“It doesn’t matter.” sniffed Debbie and she cuddled me from behind, “I just want to get close to you.”
I felt ashamed. She was a leggy blonde with hair half way down her shapely back, a sweet round face with high forehead, a pair of full bouncy tits, a bum to die for, seductive blue eyes and a lips made for blow jobs.
We had been together two months and my erectile dysfunction was to our love like acid in a bed of roses. It was not a new problem and all my previous girlfriends eventually dumped me on account of it. But Debbie was a special case. I wanted to make her my wife and doubted a better girl could be found for me. After all, I was not exactly a film star, just an average guy with short brown hair, obviously overweight with a podgy face and rather stubby nose. I did wonder what she could have seen in me as I did really measure up as poorly in looks as I did in the bedroom. Debbie was ogled by guys much above my league and they must have wondered ‘what’s the game?’ when they saw us together.
After nursing my ego I crawled under the duvet with my unhappy girlfriend, unsatisfied and frustrated. She would not allow me to pleasure her with my tongue, it had to be mutual or not at all. Had I tried Viagra? Yes. But it gave me a headache and I fared no better with other impotence drugs. I did not want to lose Debbie but could not justify keeping a hold on her under such circumstances. What an awful night, we tossed and turned like the mattress was stuffed with walnuts..
The next day I went in to work dripping wet having forgotten an umbrella and was greeted by my boss; the vicar’s wife Mrs Jones.
“Good morning Mark!” she said with her usual exuberance, eyes flashing and smile beaming. “Dear me you are drenched! And you look well worn out! This is a fine way to start the day young man.”
I tried to raise a grin and went directly to my duties, filing back returned books into the shelves.
I worked in a small public library in a village of 5000 people. It was a poorly paid job but it was handy as me and Debbie lived in a flat just five minutes walk away. I had worked there for six months since completing my degree and although it was not much, it rather suited me while I worked on my post graduate studies.
The library was run by the two of us, me and Mrs Mary Jones, a woman who was very active in the community as well as being a well organised librarian. She was in her mid sixties, tallish, a long face with horsy teeth, smiling eyes and a cheerful disposition which made her fun to have as a boss. Her greying hair was shoulder length and she held her portly physique well and looked like she had the strength of a farmer’s wife. Her husband, the well respected parish vicar Reg Jones, was a nice chap too, much smaller in stature and a merry sparkle in his eyes told me he had enjoyed a happy life with the pleasant lady.
There was a warmth about Mrs Jones that I found very appealing and she was an open person, would think nothing of giving out hugs to anyone who needed one. I looked on this side of her as a son to a mother and she had comforted me on occasions, particularly at times when she learned that yet another girl had deserted me for something better.
On that day Mrs Jones had to go off early to help organise a soup morning for the village Christmas lights fund raising project. She took up her handbag and breezed out, saying as she went:
“There are some jam tarts in the back if you feel peckish. See you later. Bye!”
While she was out I brooded over Debbie while I did various chores around the library. It was very quiet and after a little while I made myself a tea and sat at Mrs Jones’ desk. It was then that I noticed she had not logged out of her Windows account on the PC in front of me. I decided to start up internet explorer and see if there were any new treatments available for impotence. After some fruitless time searching I decided to stop but first I needed to delete my browsing history. How embarrassing that would be if Mrs Jones found how I had been occupying my time! I went to the history folder to see if I could somehow purge my search and it was at that moment I found something most unexpected.
It was difficult at first for me to accept that Mrs Jones could be responsible for the questionable contents of the browsing history. My mind was spinning from the material on the screen and I had to steady myself when Mrs Metcalf came in to drop off some leaflets advertising the church flower festival. She stayed a while to chat about local issues which had been happening in the parish and I shut down the browser as I did fear Mr Jones might suddenly return. I did not want to embarrass her.
When she did return I acted as normal and we got on with the day as we usually did, in good spirits, a few laughs and the like. But I knew her secret. And what a secret!
There could be no doubt. Mrs Jones was interested in erotic spanking and in particular, so it seemed, the disciplinarian side which involved wives spanking their husbands. That browsing history could not have been built up by anybody but her as no other person had access to the library computer except me. She must have indulged herself at times when I was not there or perhaps when I was occupied and the library was quiet.
