AMY NEEDS

Sometimes life can be real strange. Often some of the strangest behaviour stirs from deep inside us and manifests itself as our sexual urges. A bewildering mix of our past experiences and our present desires.

My wife, Amy and I have been married for almost 20 years. Our sex life is always interesting, with mild bondage, spanking, and other variations, and the lust has not diminished despite the years. However you would call our sex life relatively normal, even if somewhat mildly kinky.

However there is another side of my wife, and another side to our sex life. The interesting thing is I never know when this other side of Amy will emerge, which adds to the intrigue. Often the first indication I get is when I notice she has disappeared into the bathroom and I hear the shower running, despite the fact it is still only early evening. Sometimes I even sense it prior to her going to have a shower. There are subtle changes to her demeanour. She becomes quiet, pensive, and mooches around like a cat. Saying nothing and looking at a loose end. I know better now than to say anything. It is better to let things run their course.

She always showers for far longer than normal, and then lingers in the bathroom. I am not sure if she is pampering herself, or it is all part of her ritual to build her mood and her courage. And it does take her courage. Despite the fact we have played out this little ‘game' several dozen times over the recent four years, Amy is always nervous, embarrassed, and unsure of herself at the outset. For whatever reason she needs to do it, despite the incredible humiliation it causes her. And despite my reassurances, I think, even after all this time, she still worries about how I might react, and what I may think of her. The reality is I do not understand her desires, or needs. But then we are all different, and have different needs. I do not try to rationalize. I am more than happy to play my role, and I must admit I have come to find it exciting, unpredictable, and more than just a little sexy.

Tonight I was only vaguely aware she had disappeared early evening to shower. I was focused on getting a business report finished and Amy had been watching television. If I had been more alert I would probably have seen the tell tale signs. She had given me lovely sloppy cuddles when she arrived home from work shortly after I did, had picked away at her dinner, and her conversation was somewhat distracted. Unfortunately I was also distracted by report deadlines and the work I had ahead of me for the evening. So on this occasion I failed to see it coming, which is unusual.

As I punch away at the keyboard in my computer room I sense, rather than see, that someone is standing behind me. I swivel in the chair to be confronted by an object of beauty. Even after all these years of marriage the sight of Amy standing there wrapped only in a towel immediately lifts the heart rate. Her short-cropped hair is damp and combed back, bringing a fresh innocence to her facial features. Her head is tilted to the side, and her hands are clasped together nervously in front of her. I quickly realise the signs, and mentally chastise myself for not picking them up earlier.

For a long moment I stare into her eyes, making sure I have not misread the moment. Amy responds with a nervous smile and a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders. There is no doubt what she has in mind. I briefly struggle with the dilemma of needing to complete my report in time for tomorrow mornings meeting. However it was only a brief struggle, and work commitments were never going to win the day.

I reach out both arms and invite Amy to sit in my lap. She immediately does so, and nuzzles her head into my shoulder. For several minutes she rests there, content, while I gentle stroke her damp hair.

Eventually I whisper into her ear, “You go and get your things and I will meet you in the study”. It is always the study we use. Not totally sure why. Perhaps because it is a smaller intimate room with bright coloured walls. It is Amy's preference of course. This is all 100% about meeting Amy's needs. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Amy continues to cuddle up on my lap, nervous about going the next step. Her petite body is alive and her skin flushed around her neck, and I hear her moaning gentle. I suspect if I were to reach down and touch her vagina at this moment I would already find her lips starting to swell and dampen. With my hands I gentle lever her to her feet, playfully spank her bottom, and point in the direction of the door. Without looking back she slowly shuffles out of the room.

I wait a lot longer than I need to. I have heard her open the door to the study, and know that she will be standing inside, waiting, full of apprehension, feeling humiliation at what she is about to do. But in the past she has confessed to me that she wants to be made to wait. I believe it gives her more time to psyche herself up fully into her fantasy, to regress into the sexual role she wants to play out. Amy needs. Amy needs.

After a full ten minutes, that I know to Amy will seem like an eternity, I enter the study. Amy is standing in the middle of room, still wrapped in the towel. The flush of her skin has now spread from her neck to her chest also. She has her hands clasped under her chin. As I enter the room her eyes lock onto mine. They are wide with intensity and apprehension. I lock into her gaze for a moment before glancing down at the carpet. At her feet I see the large fluffy towel carefully laid out. Beside the towel I see the talcum powder, baby oil, her favourite vibrator, and the adult sized diaper. The thought of what lies ahead makes my penis uncomfortably hard in my trousers, but I know there will be no release for me for a while yet.

