Alex’s Story
Chapter 2
I woke up to daylight the next morning, got up to close the blinds, then remembering the previous day. I then forgot the blinds and rummaged around in my sheets for my phone. I could hardly believe it, but there was the photo of Emma along with a text from her from earlier in the morning “I know you told me not to orgasm, but I couldn’t help myself this morning. Hope I’m not in too much trouble,” followed by a winking face.
I showered and dressed like a kid getting out of bed Christmas morning, left a note for my mom, and was across my yard at the Smith’s door in fifteen minutes. I spotted Chelsea’s white family van in the driveway. Letting myself in felt less strange. I passed the living room and went down the hall, which was dark to me after coming in from the morning light, and opened Emma’s door. I could see her room from my room, so I knew what it looked like, but I had never been in it before. On the wall were photos of her and her friends from horse camp and high school. By the bed was an open suitcase with the clothes she brought back from college, and around the room were boxes and exercise equipment her family stored in the room when she moved out.
“Hey,” I texted, “you’re not home.” My erection was beginning to deflate.
“Gyno,” she texted back, “Mom found I wasn’t on the pill and freaked out.”
I wondered what I was going to do until she was back. I sat down on the bed and looked up from her window to mine. My peeping must have been obvious from Emma’s room, and I cringed. Pots and pans clanged from the kitchen.
I walked back through the hall past the silent TV to where Chelsea, in yoga shorts and a sporty polyester top, was wiping down the counters. Like Emma, she was fit, but her build was small and skinny rather than athletic. She had freckles on pale skin, and her light brown hair was in a sensible bun. When she leaned forward to reach the back of the counter, she had to stand on her tiptoes and the fabric of her shorts pulled tight over her ass. I remembered the time she organized the neighborhood association to ban skateboarding and thought about giving her a heavy swat. I was too intimidated.
Instead, I said, “Uh, Chelsea.” She turned with a startled jump.
“Jeesus, Alex, you scared me.” Her top was sleeveless with a window for cleavage. I wondered if she wore it when Sam was home. She put back a stray strand of brown hair over her ear and I realized that I had outgrown her over in the last couple of years. Looking down at her felt strange, my memories of her were all from below. She turned back to the counter to continue scrubbing.
“Emma’s out,” she said, “she’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“I know. Where is everyone else?” I asked sitting at the kitchen table behind her.
“The twins are shopping, Sam is out training, and Fred won’t be back until next week.”
“What are your plans for today?”
“A little cleaning, indoor cycling, yoga, and then some me time.”
My spider sense tingled, “Tell me frankly,” I said, “what does “me time” mean?”
“Whew,” she said, her voice rising nervously. “Well, I’m going to take care of my body’s needs.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, “tell me frankly, what does that mean?”
She put her whole body into scrubbing a dirty patch, but nothing on her body jiggled, “Well, I’m going to look at some porn on my phone and use my vibrators to touch myself until I orgasm.”
I was chuckling on the inside, but I kept my voice steady, “you need more than one?”
“Uh”, she and paused. Then “uh” again.
“Tell me frankly,” I said.
“Well, one I put in my butt and the other I use on my clit. Do you mind if we talk about something else?”
I said, “Would you get me a beer and have a seat, I’d rather talk about this, please don’t skip anything embarrassing.”
She turned to face me with a frown, and I my heart sank. I guessed she was looking for the mental footing to give me a talking to but couldn’t find it. She sighed, tossed her sponge to the sink, pulled a beer from the fridge, and sat across from me at the table.
“Ok,” she said still frowning, “ok, ask away,” she said and slid the beer to me.
“What kind of porn do you watch?”
“Mostly bondage, I like to imagine myself being helplessly displayed and humiliated.” She met my eyes with a defiant glare, and, in my imagination, I saw her calling my mother to discuss “inappropriate behavior”.
“Like being spanked?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Does Fred spank you?”
“It’s just a fantasy,” she said.
I nearly asked if it turned her on for me to be telling her what to do, but I could see the answer was going to be “no”. I reached into her mind, found the shadowy, dominant figure of her fantasies, and put my face on him. Doing it to her had become effortless.
Stepping back into the real world, the change in Chelsea was immediate. She tried to keep giving me the defiant glare, but she was blinking and having a hard time meeting my eyes.
“Chelsea, I think that if you’re honest with yourself you’ll see that I can tell you what to do. When we’re in private, I’d like you to start calling me sir to remind yourself who’s in charge.”
I paused and could hear the kitchen clock ticking off the seconds before Chelsea responded.
“Yes, sir,” she said softly.
“Is this turning you on?” I asked.
She gave me an embarrassed smile and shrugged, “Yes, sir.” I felt giddy.
“That’s so hot,” I said. “I want you to start dressing sexy. Nothing crazy but try and push yourself out of your confirm zone. If you don’t feel awkward, you haven’t pushed yourself enough.”
