiges of her virginity comingled with her comeuppance creampie, all framed by her lust swelled labia and her well-thrashed ass cheeks. There was a flash as I took what I think was the most erotic picture ever.

I texted myself a copy, and then saved the original to her phone. I showed her the snap, then handed her the phone and said, “Keep this picture; and the next time you start to act like a bitch, remember this. Now, get dressed.” She looked at me, then looked at my still erect penis, and then looked back at me. “It’s a gift,” I said. “Even I don’t understand it.”

We got dressed; Quinn a bit slower than I as she had to deal with the soreness of her ass as she pulled her tight dress over her inflamed cheeks. She waited as I turned off the stage lights; then walked beside me to the door. “Good night, Britt,” she said softly, calling me by my first name. I was about to return the sentiment when she rose up and kissed me. “And, thank you. I needed that.” Then she walked out the door; her cum and mine still dribbling down her legs.

I pulled out my phone and opened the text I had sent myself. Looking at the picture of what I had just done, I thought to myself, “No, thank you.”