The Boys And Girls Are Watching

The Boys and Girls are Watching

By Alfamann

Chapter One

As I wave farewell to my Mother-In-law, Francesca, as she boards her flight to return to France, I struggle to suppress my regret, both emotionally and sexually. I deeply hope she will be true to her word and returns to live with us in New Zealand once she has sorted her financial affairs back in her native France.

I cannot help but contrast my current feelings to how I felt when she arrived six months ago to live with Olivier and myself. I was dreading her arrival and resented the fact that the problems of this wreck of a woman had been thrust upon Olivier and I to try and sort out. Oh, how my feelings have changed over that six month period. It has been an amazing journey that has totally changed me as a woman.

But I am racing ahead of myself and letting my excitement get the better of me. Let me start at the beginning by introducing myself. My name is Jane Donald, and I am a 32 year old blonde. I would love to tell you that I have the beauty of a film actress but alas that is not so. I consider myself a bit of a ‘plain Jane’ but my husband insists I am far too harsh on myself. I am very tall for a female, being almost 5’ 10”, which has always made me self conscious and I have to stop myself from slouching in an attempt to hide my height. Although tall and thin with smallish boobs, I do at least have a nice firm butt, which I consider my best asset.

I am married to Olivier Le Roy, a specialist medical surgeon who works at the main hospital in our home city of Auckland, New Zealand. But what makes Olivier somewhat special is that he is French, and finding a Frenchman living and working in New Zealand is very rare. We met when I was working overseas in my early 20’s, and I went to a fancy dress party dressed as an Egyptian mummy. Olivier and a group of his medical student mates were at the party and he began chatting me up. We had both had too much alcohol, and when he asked me my name I jokingly told him I could not remember. He nicknamed me “Jane Doe”. We met casually a few times over the next couple of months and he always called me “Jane Doe”, not knowing my real name. When he finally asked me my name and I laughingly told him it really was Jane, in fact Jane Donald, he would not be convinced until I showed him my ID. Not long after Olivier and I became romantically linked and lived together in the UK for two years until he completed his medical internship at the local hospital.

When we became engaged we decided to have the wedding in New Zealand. Olivier fell in love with this country and we have been here since. Olivier is employed at the hospital and I run a small organic orchard in South Auckland. Seven years ago we had a delightful daughter, Abigail.

All in all, life was pretty good for us. I enjoyed working part-time on our organic orchard, which still gave me plenty of free time to spend with Abigail when she was not at school. It was therefore not surprising that I was a little reticent when Olivier’s sister, Gabriel, phoned from France to say that their Mother, or more accurately, Step-mother, Francesca, had been arrested for the second time for driving while drunk, and only weeks after she had discharged herself from a drug and alcohol rehab clinic. Gabriel was at her wits end as to what to do with her mother, and was suggesting that a total change of environment, such as coming to live with us in New Zealand, might be what she needs.

Now, I have met Francesca on four or five previous occasions, although she was not present at our wedding as she and Olivier’s father, Jean-Paul, had separated a few years earlier. The most startling thing about Francesca is her amazing likeness to the Spanish actress, Penelope Cruz. If you can imagine Penelope Cruz with short spiky black hair and five years older, then you have Francesca. Frankly it irritates me that she is so damn attractive despite the fact she is in her mid-forties. She has the same sultry full lips, baby soft skin and perfect body as Penelope Cruz. Yes, alright, I admit it, I am jealous.

Olivier’s wealthy father, Jean-Paul, began having an illicit affair with the much younger Francesca when Olivier and his sister Gabriel were only six and eight years old respectively. When their mother found out about the affair she packed her bags and left, never to be seen again. Francesca married Olivier’s father a couple of years later, and although she was basically a good mother to the children, Olivier has admitted to me that he has always blamed her for causing his mother to abandon them.

This is probably an unfair sentiment given that his father continued to have extramarital affairs and finally he and Francesca had a messy divorce about eight years ago. The divorce left Francesca a wealthy woman but emotionally devastated, and she turned to alcohol for solace. A couple of disastrous love affairs with younger men only helped to increase her depression, and her alcohol addiction increased.

Despite the efforts of Gabriel and Olivier to get their Step-mother to face up to her alcoholism, Francesca has refused to face reality. Three times Olivier has flown back to France and arranged for his Step-mother to go into a rehab clinic but she always discharges herself early insisting she has beaten her addiction, only to lapse several weeks later.

Following Gabriel’s tearful phone call, Olivier and I debated whether bringing Francesca to New Zealand for six months to live with us on the orchard was a wise move, and although we had major reservations we agreed it was at least worth a chance because if we did nothing their was a good chance she would end up killing herself.

Following numerous long phone calls Olivier finally persuaded his Step-mother to come and stay with us in New Zealand and two weeks later we collected her from Auckland International Airport. Her alcohol addiction had taken a toll on her in that her facial features were sunken and she had clearly lost weight. But for all that she was still a glamorous and attractive woman. A young man who had been on the flight with her had kindly helped her carry her bags. When they got to the exit lounge where we were standing Francesca took off her sun glasses and flashed him one of her full-lipped smiles, kissed him on both cheeks in the typical French style, then sexily whispered ‘merci, monsieur’ in his ear. I thought the poor young man was going to cream his pants right there and then.

It was immediately clear to Olivier that his mother had been drinking alcohol on the flight and once we were in the car he began giving Francesca a stern lecture, but she waved him off dismissively, blaming her fear of flying for the need to consume a few glasses of wine.

From the outset it was clear that Francesca had no real resolve to overcome her alcohol addiction, and to make matters worse she had also become a chain smoker. From the first day she arrived Olivier sat her down and set some clear guidelines which included no alcohol and a plan to reduce smoking. Appointments were made for her to regularly visit a rehab therapist at a local clinic dealing with addictions. Olivier and I also gave up drinking alcohol in the house as we felt it would be unfair on Francesca

For the first few days it looked promising, but then Olivier found his mother had somehow sneaked alcohol into her room. The rules were again reinforced by Olivier, and Francesca promised to stick to them, but her resolve would always weaken after a few days. I stood by, frustrated, but trying to be as supportive as I could to both Olivier and his mother. As much as possible I would encourage her to walk with me in the orchard as I was going about my daily tasks. Francesca enjoyed spending time with our eight year old daughter, Abigail, and I encouraged the bond as I felt it was a positive distraction for Francesca. She would always ask to put Abigail to bed and read her bedtime stories.

