Sex, Sluts and Spanking: Short Stories

Sex, Sluts and Spanking: Short Stories

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica


Spanking. Caning. Bitches. Mistresses. Sluts. Shagging. Fucking. Humiliation. Yep, that's what it's all about. Some of the stories are true. Some are fiction.


Spanking. Caning. Bitches. Mistresses. Sluts. Shagging. Fucking. Humiliation. Yep, that's what it's all about. Some of the stories are true. Some are fiction.

Chapter4 (v.1) - Shagging Two Attractive Women on the Same Day

Author Chapter Note

True story.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 18, 2017

Reads: 520

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 18, 2017



Tuesday, 5th February, 2002: Vanilla Sky Day…

I am in the changing rooms of The Heights leisure centre in Sandown. I have swum a mile then spent about thirty minutes luxuriating in the sauna, Jacuzzi and steam room. I'm glowing and feel really relaxed. I have also taken the week off work to wind down.

I take my mobile out of my back pack and switch it on. There is a pause before the message alert sounds.

'Pop round for a cuppa when you're ready x' It's from Jane. Jane is the ex-wife of one of my colleagues, Walken. They have been divorced for about five years after she ran off with someone else. It broke his heart at the time but he is now happy with his new love. Her new relationship, however, didn't last. She has had a couple of boyfriends since but is now single. She is physically attractive, easy going and in possession of a good sense of humour – a dangerous cocktail for a weak willed man like me.

She had got on my bus a couple of times recently and after chatting had given me her mobile number. ‘Let's meet up for a tea and a chat before too long,’ she had said in her lilting Liverpudlian accent before stepping off the platform of my double-decker bus the week before. As I had driven off she had turned and waved, the gaze of her arctic blue eyes locking enticingly onto mine...

I reply informing her that I will be about ten minutes.

I pick up my bag, walk out of the changing rooms, drop my health suite wrist band off at the reception and then exit the building. It is a cold, sunny winter's day but my body temperature is still warm from the heat of the sauna. I get into my car, a white Renault 19, and drive the short distance to Carter Street where she lives in the top flat of a two storey converted house. I press the buzzer and after a minute or so she answers the door.

‘Hi, come in Ima. I've done you some sandwiches as I thought you might be hungry after all that swimming.’

‘Thanks. I am a little peckish.’

She is wearing a tight white T-Shirt and jeans which emphasise her shapely buttocks. She invites me to sit down in her plush and spacious sitting room whilst she goes off to make the tea.

‘Help yourself to the sandwiches. I take it you like cheese and tomato,’ she calls out from the kitchen.

‘I do. Thanks.’

The act of her preparing food for me makes me feel special - wanted even. It is a long time since Sharon cooked me a meal. I am also reminded of one of the few occasions when my mother had brought me in honey on buttered bread whilst I had been watching Robinson Crusoe on the old black and white television as a young boy all those years ago. I wonder if the root of all my emotional problems is not feeling loved enough as a child. And not feeling loved enough now.

I pick up a sandwich and take a bite being careful not to drop any crumbs on her meticulously clean sofa and carpet. Jane enters the room and plonks down a cup of tea on the small table in front of me. She then settles herself comfortably into the armchair opposite me before saying: ‘You've been a bit up and down recently what with your father dying. How is it all going with Sharon? Still shaky?’

I look at Jane and can't quite decide who she resembles most - Jody Foster or Gaby Roslin. Perhaps an amalgam of the two. I also catch a whiff of her fragrance: Chlöe.

‘Yeah, it's not that good between us. We haven't had sex since the beginning of November but she did come down to Torquay for my father's funeral. I think we will split up eventually.’

‘My dad is clear from cancer at the moment but I do worry about him. We're very close.’

‘That's good and bad. It's good that you love him but bad that you may lose him. My relationship with my father was different as he split from my mother when I was about eighteen months old and then went off and married a German nurse working over at the Ventnor Chest Hospital who he had got pregnant. I have a faint memory of a man holding me with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth but that's about it—’

‘But you got in contact with them didn't you?’