Several days passed. Me and Debbie tried more techniques. She gripped my penis at the base and jerked slowly as best she could but I just could not get hard. Oral did not work either. She used her erotic breasts to wank me but my limp friend was lost in those beautiful balloons. A lubricated finger up the arse also produced no erection. It was awful, having failed we would just get into bed and go off to sleep unhappy. She had even stopped wearing her sexy red lacy bra and panties she bought to arouse me.
In that time my imagination began to explore the secret territory I had unexpectedly discovered and I wandered whether Mrs Jones wanted to keep her interest strictly within the limits of fantasy. One night in bed I allowed my imagination total freedom and conjured up something hot, me over Mrs Jones’ lap, bare bottomed and spanked hard by her strong hand. Out of these sexy thoughts grew a truly potent erection! I put my hand to it and began to masturbate. Debbie moved over and stuck her bottom into my belly. There was no time to lose. I pressed close and embraced her warm body, pressing my dick where I knew it would make an impression.
“Mark!” she gasped passionately and turned to face me.
We kissed deeply and I moved onto Debbie’s warm body, eager to end my penetration famine. Her legs opened and I let nature have its horny way, feeling the slippery flesh give way at my first attempt and going in to the hilt. Debbie made a deep moaning sound of pleasure and relief and gripped my back with sharp nails.
“I love you.” she said softly, her warm breath in my ear intensifying my arousal.
For some moments I remained motionless, in perfect comfort, and savouring the exciting sensations on my cock as long as possible. But Debbie squeezed her thighs tight and began to thrust gently but with increasing passion, causing the bed springs to creak and making self-control impossible. The scale of the experience was new to me and I saw Mrs Jones’ hand come down just at the height of my excitement. It had been weeks since my last ejaculation and Debbie squeezed my balls tightly as if she was milking every last drop. The liberating release of tension was exactly what I needed and we stayed still for some time. Her cheek was damp, from sweat or tears I wasn’t sure. She kissed my face lovingly and made sweet noises as I fell asleep deep inside her wet wild forest.
The cheerful twittering of birds woke me. Debbie, looking serene as a bride of Christ at prayer, was sleeping soundly on my chest. Soon she opened her eyes and made a satisfied sound when her gaze met mine. Her complexion was brighter, healthier, there were no circles around her blue eyes and one thousand suns could not brighten the room with more radiance than her smile.
This new happy phase of our relationship did not last as long as I had hoped. It was sweet indeed and we slept soundly. I admit I used the fantasy of Mrs Jones spanking to trigger my desires and it did work for some time. But gradually I found it less effective and my passion began to fade so that we stopped love-making every day. I analysed myself and realised that the fantasy was becoming more dominant in my imagination to the extent that the thought of it was not enough to arouse me. What I wanted, it was obvious, was the reality; a real spanking. But I had a girl who could spank me! Why need an old woman? So I asked Debbie to spank me, embarrassing as it was to say the words. The idea amused her so we tried.
But it was not what I had hoped for. When I spanked Debbie she got quite a kick out of it and asked for a harder spanking, but it did not do anything for me. Still, my desire to go over the knee of Mrs Jones was as strong as ever.
Then something happened that inflamed my passion for this experience.
I called into the vicarage one morning for the keys to the library in order to start work half an hour early to get some admin done and out of the way before the day began proper. The front door was slightly ajar and I knocked but after a minute there was no reply, I knocked again and still nothing. I did not like to use the doorbell as it made such a loud buzz and it was still early. From inside I could hear Mrs Jones’ voice and thought it would be acceptable for me to come quietly in. Once inside the house I said “hello!” but there was no answer. It was a large house and I walked through the lobby and then along a corridor looking into rooms as I went but they were empty. Then I heard Mrs Jones’ voice coming from upstairs. Thinking she had heard me call I assumed she was asking me to go upstairs so up I went onto the landing. Suddenly a voice which I recognised as the vicar said in a strained voice;
“I won’t do it again mistress! Honest!”
Then the sound of a slap and a cry of pain.
My heartbeat accelerated and I crept along the corridor, terrified of discovery yet with blazing curiosity urging me on to see what was happening. A door was slightly open and just enough for me to see through the crack into the room. What I saw was Mrs Jones sitting on a chair with a strict expression on her face and a fat hairy arse on her lap.
“What’s this eh?” said Mrs Jones. “Oh yes of course. The vicar's best friend. Playboy.”
Mrs Jones held a magazine in her hand and flicked through it with derision.