Francesca and I got in the habit of walking together through the orchard to the main road when it was time to collect Abigail from the school bus. On this particular day Abigail raced excitedly across the road without looking for ongoing cars. This elicited a stern reprimand from me with a threat of a spanking if there was ever a repeat. As we wandered back up the orchard towards the house, Francesca asked me if I often spanked Abigail, and I told her that the threat was generally enough, although she had received the occasional spanking. Francesca then confessed that she was often spanked by her own father.

“I was, how should we say, a high-spirited young girl,” she confessed. “My Papa knew that the only time I would do what I was told was when he spanked me. Mon ami, I certainly listened to him when he pulled down my panties and gave me a spanking.”

Francesca blushed at her confession. I made no comment but was fascinated by her admission.

Six weeks after her arrival in New Zealand it was clear Francesca was making little or no progress towards overcoming her addiction to alcohol and cigarettes. Several positive days of progress were undone by the inevitable relapse. Olivier tried to be hard on her but once Francesca ramped up the charm she was able to convince him she would try harder and would be given another chance.

Olivier could see that clearly it was not working. He just did not have the required inner fortitude to be tough on his Step-mother, and even the therapist was making no progress. I decided it was time for me to act. I had a plan of action. It was totally off the wall and I had no idea at all whether it would work. As crazy as it was I felt it was worth a try. Francesca was reading to Abigail, so I took Olivier outside where we could talk freely. I took a deep breath and laid out my plan to him. His mouth dropped open.

“Are you crazy?” he exclaimed, after hearing my plan.

“Listen to me. Your mother is so use to getting her own way and can charm herself out of any situation. She is too weak willed to help herself, but will not accept advice from those that are trying to help her.”

“True, but your plan is to spank her,” Olivier asked incredulously.

“Francesca confessed to me that the only time she did what she was told as a child was when she was spanked by her father. Francesca is behaving now like a petulant child, and I believe we deal with her as such. The shame and humiliation of being spanked as an adult just might be enough to bring about a change in her behaviour.”

Olivier looked at me, stunned by what I was saying.

“Look, what have we got to lose. Nothing that you have tried in France or here in New Zealand has helped her addictions at all. Give it a month and if it doesn’t work out I will butt out and leave it to the experts.”

Olivier continued to look stunned, but I could see that he was thinking about what I had to say.

“I must be crazy,” he finally responded, “but I have to admit I have run out of ideas. You have my support. But please, there is no way I am going to spank my own Mother, for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” I smiled, “hopefully the threat of a spanking will be enough of a deterrent. But if it is not, then I will carry out the discipline.”

My boldness surprised myself. You need to understand that I consider myself a rather conservative person. I was spanked as a child, but only sparingly, and had certainly never been spanked as an adult. Although I think of myself as broadminded, I am not into sexual deviancy. I was not sure about how I would feel if it actually did come to me having to spank Francesca, a woman who was a dozen or so years older than myself.

The following day I waited until Olivier had left for work and Abigail had departed for school before asking Francesca to join me in lounge.

I took a deep breath, and tried to sound more confident than I actually felt. I felt the only way was to just come straight out and say it. “Francesca, from today the approach to your rehabilitation has changed. If you break the rules you will be punished by receiving a severe spanking.”

Francesca thought she had misheard. “Pardon?”

“If you break the rules, you will receive a spanking,” I repeated.

“A spanking! That is outrageous. You are crazy lady,” Francesca protested. “Olivier would never allow such a preposterous thing.”

“Olivier and I have discussed it, and we both agree that it is the best for you. You either agree to be spanked if you break the rules, or we pack you off back to France.”

Francesca dropped her bottom lip. “You are serious? You would spank me?”

“If necessary, I definitely would. And you could expect the spanking to be on your bare bottom.”

Francesca actually squirmed in her seat. “On my bare bottom?”

“Do you agree to be spanked or not?” I demanded.

Francesca hung her head. “Yes,” she mumbled.

“Good, I believe it is for the best. From today, no alcohol and no cigarettes!” With that I took her hand firmly and led her outside before she could argue the point. “From today you will help me with the physical work in the orchard. It is time we focused on getting you healthy.”

Francesca did not protest. She helped me pick the plums off the tree and load them into our small truck so that we could deliver them to the small winery down the road that is owned by one of my best friends Paula and her husband, Dave. The plan was to make the plums into a fruit wine.

As we unloaded the plums Paula whispered into my ear, “I have been meaning to tell you. Do you realise your Mother-in-law bears a striking resemblance to Penelope Cruz?”

“No kidding!” I responded rather sarcastically. “I never noticed.”

Chapter Two

As each day went by I held my breath. Was this going to be day Francesca fell off the wagon. I knew she was doing it hard, especially as I had also forbidden her to smoke. You may feel this was unduly harsh, but I felt smoking was feeding her craving for alcohol. Francesca was on edge and irritable, and I could tell she was not sleeping well. Often I would hear her awake at night. To the amazement of both Olivier and I, Francesca lasted the first week without incident.

But on the ninth day I returned home from shopping and when I could not find Francesca I went looking in the storage shed behind the house. Francesca heard me coming but not quick enough to hide the bottle of brandy she was holding. Furiously I snatched the brandy bottle from her and poured the contents down the drain.

“Right, you have just earned yourself a spanking, madam.”

“But I only had one small sip. Just to settle my nerves,” she pleaded. “I promise it won’t happen again, and I have been so good up to now. Please.”

In truth, I did feel some sympathy for her. But I knew if my plan was to have any chance of success I had to be absolutely firm with her and follow up on my threats, something that had not happened up to now.

“When Abigail has gone to bed you are to have a shower, put on your night robe, and then come into the lounge for your spanking. And I don’t want you wearing anything under your night robe.”

Francesca opened her mouth to protest but I held up my hand. “Do you understand?” I barked out.

Hesitantly she nodded her head, and I could see tears welling in the corner of her eyes. She looked like a sad-eyed puppy, but I had to be strong so I turned and left her standing there.

When Olivier returned from work that evening I took him aside and explained what had happened.

“You are not really going to spank her are you? Isn’t that a little harsh?”

“Olivier,” I groaned, “It is that exact attitude of always giving your mother another chance that has got you nowhere. She is going to be spanked, and it is important you are present to reinforce the fact that we both support her being punished every time she falls off the wagon.”