My gaze gradually travels up, taking in Amy's lithe body as I do so. At 42 years of age, she is in her prime, and a sight to behold. She wears her naturally blonde hair short cropped to less than an inch in length. She is slim, 5ft 9inches, with pert breasts, and small nipples that go rock hard when she is excited. Despite her slim build her buttocks are full and tight. The sort that always seem to beg to be squeezed, spanked, or both. Her pubic hair is blond and absolutely straight. She shaves it very short, and combined with being blond it hides very little of her vagina. Not that I can see any of this at the moment as Amy's modesty is still protected by the towel around her body.

My eyes lock into her gaze again. I can feel the intensity in the room. After several minutes she breaks away from my gaze, looking around the room, then finally down at the towel. It is time to move on.

“Take off the towel, little one”, my voice sounding surprisingly calm.

Slowly she shakes her head from side to side.

I smile, trying to look reassuring, and then repeat the command

“Come on little darling, take off the towel”

I know she will. I know she wants to. I don't hurry her.

Eventually her hands move to the top of the towel and she loosens it. She holds it in place for a long moment before I hear her sigh heavily and the towel falls in a heap at her feet. She is, of course, totally naked.

Now it is my turn to dictate the pace. I take in her nakedness for several, long minutes. From the movement of my eyes she can see me take in her breasts. Her nipples are already hard, and the fact that I can see she is so visibly aroused will embarrass her. My eyes slide down to her pubic region. I can see the swell of her lips protruding from the short blond hair. I glance up at her and give her a knowing smile. I see the humiliation well up in her eyes. Her eyes are moist, and her bottom lip quivers.

I decide to give her a short respite.

“Turn around and let Daddy have a look at that tight little butt of yours”

She needs no second prompting this time, turning to face the far wall that contains our library of books.

That is one gorgeous arse. I fight off an overwhelming desire to grab her buttocks and pull her closely to me.

Referring to myself as ‘Daddy' is obviously deliberate. She wants me to do it. I use to find it very hard to call myself ‘Daddy' to my own wife, and although I still find it strange I happily do it during these fantasy charades. Amy has largely written the script over recent years, but I am a willing actor in our own X-rated live show.

Fortunately for Amy she does not know all the outcomes, which adds to the anticipation and ultimate pleasure.

Eventually I request she turns back to face me. I swear her body is almost glowing with sexual tension. Her skin is flushed, she has goose pimples, and her little nipples are as firm as rocks (and it is not from the cold as the room is very warm).

Again I take in her body. Amy has admitted to me in the past that although both of us frequently see each other naked, it is a totally different feeling to stand in front of someone who is fully dressed, even your spouse, and strip totally naked and stand there while they blatantly soak up your nakedness. I agree with her. I am not sure I would want to do it. But then my needs are different to Amy's. She does need it. Why? I am not totally sure, and I am not sure even Amy does. She has said it is a part of giving away her ‘adultness', whatever that means. And she also confesses to getting very turned on, despite the very real feelings of humiliation she feels at such times.

Eventually I quietly ask her to lie down. It is an invitation, not a command. And I know when she is ready she will comply. Amy steps onto the towel, briefly curling her toes into the soft material, before slowly lowering herself to a seated position, her knees curled up under her chin. Her arms wrap around her legs tightly. She looks vulnerable and unsure. I kneel in front of her, smile reassuringly, and wait.

Again the deep sigh of resignation, as if she is letting go of the natural inclination to not reveal herself any further, both physically and mentally. In a graceful movement she unwraps her arms and lowers her upper body onto the towel. She is hidden from me by her legs, which are still bent at the knees and tightly pressed together.

Gradually, almost imperceptible at first, Amy begins to move her knees outwards. Wider and wider they rotate outwards, and I delight at the first sight of her lovely blond tush. Soon she has reached the point where she has strained her knees to the widest she can go, The palms of her feet are touching together, tucked up tightly against her buttocks. Her vaginal lips are open. Her clitoris is engorged. It is a heady sight and I take it all in.

Amy has confessed to me that this moment to her is like an unveiling, a moment of release. It is a turning point. It takes her maximum courage to expose herself in this manner, and once she has done so it gives her the strength to continue.

We remain motionless, as if captured in a photograph. The exhibitionist exposed, and the voyeur enjoying.

I reach down and touch her vagina. She is warm and damp. Gently I stroke my fingers up and down, while my thumb encircles her engorged clit. She moans long and low. A primal noise of need. Amy's need. She strains to open her legs wider, but they are already as wide as her nimble muscles will allow her. Her buttocks rise off the ground, reaching up to me, asking for more. Her modesty and embarrassment now gone, replaced by a need to be satisfied.

I continue to stroke Amy, and I feel her orgasm building. But now instead of stroking her, the palm of my hand begins to spank her pussy. Very lightly at first, but the spanks soon increase in frequency and hardness. She fights to keep the momentum of her orgasm, wanting to come. But the stinging pain of the spanking on her pussy stops the orgasm in its tracks. Her hips remain in the air, her legs as wide open as is physically possible. She does not try to pull back. She is holding her breath, teeth gritted, nose and eyes screwed up as if in intense concentration. The only noise filling the room is the sound of my palm spanking her pussy with increasing intensity.