“Whew, just do it,” I think she said more to herself to anyone else. Then she pulled her arms inside her shirt. I wasn’t sure what she was doing until the shirt was almost off. She had on a small, low-cut sports bra that could double as lingerie. Her boobs were small, and the bra pushed them up to make as much cleavage out of them as possible. Her little body was lean and hard, I could see the muscles of her stomach tense and relax as she folded the shirt on the table.
Seeing me stare, she grinned and some of her old confidence came back. “You like?”
“Very much,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said without irony. I guessed she had put enough effort into looking the way she did, that she didn’t expect it not to be noticed. “Is it ok if I watch you practice yoga?” I asked.
“Of course, sir”, she said. And took my beer for me into the living room, handed it back to me, turned on new age music, and began to stretch, muscles flexing beneath her skin. I sat on the sofa feeling self-conscious watching her, but she was absorbed by her exercises. I sipped the beer, decided beer wasn’t terrible, and watched her arch and twist. Beads of sweat stood out on her back and legs. When she did downward dog, her ass facing me, I tried to see the outline of her through her shorts.
“Chelsea”, I said between poses.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you remove your bra?”
“Oh my,” she said with a wink and mock bashfulness, “You’re the boss. Would you keep an eye out the window for any cars pulling up?”
Her nonchalant ease at doing topless yoga for her teenage neighbor weirded me out, so I looked in her brain. I discovered that stress flooded her mind with snippets from self-help books like an auto-sprinkler responding to a fire—“Stiff upper lip”, “When life gives you lemons,” and stuff like that. Her concerns were drowning in positive thinking quotes. I wasn’t sure if this was mentally healthy or not, and I decided to keep an eye on it.
She pulled her bra over her head struggling briefly as a few strands of hair caught in the straps. Without support, her boobs were petit and elegant. She caught herself hunching over in modesty and made herself push her chest out with confidence. She looked me in the eye and shook her torso can-can style, her boobs bouncing just a little.
“So cute!” I said, and she pursed her lips at the word “cute”.
She continued her yoga topless, and I touched my dick through my jeans pocket surreptitiously. I was building up the courage to squeeze her upturned ass until I was startled by Emma exclaiming, “Mom?!?”. Topless, contorted Chelsea was visible from the entry way, but I was hidden from Emma around a corner. Chelsea reached for her top.
“It’s ok, you guys.” I said. “Chelsea, don’t stop.”
Emma poked her head around the doorway at me, “Oh my god, you are such a pervert. My Mom??”
“Tell me frankly, Emma, look at your mom and tell me you can blame me.” I said defensively.
Emma glanced at her mom, who was busy tying her body back into a pretzel, boobs out. “She’s a bombshell,” said Emma. “I have to change for you, I’m just wearing jeans and a t shirt,” and she was gone down the hall before I could respond.
Chlesea, from her successful pretzel, asked, “Change for you?”
“Uh,” I said, “long story. You can put your top on, I have to go see Emma. Would you text me a photo of your “me time” and tell me what you fantasized about?”
“Yes, sir” she said, and gave me a military solute in jest. I scooted my butt to the edge of the sofa, leaned forward, and cupped her chest with my hands. Chelsea’s initially pulled back defensively, but she recovered and pressed her chest out into my hand.
“I’m glad you like,” she said meeting my gaze. I could feel her heartbeat in my hand and her direct, green-eyed stare flustered me. I said, “uh, thank you,” felt unbearably awkward, and got up to find Emma.
Emma was leaving her room just as I turned into the hallway. She was wearing a button up white shirt, plaid skirt, and her hair was in ponytails. The skirt was knee length and wouldn’t have been out of place in an office, but I was guessing the plaid was supposed to allude to a schoolgirl uniform. The outfit was a little naughty, but not out of Emma’s comfort zone.
“You look sexy” I said, “but I don’t think you’re pushing yourself.” Emma thrust out her hip and put her hand on it, tilted her head and played with her hair. The schoolgirl comparison was now unavoidable, and she did look sexy. Sexy, but not obedient.
“The twins will be home any moment and Mom’s in the kitchen,” she said, “so I was anxious about being too slutty you know. Besides, I thought this was sexy.”
“Emma, do you still have the crop from riding camp, the one you stole from the stables?” Her brow wrinkled at my frown, and she said, “yes, I have it somewhere.”
“Please find it and meet me in Sam’s room, I said. I was angry at not being obeyed, which was unnecessary and ridiculous. But I felt the need to put Emma in her place and there was no one to stop me. I remembered that while she babysat me, she gave me a couple of spankings. I wanted to return the same painful, confusing feelings to her now. The memories came back to me hot and urgent.
Sam’s room was just across the hall, and he was leaning his lacrosse stick in his closet as I came in.
“Hey,” I said, “I need help with your sister.”
He gave me a big grin. “Anytime.” His sandy hair and enthusiasm were All-American.
“I want to start taking some photos and videos of her, but I want to be super careful they don’t end up on the internet. We can’t use any device that connects to WiFi.”
“I have an old camera that only records to SD?”
“Perfect,” I said, “can you get it ready?”