Olivier was clearly uncomfortable, and who wouldn’t be at the thought of witnessing your mother getting a sound spanking from your wife. Not something you come across every day of the week. But to Olivier’s credit he had given his commitment to me and was not about to let me down. He agreed to be present.

That evening there was a great deal of nervous tension in the house and it seemed an eternity until Abigail had finally dropped off to sleep. A short time after I heard the shower being turned on and fifteen minutes later a very apprehensive looking Francesca stood at the doorway, her body wrapped in her expensive looking pink night robe. Nervously she fidgeted with her fingers.

“Come and stand in front of us,” I directed.

“Please give me one more chance,” she pleaded.

“No,” I replied firmly. “There are no second chances.”

Francesca turned to Olivier. “Olivier, you can’t let this happen to your Mama?” she pleaded.

I held my breath as I waited for Olivier’s response, concerned that he would back down under the emotional pressure from his mother. But he held firm.

“Mother, this is for your own good. You must understand that your behaviour is going to have consequences. Jane has my full support.”

I noticed Francesca’s shoulders slump forward as she finally realised she was not going to be able to charm her way out of this crisis. I repeated my request for her to stand in front of me, and slowly she shuffled over, her lip pouting like a child who was trying not to cry.

I slid my knees forward on the chair. “Lift you night gown to the waist,” I directed, trying to sound like the voice of authority but underneath I was probably almost as nervous as Francesca.

I was surprised that Francesca did not try to protest further. Slowly she pulled up her night robe to reveal her perfectly shaped legs, but then stopped.

“I want it right up to your waist,” I commanded. I wanted to ensure that Francesca endured maximum humiliation, as I felt the humiliation was ultimately likely to be as much of a deterrent as the actual spanking. And what could be more humiliating than having to display your private womanly charms to your adult son and his wife.

But when Francesca reluctantly pulled her night robe higher it revealed she was wearing pink lace knickers.

“Did I not tell you to wear nothing under your night robe?” I scolded her. “Can you not follow a simple command?”

“Please, can’t I just keep my panties on this time? You can’t expect a Mother to be seen naked in front of her own family?” Francesca’s pleas were genuine.

“I gave you simple instructions but you choose not to follow them. Not only have you earned yourself an extra spanking tomorrow night, but you will also be spanked totally in the nude.” I could not believe my own outrageous boldness. What had come over me? “Now take off those knickers.”

I expected Francesca to vehemently protest but she seemed overcome by my firm, aggressive stance to her punishment. She reached up under her robe and removed her panties.

“Now remove your robe.”

Slowly she removed the cord holding her night robe closed, then allowing the robe to fall from her shoulders until it fell in a heap at her feet. She now stood before Olivier and I in all her naked glory. Her face and chest was blushing with shame. I could not help but wonder how Olivier felt seeing his mother totally naked. I was surprised at the impact it had on myself. Emotionally I was on a type of high that I had not felt before. Being in control of this glamorous woman and ordering her to be naked stirred up new sensations from within. They weren’t sexual responses, but they were powerful. I forced myself to focus back on the task at hand.

I didn’t want to rush the punishment, so I made Francesca endure a little longer standing naked before us. When she embarrassedly trying to cover herself with her hands I ordered her to keep them at her side. One couldn’t help but notice her firm breasts and perfectly trimmed pubic hair. She might be an alcoholic, but at least she still took good care of her body. Her whole body was in amazing condition for a woman of her age, but then she had never had to endure the ravages of child birth.

“You know why you are being punished, don’t you Francesca,” I asked.

“Yes. And I am sorry I let you down.” Her response sounded genuine.

“You let yourself down more than us.”

She considered this thoughtfully. “I guess so.”

“Right, now over my knee.” I patted my thigh to indicate where she was to place herself, although I think it was probably self-evident.

Without protest she folded herself over my knee. Her naked warmth felt good. With her backside raised over my knee I was surprised at how utterly exposed she was and I could fully understand her total embarrassment. I was sure I would die of shame if I ever found myself in the same predicament.

Having had almost no experience at spanking someone, I was unsure of how much force I should use. But it was a punishment, and punishments are meant to hurt, are they not? So I did not hold back. Francesca screamed in shock as the first blows rained down on her poor tender backside. As I continued to smack she squirmed and bucked about on my knee, but did not attempt to slide off or protect herself from the punishment.

She was soon reduced to tears but I did not stop until her total backside was a flaming red. The contrast to her milky white skin was immense. Even after I stopped spanking she lay sobbing on my knee for several minutes. Eventually she raised herself, quickly put on her night robe. She started to walk off, but then hesitated, and turned back to face Olivier and I.

“Thank you,” she sniffled, before quickly exiting the room.

I couldn’t help but admire how well she had taken the punishment. I turned to face Olivier. He looked a little stunned, but had survived the ordeal. I desperately hoped that he did not think I had gone overboard with my treatment of his mother, but his only comments were brief and supportive. As a trained medical practitioner he obviously had doubts about my ‘unusual’ approach to trying to cure his mother’s alcohol and smoking addiction, but he was desperate enough to give anything a go.

Nothing was mentioned of the punishment the following day. If Francesca was resentful of the way she had been treated, she certainly didn’t show it. Instead she seemed buoyant and only too willing to give me a hand working around the orchard farm.

As we walked through the orchard at the end of good day’s work Francesca spoke in almost a whisper. “Are you really going to spank me again tonight?”

I turned my head and looked her in the eye. “Yes, I am, and I want you to behave yourself and do as I ask.”

You averted her eyes and looked at the ground as we walked. After about a minute she quietly responded, “I will. Do I have to be totally naked or can I keep some clothes on?”

“I think it will be best if you are naked.”

I heard her take in a deep breath, but she said nothing.

Francesca was true to her word. That night she read bedtime stories to Abigail and when she had drifted off to sleep Francesca showered before joining Olivier and I who were in the lounge watching television. Francesca was wearing the same night robe.

The television program we were watching had about ten minutes until it finished so I patted the couch beside me and beckoned for Francesca to take a seat. She sat down beside me and tucked her feet up underneath her. The attractive, confident, mature woman took on the appearance of a vulnerable young girl. I felt a need to try and reassure her, so I reached out my hand and ran it through her short, spiked dark hair. She leant closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder. I felt much moved by this gesture, and continued to stroke her hair as we all watched the end of the television program.