I begin to see the tears well up in her eyes. The spanking continues, slowing the frequency but further increasing the severity of each spank. Eventually she is crying, her breath coming in sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks. She can take no more, despite the fact she doggedly holds her pelvis up and legs wide open as if inviting more pain. I stop, but it takes several seconds to register in her brain that the spanking is no more. She lowers her butt to the towel, but her legs remain open, either in abject surrender or because she is too drained to close them.

I reach out for the baby oil, and gently massage it over her very pink pussy lips, soothing the tenderness I know she must be feeling. Initially I just rub her nether lips, but soon my fingers work towards her inner labia. Again my thumb begins to encircle her clit. The low moaning returns. I apply more oil and continue my ministrations, moving away from her clit if I feel she is working too close to an orgasm. I try to hold her close to the brink for as long as I can.

Her hips begin to buck up and down and her hands claw away at the towel. Amy needs. Amy needs. Amy needs!

I reach over and pick up her favourite vibrator, coat it liberally with her baby oil, turn it on, open her pussy lips with my other hand, and slide the vibrator in deep. Amy's eyes widen in ecstasy. She is literally in seventh heaven and I am sure a runaway truck could crash through the study and she would be totally unaware of it.

She quickly builds to her first orgasm, her pelvis held luridly high in the air, her calf muscles straining, her hands now balled into fists holding handfuls of the towel. She screams noisily. The first orgasm is quickly followed by a second. If the first orgasm was akin to a runaway bull, the second is more like a charging buffalo. For a little lady she makes one hell of a statement when in the throws of an orgasm. If only you could see it, I am sure you would be suitably impressed. I am sure the walls vibrate.

Gradually the second orgasm subsides and her sweat covered body lowers down onto a very dishevelled towel. Amy is well and truly spent. Gently I retract the vibrator, switch it off, and lay it at her side. She looks at me with a very satisfied expression, mouths ‘thank you', and closes her eyes contentedly. She needs a rest before we move on. Quietly I stand up, my legs stiff from kneeling all that time. And yes, something else is quite naturally stiff as well. But my time will come. I exit the room and close the door. I know she will soon be asleep, if she is not already.

Generally I will let her sleep for 30 to 45 minutes. I return to my computer room and attempt to refocus on the report I had been constructing. Not a chance. My mind is elsewhere. I give up and go to make myself a cup of coffee. I flick on the TV and channel hop aimlessly. I constantly glance at my watch, willing the time to race by.

Not before time, I see that thirty minutes are up, and I am impatient to continue. Amy may initiate all this sexual fantasy we are acting out, but you can see that I am a willing participant. My initial reticence has been replaced with a desire to play my role as if an Oscar was at stake. Improving on my performance with each curtain rise. Becoming more inventive, pushing the boundaries, and trying to keep an element of unpredictability in what I do.

I open the door to the study. Amy appears to have not moved since I left her thirty minutes earlier. I study her naked form from head to toe, before kneeling down beside her. I flick my finger gently over her right nipple, then the left. They respond instantly, even before Amy has opened her eyes. She smiles and reaches out to hold my hand.

“Come and have coffee with me”, I request as I stand up and pull her to her feet.

“Can I put something on first” she asks sheepishly.

“You know Daddy likes you naked little one”. She knows I will decline. I always do, but she still asks. She is genuinely embarrassed by the fact that I have called myself ‘Daddy', and that she will walk around naked in my presence. She looks down at the carpet and cannot meet my gaze. Holding her hand I lead her out of the study and down the hallway to the kitchen. All the curtains are closed, but still she looks around furtively, as if the neighbours are gazing upon her nakedness.

I make her a cup of coffee and hand it to her. She goes to sit down but I ask her to remain standing. I do not do her the same courtesy. I pull out a chair from the dining table and sit down directly in front of her. Her breasts and pubic hair are directly in my view. My gaze very deliberately travels from her breasts to her pubic region, over and over again. Occasionally I glance up into her eyes. She is clearly embarrassed, and her body begins to twitch nervously.

With some difficulty she finishes her coffee and places it on the kitchen table beside her.

“Right my little angel, it is time to move on”. Amy begins to walk from the kitchen back to the study, however I reach out and stop her in her tracks. She looks back at me, puzzled.

“The punishment will take place in here tonight” I add, trying to sound authoritive.

Amy is alarmed and unsure, but I place my finger over her lips in a clear sign that I do not expect her to question me.