“Disgusting. Tut tut. You sneaky little masturbator.” she said, and rolling up the offending publication, brought it down rapidly several times on the vicar’s wobbly bottom.
“You sneaky deviant! Don't do it again.” she scolded and continued beating him with the magazine.
"Don't do it again!"
"No mistress. Ow!"
The vicar grunted away and cried for mercy. After a minute of this Mrs Jones instructed her husband to stand up which he did. His trousers were down to his knees and an erect penis stood out from between his legs.
“I can see that you have got the wrong attitude about this. Turn around at once!” she commanded.
“Yes mistress.”
“Hands behind the head!”
“Yes mistress.”
“Now listen to me and pay good attention.” said Mrs Jones in a menacing voice I would not have thought her capable. “Let us be clear about certain things. That thing, that excuse for your manhood, what’s it for?”
“Going to the toilet mistress” said the vicar in a petrified voice.
“Pissing is one use, what else?” she said with a wicked grin.
“To be used in the marital bed mistress.”
“Correct. Glad you understand that. And I had better not catch you playing with it while you peruse smut! And another thing. I’ve seen you ogling at Mrs Pritchard’s daughter during the Sunday Eucharist service. Ogling her ripe young breasts and shapely bottom. Don't deny it you reprobate! I’ll make you pay for that if I see it again you can count on that! Now turn around and if I see that little soldier standing to attention you’ll be in for it my lad!”
The vicar turned around and if anything his erection was even bigger.
“Stand still!” said Mrs Jones, and she gently swatted his smallish prick with the rolled up magazine.
“I can see you have not learned your lesson.” said Mrs Jones shaking her head. “What are you going to do with that ?”
The vicar did not reply but I saw Mrs Jones get up and then move out of view. There were some ruffling sounds like clothing was being adjusted and a bed spring creaked.
“Move it!” said Mrs Jones sharply.
“Yes mistress.” replied the vicar with full submissive tone.
The vicar shuffled towards her out of my view, trousers around his ankles and stiff cock sticking out. The bed springs creaked rapidly.
This dreamlike scene was rudely interrupted by the doorbell buzzing loudly and I had no option but to retreat. I tip-toed carefully down the stairs and edged towards the lobby.
“Yoo-hoo. It’s only Fran!” said a female voice in the lobby and I ducked into the dining room.
“Give me five minutes dear!” Mrs Jones called from upstairs in a remarkably natural way.
“It’s okay petal, no hurry. I need to speak to you about the Mother’s Union fund raiser on Sunday in the square. Is Reg here? I’ve just been to the church for morning prayer and didn’t see him.”
“Yes my sweet he is just putting on his dog collar. Won’t be long!”
“I’ll wait! No hurry.” called out Fran.
When Fran went into the lounge I crept out into the street. As far I could tell nobody saw me go in or come out and I went home as quickly as my feet would take me. The rain had given way to sunshine. Fortunately Debbie had not yet left for work and she was coming out of the door looking as pretty as ever in her red frock.
“Mark!” she said with surprise. “I was just on my out. You won’t believe this. Aunt Chloe’s home help called in sick and I’ve got to spend the morning with her. The poor dear hasn’t had a bath in a week. Mark what are you doing?”
I took her by the hand and closed the door behind me.
I began kissing her red lips and touching her body, starting at the legs and working my way up to her fleshy bum, squeezing passionately.
“Oh Mark!” gasped Debbie, “But Aunt. Mark, oh Mark.”
I put my hand under her dress and touched gently between the legs.
“Mark!” said Debbie with mocked outrage, succumbing to the passion. “You are a devil!”
I manoeuvred her into the kitchen.
“Over the table.” I said. “I want to fuck you from behind.”
“The kitchen’s a mess.” protested Debbie, “let’s go upstairs.”
“I want it here.” I pleaded.
“Let me clean up first.” she said with embarrassment, no doubt feeling bad that she had not tidied. The morning’s abandoned breakfast had not been cleared.
I took a plump breast in each hand.
“You.” said Debbie and she put a hand down my trousers while I kissed her lips and played with her beautiful wavy blonde hair. She smelt good.
“Oh Mark!” she said when the quality of my erection was obvious to her probing fingers.
She gave me one last saucy smile and placed herself in the required position over the table, using the edge to lean on with her elbows. I lifted her skirt and touched her black stockings and suspenders, feeling her firm thighs, then eased down her red silk panties. I probed with my thumb inside.
“You’re ready.” I said softly.