Once it had finished Olivier used the remote to turn off the television. The room became quiet but there was a palatable tension. Francesca lifted her head from my shoulder and gazed at me with her wide, deep blue eyes. I could not believe how much she had the same dark, sensual features as Penelope Cruz. The likeness was uncanny. Nothing was said but I gave her a small nod of my head and a reassuring smile.

Francesca unfolded her feet from underneath her and then stood up. Without being requested to do so she untied the cord of her robe and let it fall to the ground. She was naked underneath, and made no attempt to hide herself. Her arms were compliantly at her side. She was blushing profusely but maintained a stoic look on her face.

“I know I have done wrong,” she whispered, “and I deserve to be punished. Please spank me.”

I was staggered that she actually requested to be spanked. A sneaked a quick glance at Olivier who raised his eyebrows at me as if to say ‘well, what do you know’.

I let her stand naked before us for a full two minutes, which must have seemed like an eternity to her, before patting my knee and gesturing her into position. Francesca did not hesitate to comply and lowered herself over my lap. She wiggled her bottom about until she was comfortable, or perhaps she was ensuring her bottom was well positioned for the inevitable spanking it was going to receive. This I am not sure.

I was pleased to note that the firm cheeks of her backside were not bruised or marked in any way from her spanking yesterday. Without ceremony I commenced the spanking and did not stop until I had hand spanked her fifty times. She yelped and squirmed, and the tears flowed freely. Once I had finished she continued to lie over my lap for many minutes, sobbing quietly to herself. Finally she raised herself, dressed, thanked us for the spanking and departed.

Olivier turned to me and shook his head in disbelief. “Is this plan of your so crazy that it just might work?”

I sincerely hoped that he may eventually be correct, but I knew we had a long road ahead of us. 

Over the next few days I could see that Francesca was trying very hard, but addictions are always there, haunting your every move, waiting to catch you at a vulnerable moment. There were times when she seemed on top of the world, but just as quickly her emotions would take a downward spiral. I kept a close eye on her, ensuring she ate well and got plenty of exercise.

However I could not watch her continuously and just before the end of the second week of her punishment program I found cigarette butts in her bedroom when I was changing the sheets. At least it wasn’t alcohol, but I knew I could not let it go unpunished. I angrily called her into her room and shoved the cigarette butts under her nose.

“I am so disappointed in you, Francesca”, I reprimanded. “Not only have you been smoking, but you have being doing it in my house despite the fact you know it is strictly forbidden.”

Francesca hung her head in shame. “Oh, heavens, I’m so sorry.” She put her hand over her mouth and I could see her regret was genuine. “It is just that I cannot sleep at night.”

“Well smoking is not going to help. You know that Olivier has offered to prescribe you something if necessary.”

Francesca looked up at me. “Am I going to be punished tonight?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

However I had forgotten that our neighbours, my good friend, Paula and her husband, Dave were coming around for dinner that evening. I debated as to whether to delay Francesca’s punish to the following night, but then fate stepped in.

“Francesca looks very edgy tonight. Not her usual cheerful self,” Paula commented as we cleaned up after our dinner and Francesca had taken Abigail up to bed to read her a story.

I decided to be brazen. “That is because she is going to be punished tonight.”

Dave and Paula stopped in their tracks.

“Come again?” Paula enquired, a curious frown on her face.

I then proceeded to explain my theory that Francesca was more likely to overcome her addictions if she was under the threat of punishment for her transgressions. I explained about finding the cigarette butts and that she was therefore going to receive a sound spanking tonight. Our friends looked stunned.

“Which Jane will administer tonight, after you have departed,” Olivier chimed in, a little embarrassed that I had raised the subject.

“Don’t delay it just because of us,” Paula quickly added, “I for one am not going to be offended if you spank her in our presence. After all, if you believe that the humiliation she receives is as important as the actual punishment, wouldn’t it stand to reason she would be more humiliated if we were in the room?”

I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t care either way, but inwardly I agreed with Paula’s sentiments.

“I’m okay with it,” Dave added.

We looked to Olivier. It was after all his Mother that was being punished.

Olivier sighed and held his palms up. “Very well. I have no objection.”

I could see Paula and Dave give each other an excited glance as I disappeared up to Abigail’s room to say goodnight and take over bedtime reading duties. As Francesca kissed Abigail goodnight and was leaving the room I told her to have shower, put on her night robe and join us in the lounge.

By the time I had got Abigail to sleep Francesca had showered and was sitting in the lounge talking with Olivier, Paula and Dave. You could sense the nervous energy in the room. I joined them and the conversation continued. They were discussing the current global financial crisis, but I could tell no one really had their heart in the conversation. Everyone was wondering what was going to happen next. I decided it was time to put them out of their misery, especially Francesca.

I turned to face her. “Tell us why you are being punished tonight?”

Francesca looked mortified that I had raised the subject in front of Paula and Dave.

Hesitantly she responded. “Because I have been smoking cigarettes.”

“Inside the house,” I added.

“Yes, inside the house.” Francesca looked shame-faced.

“And how are you going to be punished?” I continued.

“I am going to be spanked.” Francesca blushed.

“And how will you be spanked?”

“I will be lying over your knee.” Francesca’s voice was barely a whisper.

“And what will you be wearing?”

Francesca looked up at me, momentarily confused. “Nothing?” she added hesitantly.

“Correct, you will be totally naked.” I reinforced the point.

Francesca groaned in embarrassment, both at the thought of being nude, but also that she was being made to confess all in front of the neighbours.

“Now get yourself ready for the spanking.” I pointed for her to stand up in front of us.

The look of mortification on her face increased even further. Her jaw had dropped open. “But….but….Dave and Paula…..we have to wait until they have gone home. Please, I beg of you.”

“No Francesca. Your punishment is taking place now. If you don’t want to be humiliated then you must learn to control your behaviour. Now quickly before I double your punishment.” In some respects I felt I was being unfair on Francesca, but deep down I felt I was doing the right thing in terms of the long term goals around overcoming her addictive behaviours.

Reluctantly Francesca stood and faced us. She looked pleadingly at Olivier in a last ditch hope of a reprieve, but her son just nodded for her to continue. Francesca went through her routine of untying the cord around her waist. Her nervous fingers fumbled at the knot but finally she got it untied. The night robe fell open at the front exposing her triangle of pubic hair. Dave sat up straight in his chair, his eyes fixed on the object of beauty before him.