‘Yes, about six years ago I traced them to Torquay and discovered that I also had twin half-brothers fourteen years younger than me, and of course met my half-sister who is three years younger than me. His wife made me feel very welcome but he couldn't face seeing me though he did write to me and speak on the phone. I always hoped that he would eventually relent and agree to meet. But we never did. He was an odd fellow and also highly intelligent – he could rush through and solve the Times crossword in double quick time but was lazy and an alcoholic. He had also been in jail for a bit after smashing windows which his wife reckoned was to do with inner anger towards his parents who had had a greengrocers in Ryde. Funny enough I pass by the old shop most days. Even though he wouldn't see me I used to pop down and visit the rest of the family who were very friendly and kind. On one occasion he hid in his room when I popped round.’

‘He doesn't sound that nice. You were probably better off not knowing him. Would you like another cuppa Ima?’

‘Yes please. Two sugars.’

A few minutes later she returns with more tea.

I carry on with the tale.

‘Anyway back in December, Thursday the 20th to be precise, I got a phone call from his wife telling me that he had died suddenly in the local post office – he was just seventy. She didn't seem upset at all, in fact that morning he had got into an argument from a chap from the council who had been round to arrange the fitting of free double glazing. The agent had left telling him that he would return when my father was in a better mood. As soon as his wife, I suppose she's technically my step mother, heard that he had died she phoned the fellow up to get him to come round telling him 'that you won't have any further problems with my husband as he has now died.’ ‘

Jane chuckles.

‘Between Christmas and the New Year Sharon and I drive down to Torquay for his funeral. At the funeral there are only eight of us: his four children, his wife, his sister and her husband, and Sharon. He had no friends. There is no music or service as his wife couldn't see the point in spending a lot of money on him now that he was gone, and he wouldn't have done on her she said. Strangely my auntie's husband told me that the last time he had seen me was when I was a baby and he had held me in his arms – he had never expected to see me again. The funny thing, Jane, is that I have six cousins across the water in Portsmouth and I have probably passed them in the street at some point without knowing it. After the funeral Sharon and I had a meal with the rest of the family before my half-brother and I scattered his ashes in the garden of remembrance. It was the closest I ever got to him.’

‘Do you feel sad?’

‘That's another odd thing as I thought I would. I was curious about him, and disappointed that I didn't meet him, but I actually feel nothing for him. Nothing at all.’

‘Do you know what Ima, you're an orphan now!’

She picks up the plate and her cup and walks into the kitchen. I follow with my empty cup. She turns her back to me as she plonks the crockery in the sink and as she does, I kiss her on the back of her neck, draw in the heady fragrance of her perfume and whisper: ‘Let's go to bed.’

It is a moment of madness and I fear rejection and embarrassment but all she says is: ‘Okay, but we will have to be quick as my daughter is home in half an hour.’

We go to her bedroom and both strip. I am only half hard at this point. She is naked on the bed and I take in her body: small but nicely shaped tits with a slim figure. She is probably about five foot three and her fanny is light brown and looks trimmed. Her skin is quite fair with light freckles on her shoulders and her hair is shoulder length and blonde.

Blemish wise she has a small mole on her wrist and a couple of cuties on her midriff. She also has a slightly larger mole on her left thigh. Her legs looking quite strong.

I take her in my arms and commence to kiss her.

‘You're trembling slightly,’ she states softly.

‘It's a reaction to the swimming,’ I explain. It's not. I am a little apprehensive and feel guilty. But obviously not guilty enough.

I run my fingers gently over her upper arms and kiss the exquisite curves of her neck. Her chest and face begin to flush with sexual arousal so I gently rub her nipples. She begins to moan and I slip my now fully erect member into her cunt. I thrust rhythmically and as I do she brings her hand down to her clit and starts to massage it – it turns me on more. I ask her to rub my nipples and she complies with my wish though she appears lost in her own rapture. As I begin to climax an image of a pretty dark haired girl with moles on her arms, who works in my local bank, forces itself into my imagination – I see myself being caned by her.

I suddenly come and return to the real world.

I pull out my penis shrouded in spunk and juice and kiss Jane's fanny as she looks anxiously at the bedside clock: ‘You'd better go. Camille will be back in the next five minutes.’