Emma knocked at the open door. She was holding the riding cross in her hand with the tips of her fingers as though she wanted to drop it. She fiddled unconsciously with her ponytail and shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“Come sit next to me,” I said sitting on Sam’s bed and patting it. She sat next to me with her back arched in exaggerated good posture, chest out. I noticed that her shirt, although it hung closed, was unbuttoned to the navel. From beside her, I could see a bare breast and I mentally took off two swats from the spanking.
“Chelsea,” I said, you’ve disobeyed me a couple of times, would you tell us what you did?” Sam had the camera out and was filming us. The camera, the riding crop, my serious face was making Emma anxious, and she was pale under her tan.
“Please, Alex. I’ll do better,” she said to her knees.
“Do you want to make it three?” I asked.
“I couldn’t help myself this morning and I had an orgasm, and today I did not push myself to dress sexy for you and Sam.” The words were so quiet that I noticed Sam holding his breath so he could hear.
“How many swats do does bad behavior earn you? Take your time.”
At the word “swats” Emma and Sam both put the puzzle pieces together. Emma sucked in her breath and held it for a moment while Sam said, “Woah.”
“Fifteen” replied Emma, which was exactly how many swats she had given my bottom years ago.
“Please bend over my lap with your hands and feet on the floor.”
She did not move, and I repeated, “Simon says, bend over my lap.”
She handed me the crop and bent over my lap, her plaid ass staring me in the face.
“Thirty total,” I said. “But I’m taking two off because I can see your boobs through your shirt.
“Yes, sir” she said, and my cock stiffened against her stomach.
“Should the skirt be up or down.”
“Up, sir,” she said, choosing the placating answer.
“I like that you’re calling me sir, I’d like you to keep doing that when it’s just you, me, and Sam.”
I put my hand on her bare leg behind her knee moved it up to her thigh pulling the edge of the skirt up with it and Sam fiddled with his dick through his pockets. I traced the shape of her leg, smooth and warm, up to her ass and cupped her cheeks. She had her legs pressed together so her butt was clenched. “Relax your legs,” I said. She did and they opened so I could see down into the cleft between her legs to a wet spot right at the middle of her black panties.
“Wow,” I said.
Emma’s panties were bikini style. They did not cover her tan lines and there was a small mole on her left cheek. I was tempted to bend down and bite her butt and considered whether I was going to remove her panties. Instead, I grabbed them at the small of her back and hitched them up so that they stretched across her pussy. She whimpered and I could see her outline through the thin, stretched material.
“Count after each swat, Emma.”
I raised the crop and brought it down with a crack over her cheeks. She gave a little kick and yelped, “One!”. I ran my finger across the red line I had created just above her thighs before continuing.
I brought the crop down over and over, Emma counting each time, until her ass and thighs were lined with red. She began to squirm around fifteen, and Sam had to hold her feet with one arm, the other holding the camera.
I turned her mental arousal faucet up and her wet patch grew until I could feel the liquid soak from her panties into my jeans. I put two fingers between her legs and pushed down on her panties between her legs. Her pussy made a squelching noise and Emma bucked her hips against my fingers.
“For science I said,” withdrawing my fingers. “Are you getting this all on camera, Sam?”
In a husky voice, Sam said “Yes.” Emma groaned, “Oh my god, I can’t believe this,” and it wasn’t clear if it was from arousal or embarrassment.
I continued paddling and Emma counted “20!”, “21!”, “22!”, “23!”. Each number sounded more desperate. By the time she reached twenty-eight the count was unintelligible, but the “oh god, oh god” afterwards was not. Her writhing was making it hard for me not to thrust with my hips, but I was embarrassed to while Sam was filming. I put down the riding crop and stroked my hand over the red marks on her legs and ass. Her ass was hot to the touch. I kneaded her cheeks, which elicited a satisfying “Ohh! Ow! Ouch!”
“Emma, now that you know the penalty, I want you to go back and pick your outfit again. Ok?” I turned her mental faucet down to a trickle.
“Ok, sir” said Emma breathlessly and I steadied her hips to help her stand. The plaid skirt back into place, except now it was rumpled, and her face was red. She didn’t look at either of us on the way out.
Sam sat beside me, and we ignored each other’s boners to watch the footage of Emma being spanked. At times the video was so shaky I couldn’t see what was happening, but there were a few great shots of Emma’s ass rippling and jiggly under my slaps while her mouth made an “O” shape.
“Can I see?” said Emma from the doorway. I think she must have found some clothes from years ago in the back of her closet. She was wearing another button up white shirt; except this one was too small to meet over her boobs and so it was only buttoned at the waist where it was also tied up just under her chest. The open shirt promised easy access and plenty of nip slips. She had changed into a black skirt a few several sizes too small so that sitting without flashing everyone was going to be challenging.
She sat next to Sam and watched herself squirm and twist on the camera. “Frankly, do you think you look sexy?” I asked.
“I look really hot”, she replied. Sam stopped watching to video to stare down Emma’s shirt.
“Emma,” I said, “Let’s go for a drive.”