With a shrug of her shoulders the robe fell away, revealing her total naked glory. Even though this was not the first time I had seen her naked, the sight of her disrobing could not help take your breath away. Naked beauty is naked beauty, no matter what your sexual orientation is. A quick glance around the room confirmed that I was not the only one who felt this way. Surprisingly, Olivier also seemed to be staring very intently at his own Step-mother, although I suspected he would later deny it.

Francesca nervously tried to slide her hand in front of her pubic region, the glare of four sets of eyes more than she could endure.

“Put your hands on your head,” I commanded.

Reluctantly she did as ordered. It made her look even more exposed, and I am sure this is how she felt.

I made Francesca stand there for what probably seemed like an eternity to her before I finally gestured for her to lie over my lap. She quickly complied, happy to be away from the prying eyes. I made her lie there longer than usual, knowing that it was affording the others a voyeuristic view of her backside, including her anus and a peek of her vagina.

The spanking then commenced, and I did not hold back just because visitors were present. Francesca squirmed furiously on my knee, desperately trying to keep her legs closed so as not to expose herself. She mostly succeeded. The tears flowed freely and when I had finished she stood and rubbed her backside, before realising she was nude and quickly putting on her robe. Tearfully she thanked me before departing.

I looked over at the stunned faces of Paula and Dave.

“Holy smoke,” Dave muttered.

“That was unbelievable,” Paula exclaimed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.

I got the impression Paula wanted to ask questions but was too embarrassed to do so in front of her husband and Olivier.

However she got her chance the following day when I drove over to her house with more plums we had picked. Francesca had stayed home as Abigail was due to be dropped off by the school bus. As in the past, Francesca did not seem to hold any grudges following her punishment. In fact she bounced back with renewed energy. It was almost as if the punishments were helping her to refocus.

When I arrived at Paula’s she helped me unpack the plums then invited me in for a coffee. We had no sooner sat down when she began to fire questions at me regarding Francesca’s spankings. She asked me how hard I spanked her, why did she have to be nude and humiliated, why do I think Francesca’s consents to being spanked, and many other questions. At first I thought it was just my friend’s natural curiosity, but as I responded to her questions I noticed that her upper lip was sweating, her face was flushed, and she was squirming about in her seat. I had never seen Paula act like this before and I had a hunch her questions were more than idle curiosity. When Paula made a reference to Francesca being naughty I saw my opportunity to jump in, even though I had no idea where it was likely to lead.

“Are you a naughty girl, Paula?” I brazenly asked her.

This certainly stopped Paula in her tracks. She blinked several times and gave me a confused look. “What?” was all she could muster in response.

“Are you a naughty girl?” I repeated.

“What sort of question is that?” She tried to sound offended.

“I believe you are a naughty girl who knows she deserves to have her bottom spanked.” Even I was surprised by my own boldness. Even though Paula is several years younger than me, being in her mid-twenties, she is still a mature adult and one of my best friends since we shifted into the orchard farm and became neighbours several years ago. Although she is in her mid-twenties it would be fair to say she could pass for someone several years younger. She has a petite stature being not much more than five foot tall, and a classic redhead with a mop of curly flaming hair and a fair, freckled complexion. She was also not afraid to display the stereotype fiery personality of a redhead. But today the fiery personality had been replaced with something considerably more passive.

“Don’t be silly,” she responded, but at the same time she nervously licked her upper lip.

“If you want me to spank you, you only have to ask you know. I won’t mind and it won’t change our friendship.” I wasn’t so sure the latter statement was entirely correct. In truth it would probably change our relationship in some way, but I wanted to give her reassurance.

I will be honest with you, and I have never admitted this before, but when I punish Francesca the sense of power I have is a real high for me. I don’t believe it is sexual, although on some level it could be, but it is certainly a powerful aphrodisiac. Shameful, I know, that punishing a person could bring a level of gratification to the punisher.

“I don’t,” Paula responded, none too convincing.

I decided not to push the matter with my friend. Best to give her space to sort out her feelings, as I had somewhat ambushed her with my brazen questions. I wanted her to know what she wanted, and to be honest I was unsure of the consequences of what I was doing. So I stood up, gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek, and said my farewells, leaving a stunned looking Paula sitting in her chair with her untouched cup of coffee beside her.

Chapter Three

For the next three days I heard nothing from Paula, which was a little unusual as we generally chatted on the phone most days. I was becoming concerned that I may have offended her and scarred our relationship, and I began kicking myself for my foolishly brazen behaviour.

However late on the third I answered the phone and was relieved to hear Paula’s voice, although she sounded reticent and seemingly distant. She was asking if I could drop over some more plums. I responded that I was only too happy to, and was about to hang up when I heard her quietly say ‘I want to’.

I wasn’t really sure what she was referring to, but I couldn’t stop my heart racing. “You want to do what, honey?”

Silence on the other end of phone.

“Paula?” I began to wonder if we had been cut off.

“I want you to punish me.” Her voice was quiet and nervous.

I had to take some deep breaths to steady my excitement and collect my thoughts as to what I would say next. “Have you been a naughty girl?”

“Yes,” Paula whispered

“You realise you will receive a proper spanking if I need to come over and punish you?”

“Yes,” her response was barely audible

“On your bare backside.”

There was a hesitation. “Does it have to be on my bare backside?”

“Yes it does,” I responded firmly.

“Ohh. I guess if it has to be.” Paula’s voice was quavering.

“Is Dave home?” I enquired.

“No, he will not be back until later tonight.”

“Very well. Once I have collected Abigail off the bus I will leave her with Francesca and drive around. I will be there at four o’clock.”

“To drop of the plums?” Paula’s voice had gone up a few octaves and she sounded so young.

“Yes, to drop off the plums,” then after a long delay I added, “And to give you your punishment.”

“Now! Not today. No!” Paula’s voice was on the verge of hysteria. “I didn’t mean today.”

“If you have been a naughty girl you are going to be punished today. End of discussion. I will see you at four o’clock.” I hung up the phone and realised my hand was shaking with excitement.

I stood by the phone for another ten minutes expecting Paula to phone back and protest, but to my surprise no call came.