I wipe myself as quickly as I can with a tissue then swiftly get dressed. I give her a quick kiss then leave.

As I start the car I can't believe what I have done. I have also broken the vow I made silently in Cherbourg to be faithful to Sharon.

I call in at McDonalds on the outskirts of Ryde for a Big Mac and fries. Whilst there I text Jane to tell her how good it was and how much I fancy her.

When I get back to the bungalow I will have a bath and put my clothes which are steeped in Jane's perfume into the washing machine.



It is about seven in the evening. I am watching television in the lounge-cum-dining room of our bungalow. I am still replaying in my head the events of earlier when I hear Sharon walk along the path and then slip her key into the front door.

I wonder what kind of mood she is in. Not good if the past few days are to go by.

She puts her head round the lounge door and cheerily greets me: ‘Hi, you look very relaxed with your feet up. Your little break from work seems to be doing you good, you've got some colour back in your cheeks, and I can tell you're less tense. What did you get up to today?’

She's very cheerful all of a sudden – odd.

‘Not a great deal but had a few hours at the leisure centre followed by a healthy McDonalds.’

I'm back in deceit mode.

‘I'm going to get changed out of my work clothes and then perhaps we could go off to the cinema. Do you know what's on?’

‘Vanilla Sky. It's supposed to be good.’



Julia (Cameron Diaz) turns to David (Tom Cruise) in the car and confronts him: ‘The body makes a promise even if you don't!’

I inwardly cringe.

The car speeds up and ends up crashing through the parapet of the bridge.

David is paying the price, a very high price, for his philandering. His life will never be the same.



We're back in the bungalow now.

‘Do you want a cup of tea, Sharon?’

‘I'm okay, thanks. Shall we just go to bed?’

What has got into her? She even held my hand in the cinema!

We both stroll into the double bedroom and remove all our clothes and though I have seen her naked a thousand times before I still cannot resist looking at her body.

She has full and rich curly chestnut hair that tumbles half way down her pale back with big blue eyes and her features resemble slightly those of the actress Sharon Small. She is slim, probably weighs no more than nine stone, and is about five four in height with limbs that are slim and toned. Her breasts are big and firm with prominent nipples, her pubes a reddish-brown. Her complexion is pale and she has quite a few evenly distributed small moles on her arms, a slightly raised one between her arm pit and left breast and a couple on her thighs and calves.

Sharon is Celtic and Jane is Nordic, I suddenly conclude.

I turn the light off and get into bed next to Sharon. The room is still dimly illuminated by the lights around and in particular the floodlit Parish Church which is just a couple of hundred yards away on the corner of Queens Road and Upper West Street.

There is plenty of time for foreplay, unlike earlier, as I caress her arms and kiss her neck. I tease her as much as possible, licking as close to her nipples without actually making contact with them. I rub gently between her upper thighs without touching her 'lips' then kiss her mouth and tell her I love her whilst dimly discerning her swollen nipples in the half light. She moans and I know she is slowly beginning to reach heat. I reach down with my right hand and begin to massage her engorged clitoris. Her left hand tries to stop me but it is a game she plays for she really seeks to be forced to orgasm.

I pull her left arm behind her head and increase the frequency of my circling movements to her clitoris. I chew upon her nipples as her breathing deepens. She is close now to release.

Suddenly she arches her back and cries out before slumping back exhausted onto the bed.

‘That was so good. It's been a while hasn't it,' she confesses after a minute or so.

‘Three months but who's counting,’ I joke.

‘I'd better let you have your pleasure now. Do you want me on top or on bottom?’

‘Bottom please.’

I penetrate her and then wrap my legs around hers. She rubs my nipples without me having to request it. Within about half a minute of thrusting I reach the point of no return and as I do I visualise Jane's naked body.

‘You were quick then!’

‘Men normally are quicker than women,’ I retort.

‘Are they?’ she responds cryptically.

We wish each other good night, embrace and kiss.

Prior to dropping off I reflect upon the events of the day and the fact that having had no sex for three months I end up shagging two attractive women in the same day both with the same phonetically sounding name. I can't work out whether to feel guilty or self-satisfied.

© Copyright 2018 Matt Triewly. All rights reserved.


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