I should at this point explain a couple of things to the reader. The first is that during these fantasy sessions Amy is spanked twice, but each of these spankings serve a different purpose. The pussy spanking she has already had is a necessary, and powerful, prelude for Amy to her orgasm. She has frequently told me the orgasms that follow the pussy spanking are some of the most intense she has had. Her second spanking is on the bottom. This is a punishment. If you ask for what misdemeanour, I do not know. To Amy, it is a humiliating, and painful, spanking. It hurts, but Amy needs it. Amy needs. Amy needs.

She has explained to me that during these spankings she feels like a teenager again, going over the knee of her father for a good old-fashioned hand spanking. Amy has confessed she was spanked as a teenager, right up until she was seventeen. Initially I was quite shocked, even angered by this revelation. But to be honest, it does not bother me now. Is this a root cause of her ‘deviant behaviour'? Who knows, who cares. Life is too short to analyse, particularly if the manifestation gives us pleasure.

The second thing I need to explain is that this bare bottom spanking normally takes place in the study with Amy draped humiliatingly across my knee. Tonight I plan to be different. This is the unpredictable element I like to introduce to an otherwise predicable script.

Amy's face continues to be masked with puzzlement as I navigate her to the dining room table. I move the chairs out of the way.

“Your behaviour, my little one, has been a lot worse than a father can reasonably expect from a young lady” I chastise her while staring directly into her eyes. She is concerned, uncertain, embarrassed, but I can read in her eyes she is also very excited. Uncertainty for Amy is laced with a surge of sexual enticement.

“Tonight you will be dealt with here in the dining room. I have a good mind to open the curtains.”

Amy's eyes are like saucers.

“In fact I almost think your behaviour is so bad I should invite the neighbours over to see you being naked and punished”

Amy's bottom lip drops and quivers. Her eyelids flutter. She does not dare call my bluff, fearing I might be nuts enough to carry out my threat.

“Now move over to the dining room table, face it, and open your legs as wide as they can go”

Amy does not hesitate to follow my instructions. Almost instinctively she puts her hips forward so that her pubic bone is resting level with the tabletop. I rest my hand on her back and slowly lever her forward. She bends at the waist, and lowers herself until her pert breasts are flattened on the tabletop. Not for the first time tonight I get a delicious view of her vagina, moist and puffy.

Amy groans, but this time it is not ecstasy, it is humiliation. She has never been in this position before; never had to expose herself in such a manner before. She is not emotionally prepared for it, and I expect she is downright embarrassed. At least I hope so, because I know this is what Amy needs.

I rest my hand on her bottom. She shudders

“Open your legs wider”

Amy obliges.

The spanking begins, but unlike the pussy spanking I do not start lightly. The first spanks are hard enough to take her breath away and she cries out. After ten spanks her bottom is squirming, trying to lessen the blows. After twenty she begins to close her legs. I command her to open them again, but I do not stop. She only half opens her legs, however I take sympathy. She is giving all of herself she can.

I stop after thirty blows. She is sobbing quietly into the tabletop. I let her recover for a couple of minutes, before helping her upright and leading her down the hall to the study. She is shaky on her feet so we move slowly.

In the study I smooth out the ruffled towel on the carpet and help Amy to lower herself so she is lying down on her back. I tap her knees and she raises them and once again ratchets her legs open so that she is exposed.

I pick up the talcum powder and sprinkle it liberally over her nether legions. I lift up her feet and push them above her. Her very red bottom comes into view, as does her tight little puckered anus. Nothing of Amy's body is private. I sprinkle talcum powder on her bottom, and rub it in with my hand. She flinches at the pain but doggedly holds her position without complaint. I lower her feet and as her bottom connects with the towel a brief cloud of talcum dust rises around her. It is a strange sight.

“Take a look at yourself little lady.”

Wearily Amy sits up and stairs down at her pubic region. Her blond hair is now totally white, as is much of her mid-drift. She is clearly humiliated by her unladylike appearance. She smiles sheepishly, but her eyes are transfixed on the talc-covered area of her body.

I reach over to the adult sized diaper. I have no idea where Amy gets these from. Obviously there is a store or website where they can be purchased. I unfold it, and slide it down under Amy's thighs. She winces as the diaper contacts her tender bottom, but she does not look away, as if to do so will break the intensity of the charade being acted out. Amy needs. Amy needs.

Without being asked she lifts her hips and I slide the diaper into place. She opens her legs widely for one more time, and yet again I take in the sight of her open labia before enveloping her in the diaper and sealing it with the little blue self-adhesive tabs on the side.

Amy started the evening as a mature married woman, became a recalcitrant teenager, and is now Daddy's little baby. It is enough to make a Psychiatrist's head spin in wonderment.

I allow Amy to soak up the sights and sounds of her regressed state of dress before taking her hand and leading her out of the study and off to our bedroom.

My thoughts wander back to when Amy first ‘came out of the closet as a sexual deviant', as we jokingly refer to it between ourselves. It was around four years ago.