After settling Abigail with Francesca, I loaded some plums into the small truck and drove the few hundred yards to Paula and Dave’s boutique winery. I had conflicting emotions: nervousness, excitement, reticence, anticipation. One part of me wanted to back away for fear of destroying a relationship, but another part was pushing for me to explore exciting new territory where my comparatively vanilla life and not taken me before. The latter was the devil sitting on my shoulder, driving me forward.

When I arrived at Paula’s a few minutes after four o’clock she was already waiting nervously for me in the yard. Together we unloaded the boxes of plums off the back of the truck. I tried to act normal but conversation between the two of us was infrequent and strained. When we had only a few boxes to unload I stopped work and turned to Paula.

“I will unload the rest. I want you to go into the house, undress, and wait for me with your hands on your head.”

Paula just stared at me and I tried to read her face but it was expressionless.

“Undress,” she finally spoke.

“Yes, I want you totally naked when I enter the house.”

“Naked?” she responded nervously.

I ignored her response and turned away from her and began unloading the rest of the boxes. I knew this was going to be a crucial moment. Would she have the nerve to follow through on my request?

After unloading the last of the boxes I turned around, and she was gone. No Paula standing in the yard. I couldn’t believe it. Was she actually going to carry through on it?

I crossed the yard to her house and entered. There was no sign of Paula, but I realised I had not actually said where in the house I wanted her to be standing. I am, after all, a bit of a novice at this punishment thing so don’t be too hard on me. I wandered into the kitchen, which was empty. I helped myself to a glass of water, before renewing my search for one naked lady. It was a good bet she would be standing in the lounge, but again no sign of Paula. I started to become full of self-doubt. Had it all been too overwhelming for Paula and had she done a runner. I checked the bedrooms but they were both empty.

Finally I walked into the backroom, which doubled as their office. The blinds were pulled so the room was in semi darkness, but standing in the middle was the unmistakable naked body of my redheaded friend, her hands resting on her head as requested. I switched on the light.

“Can’t we leave the light off, please?” Paula stammered. She was facing away from me.

“Would you rather I open the blinds?”

“No.” Paula protested.

“Perhaps we should. I think any visitors, or nosey neighbours, would love to see you being punished.”

“No!” Paula wailed. “Leave the light on.”

“Turn around and face me,” I spoke sternly.

Slowly she shuffled around to face me. I noticed her eyes were closed.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Paula obeyed. I made sure that she could see my eyes were taking in her nakedness. As I mentioned, Paula is small in stature but had a surprisingly curvaceous figure that normally was hidden by the baggy tomboyish clothing she wore. Her breasts would easily fill a 32C cup, her waist was small and her tummy flat and rock hard. Her pubic hair was as red and curly as the hair on her head. It contrasted strongly with her very fair, freckled skin. In the nude she could have passed for being in her late teens. She was not a classically beautiful female in the sense that Francesca was, but she was certainly very pretty.

I made her stand facing me for several minutes. Her face was flush and she was breathing deeply, which could have been nervousness or excitement, or probably a combination of both.

Finally I spoke. “Have you ever been spanked before?”

“No,” was her quick response.

“Has Dave never spanked you, even in fun?”

“No.”

You must have been spanked as a child?” I persisted.

“I might have, but I certainly can’t remember.”

“Then why do you want to be spanked now, and by me?” I enquired, curious.

“Because I have been naughty,” she blushed further at her response, and I could tell her breathing was getting deeper, and she was shaking slightly.

Her response did not really answer my question. I was curious as to what was her motivation. Was I fulfilling a long held fantasy? However I decided that, for now at least, her motivation could remain her own little secret. Paula was becoming so worked up that I felt it was time to move on.

“Fetch a chair and bring it to the middle of the room.”

Paula willingly obliged, fetching the chair from the desk and placing it where I had indicated. I was wearing an old denim knee length dress, and as I sat down I pulled the dress up to expose my thighs. I wanted to feel the warmth of Paula’s naked body against my own skin. I patted my knee and Paula draped herself across my lap. I was in seventh heaven.

“Make sure your butt is pointing high in the air.” I gripped her hips and made a fuss of adjusting Paula until I was satisfied she was in just the right position. She was breathing so heavily I thought she might hyperventilate.

She just about jumped off my knee when the first spank landed on her left cheek. I almost had to drag her up off the floor back into position.

“You hold still now my little one, or you will earn yourself more spanks.” I scolded her, however if she could see my face I was in reality suppressing a smile.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

She jumped again when I spanked her a second time, but managed to stay on my knee. Her nerves were run ragged. As I continued to spank her I could feel her body relaxing, even though she yelped every time my hand connected with her cheeks. As the spanking continued I could hear her gentling sobbing. Each time I spanked her I could feel her pubic bone grind into my thighs.

Towards the end of the spanking I was aware that the grinding motion of her pubic bone again my knee was becoming rapid and was not in sync with my spanking motion. Then I felt her body tense and she let out a low groan. By now her backside was bright red all over so I stopped the spanking and she fell limp over my knee. I let her lay there for several minutes before gentling assisting her to her feet. She looked a mess with tears streaked down her face and her red hair a tangled mess of curls. But the look on her face was one of pure contentment, despite the fact that she had just been well and truly punished.

I suggested it might be wise that she had a shower before Dave returned. Gingerly she smiled and left the room. As I pulled my denim skirt down I noticed my thigh was wet. I ran a finger through the wetness and brought it up to my nose. I smelt the unmistakable musk of a female’s juices.   

Chapter Four

I tossed up whether to tell Olivier about punishing Paula, as we did not have secrets from each other. However I was so uncertain as to how he might react that I felt it was best to keep it to myself, at least for now. For all I knew it was going to be a one-off incident not to be repeated.

Francesca was continuing to progress well and was definitely looking healthier and eating better. However she still had major mood swings and I knew she was struggling when she was feeling down. It was then that the urge to drink or have a smoke was the hardest to combat.

At nights she was struggling to sleep and I would often hear her moving about the house, and to be honest I was suspicious as to what she might be up to. The night after my punishment session with Paula I was also struggling to get to sleep. My mind was having trouble absorbing the crazy things that had been happening in my life over recent weeks.

I decided to get myself a drink of water, and climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Olivier. As I silently walked down the hallway I heard small rustling noises coming from Francesca’s room, and she was obviously awake. I debated what to do. I didn’t want to invade the privacy of her bedroom, but the longer I stood at her door, listening, the more I became convinced she was up to no good. I just knew she was having a smoke, or worse, consuming alcohol she had somehow smuggled into her room.

I decided I just had to act. Silently I gripped the door handle and suddenly swung the door open at the same time I switched the light on. Francesca looked up at me, startled by my sudden entrance. Her hands were under the blankets between her legs that were bent at the knees. I was convinced she was trying to conceal something from me. In a flash I rushed to her bed and yanked the sheets away. But there was no bottle of alcohol or packet of cigarettes. What I did find was a hand resting against her swollen labia, telltale juices on two of her fingers. She had been masturbating. I was embarrassed; mortified even. I had totally misinterpreted the situation. I couldn’t think what to stay, and I think I gave her a disgusted look before quickly fleeing her room, noisily shutting her door behind me.

The following morning the relationship between Francesca and myself was strained. Francesca was clearly embarrassed by being caught out playing with herself, and she did her best to avoid me. I didn’t help the situation by virtually ignoring her. Although I had no idea why, I was angry and disgusted that she was masturbating herself under my roof. But as the day wore on I began to think more rationally about what had happened the night before. What possible harm was there if Francesca was masturbating? She was after all deprived of any male sexual companionship while staying with us in New Zealand. It was her alcohol and smoking addictions we were trying to combat, not anything to do with sexual addictions. Francesca also had trouble sleeping at night and it could be that masturbating helped her relax. I realised I was being such a bloody hypocrite.

I didn’t get a chance to speak to Francesca alone as my daughter, Abigail, arrived home from school, but I was determined to apologize for the way I had acted. That evening I was in my bedroom when I heard Francesca go to the toilet and return to her room. Olivier was already asleep so silently I walked down the hall and tapped politely on Francesca’s bedroom door. She responded by asking who it was, and when I said it was Jane she told me to come in, but I sensed hesitation in her voice.

She was already back in bed, so I sat down beside her. I then apologized profusely to her for my conduct the previous evening. I told her she had every right to masturbate if she wanted to, and I was wrong for reacting in the manner I had.

Francesca responded by giving me one of her vulnerable, shy smiles. She was embarrassed by the conversation, and for a while she just looked at me with her wide, deep blue eyes.

Finally she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s just that…..” her voice tailed off.

I waited patiently for her to continue.

“It’s just that at night the demons come. Sleep is not easy for me.”

I nodded my understanding.

“I lie awake for hours, and I know I shouldn’t, but I find myself craving a drink or a smoke.”

“I understand,” I added supportively.

“To keep myself sane I focus my mind on my fantasies, and play with myself.” Francesca blushed at her intimate confession. “It helps me relax and sleep.”

Her frank confession made me realise how dumb and callus my reaction had been the previous night. Again I reinforced the point that she should feel free to continue to masturbate whenever she wished. Francesca nodded shyly, and I left her to it.

The following night I awoke shortly after midnight and for some unknown reason I poked my head out into the hallway and saw there was a light on in Francesca’s room.

I am not sure what my motivation was, but without forethought I found myself down the hallway and knocking quietly on her door, careful not to wake Olivier or Abigail.

When I heard a faint ‘come in’ from within the room I entered, closing the door behind me, and seating myself on the bed beside Francesca, who was lying propped up by two pillows. She had her reading lamp on. From the expressions on her face she looked lonely and tense.

“Can’t sleep?” I enquired, running my hand through her short cropped dark hair.

She shook her head to indicate ‘no’.

“The demons are on the prowl, eh?” I enquired with genuine sympathy.

“Yes,” she responded quietly.

“Tell me about your fantasies?” I tried to ask the question as casually as I could.

Francesca seemed bewildered by my request.

“What is your favourite fantasy you like to use when you are playing with yourself?”

Francesca blushed and for a long moment did not respond.

“It is going to sound terrible if I tell you,” she finally spoke.

“I promise it won’t,” I reassured her.

Francesca thought about it for awhile, and then took a deep breath. “It is not actually a fantasy. It really happened to me. It is not as if I enjoyed it at that time, I don’t think. But for some reason it is what I fantasize about. I replay it like a scene from a film.”

My interest was definitely piqued. I wanted to know more. “Go on,” I urged.

“As a young girl I entered puberty very early and was always much more developed than other girls my age, even those that were several years older. The boys use to leer at me, and the girls would make horrible comments, but I knew they were envious of my boobs and the attention I was getting from the boys. As you know I have two older brothers, and they soon learned how they could make a profit from their attractive and well developed younger sister.”

“How do you mean?” I enquired, fascinated by her story.

“My parents were always getting us kids to do jobs around the house or walk up town to do errands. They believed hard work developed good attitudes in kids. However my brothers would get the other kids in the neighbourhood to do most of the jobs for them. There reward is they would…..get to see me.” Francesca blushed.

“I don’t understand?”

Francesca seemed hesitant to continue. I waited patiently, but in truth I was dying to know where her little tale was going.

Francesca took a deep breath. “I have never told anyone this story. I was too ashamed. The reward for the kids if they did jobs for my brothers is they would get invited around to our house on a Saturday afternoon when our parents always went out visiting relatives. My brothers would make me remove my panties and bra and wait in the next room until the invited kids were all there. I would then go into the room and lie on the bed. When my brothers told me to I would lift up my top so that they could all see my boobs.”

“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaimed, struggling to keep my voice quiet.

“But that was not the worse part,” Francesca continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “I would then have to lift up my skirt and show them my private parts. My older brother would then tell me to open my legs wide so that everyone could see my vagina.”

I was genuinely shocked. “The boys would all be watching you expose yourself?”

“Oh, it would be both girls and boys. The girls would like to watch me expose myself also. In some ways the girls being there was almost more embarrassing.”

“But why did you allow your brothers to treat you like this? Couldn’t you have stopped it?”

“That’s almost the worse part. I could have stopped it…but I choose not to. Yes, I was humiliated beyond belief. But it also made me feel special. Kids older than me wanted to come and ogle at my body. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling down below and even at that age I noticed it made my vagina all puffy.”

It took me a while to take it all in. It was quite some story. I wanted to take matters further and I hatched an outrageous plan.

I looked Francesca firmly in the eyes.” The boys and girls are coming in tonight, aren’t they? The boys and girls are going to be watching you expose yourself.”

Francesca looked at me, wide-eyed and shocked. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. I looked around the room and then gestured to the imaginary youngsters in the room to come closer. Incredibly Francesca’s eyes darted around the room as if taking in the visitors. Slowly I lowered her blankets, exposing her nightie-clad body. She was wearing a modest, knee length white nightie. I suspect she would never had worn such an item of nightwear in the past, but living in a house with your son, Daughter-in-law and Grand-daughter does force one to adopt a more modest night attire.

“The boys and girls have all come along to see you expose yourself. From the looks on their faces they are full of expectation. Show them what they have come to see.” I urged Francesca on.

For a long while Francesca just laid there, and just as I began to fear she was not prepared to go further, she lifted her backside off the bed and slid her nightie up, revealing to me again her seemingly faultless body. She pulled her nightie up until her breasts were exposed. She held the nightie nervously under her chin. Her lips were trembling slightly, but her eyes were registering something that seemed to be pleasure.

Without any further urging from me she slowly began to open her legs slightly, at the same time bending them at the knees.

I lent down so that I was almost whispering in her ear. “What have the boys and girls come to see, Francesca?”

Francesca gulped. “My breasts….and my pussy.”

“Well make sure they get a good view.” I urged.

With that Francesca gathered her nightie up even tighter under her chin and took a deep breath so that her breasts thrust upwards. It was an intoxicating sight for me.

“Can they all see your pussy?”

Francesca had partially opened her legs, but only a few inches. She seemed to lack the courage to degrade herself totally by splaying her legs wide open. I could see that she was nervous and I felt she wanted to let go, but couldn’t bring herself to. To try and relax her I ran my hand up and down the inside of her thigh. Her flesh felt warm and soft. Even though I was touching another female in an intimate manner it felt natural to me. I liked it.

Even though you may find this hard to believe, it was actually by accident that my hand brushed against her pubic mound. I was actually a bit shocked, and fully expected Francesca to react in the same manner, but when I glanced up at her she only seemed to have a pleasurable glaze on her face.

Again that deep feeling of wanting to go further urged me on. I slid my hand slowly back down her inner thigh until it rested firmly on her labia. Francesca closed her eyes, but uttered nothing. I stroked the back of my hand up and down her labia gently, and felt the first signs of her wetness seeping through her vagina. Slowly she began to open her knees wider in an act of submission. A bolt of sheer pleasure coursed through my veins. I was excited by what was happening.

Boldly I used my thumb to encircle her clitoris that I could feel was begin to poke out of its hood. Francesca bit down on her finger to suppress a groan of pleasure. Her hips were beginning to slowly rotate up and down, and her knees were now splayed open as wide as she could.

As I continued to encircle her clit I whispered into her ear, “The boys and girls are all watching in disbelief. They have never seen a fully developed girl being as naughty as this.”

With that I slid two fingers deep into her well lubricated vulva and Francesca’s body erupted in orgasm. Her fist was now pressed hard against her mouth to suppress her desire to groan loudly in pleasure. Her hips bucked up and down wildly and pushed hard against the intruding fingers. I was spellbound watching another woman so overcome in absolute pleasure. I had not realised how erotic it was to watch a female orgasm in such total abandonment.

The following morning Francesca was already having breakfast when I entered the kitchen, which was a little unusual as she normally had trouble dragging herself out of bed.

“Sleep well?” I enquired as I went to the fridge in search of juice.

“Very well,” she smiled shyly.

“Me too,” I lied. The truth be known I was so damn worked up when I got back to bed. My mind was a whirl, and my senses were heightened. I would have loved to have been able to awaken Olivier and get him to screw my brains out, but I had to respect the fact that he had an early shift at the hospital.

The next night I heard nothing from Francesca, but good solid sex with my darling husband always ensures I sleep soundly. However the following night I was just dozing off when I heard Francesca get up and go to the kitchen. I glanced over at Olivier and he was sound asleep, having worked a full twelve hours at the hospital. Silently I sneaked out and walked down to the kitchen. Francesca was drinking, but fortunately it was only fresh milk out of the refrigerator. She looked edgy.

“Can’t sleep?” I enquired.

Francesca nodded affirmatively. We sat together silently while she drank her milk and ate two kiwifruit that we had picked earlier in the day off the orchard.

“Would it help if the boys and girls came to watch?” I tried to sound as casual as I could, despite my heightened sense of anticipation as to what might be.

Francesca looked up from her empty glass and gazed at me with those piercing round blue eyes that looked tired and hinted of despair. After a long delay she again nodded affirmatively.

I smiled reassuringly. “Go and lie down and get ready for your visitors. I think your brothers have been active and arranged a big crowd of local teenagers tonight.

Without a word Francesca left the table and disappeared down the hallway to her room. I poured myself a grapefruit juice and waited an agonisingly long ten minutes before following her. When I silently entered her room Francesca’s beautiful body was lying exposed on her bed, her nightie pulled high up under her chin. Her chest was fully inflated with air, pressing her firm breasts invitingly upwards. Her legs were straight and only slightly parted, with her thatch of dark pubic hair delightfully highlighted by her fair skin.

I walked straight over to her and stood over her imposingly. “The boys and girls are here, now open your legs wide and show them that pretty, well developed cunt that they have all worked hard for your brothers to see.”

Without hesitation she bent her legs and splayed them wide open. I stared directly at her vagina, admiring the various components that make this such an erotically intoxicating part of the female anatomy. As I stared I could see her lips begin to swell and glisten with her vaginal secretions.

“Hold your pussy lips open,” I spoke quietly but firmly. “Let them see what the inside of an adolescent vagina looks like.”

Without even a moments hesitation Francesca lowered both hands to between her thighs and pulled her labia open. For several minutes I just stared.

“The boys and girls are loving this. I can see the penises of all the boys are rock hard in their pants. I bet they have never had erections like this before in their lives,” I whispered quietly to her.

Francesca opened her labia even wider. She was flushed and breathing rapidly. I reached down and ran my finger along the fleshy pink exposed canal of her vulva. Francesca gasped, but continued to hold her labia apart. I ran my finger round and round her vulva, each rotation penetrating slightly deeper. When I felt her excitement building I pulled my fingers back and then started the rotations all over again, working back into the depths of her vagina. By doing this I kept her on edge for several long minutes. When I did eventually thrust two fingers fully into her sopping wet vulva she came almost instantly, her face contorted as she struggled to silently absorb the pleasure, aware that she could not awaken Olivier or Abigail.