They had been arguing all day long about the most trivial matters until it had grown into a full-blown shouting match. As usual, he retreated to his lair in the den, plopped down in front of the television and opened a beer, planning to make his own dinner out of beer and leftover pizza.
The funny thing is that neither one of them could remember what they were fighting about in the first place. It couldn't have been all that important, except that, somehow, it had become important for each of them to "win" the argument, even when they no longer remembered the substance of the thing.
As usual, one hundred channels and there was nothing on. He settled on talking heads arguing politics and picked up the newspaper. When he was reading the world outside ceased to exist. She had come to understand that little part of his personality. He literally did not hear what was being said to him when he had his nose in a book or in the newspaper.
For her part, she had retreated to her garden for a while, watering the potted flowers, inspecting the roses for aphids, pulling up an occasional weed, but her heart wasn't in it. "What was that all about?" she asked herself. She remembered it had something to do with him never listening to her and her never respecting his opinions on anything. The fight was all a blur, but she felt inside that if that she did nothing it could be more than that - much more. And, as she well knew, she couldn't count on HIM to reopen the dialogue. He would be sitting in that ratty chair in the den, drinking a beer and sulking. It was up to her to make the first move. But, what?
As she was showering away the grime and sweat and nastiness of the day, she was absent-mindedly shaving her armpits when she had an inspiration. This time, when she shaved her legs, she decided not to stop at the thighs, but to keep going. She had never done this before, and it felt somehow nasty and thrilling at the same time. She worried about cutting herself, so it took a while, but when she finished she admired herself in the mirror and touched her freshly shaven snatch. "Not bad," she mused. And, she decided on her course of action.
She found him exactly where she knew he would be, with two empty cans on the coffee table at his elbow. The Sunday paper was in a heap of inside-out sections, thoroughly read, even the Living section he usually just sniffed at as though it were beneath his manly brain to stoop to read about spring fashions and the benefits of breast-feeding showed signs of being used.
It was easy to sneak up from behind because he was so engrossed in a story about how often to change furnace filters. She was dressed in his favorite teddy and high heels, and her perfume filled the little room. It would have announced her entrance if he had been paying attention, which he wasn't, really, although somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain he suddenly had a vision of her laying across the bed, looking up at him and smiling. He rattled the newspaper, and felt her hands on his shoulders, massaging him gently.
"I'm sorry, babe," she started. "I feel so silly getting into such a fight about nothing."
He wasn't quite sure where this was going, but he wasn't about to ruin a good neckrub. The paper fell to his lap. He had to think of something to say, so he grunted.
She strolled around to the front of the chair, and with exagerrated movements settled her backside half on his lap and half on the arm of the Lazy Boy. His eyes were fixed squarely on her face now - well maybe not just on her face - as he took in the whole scene. A smile rose from his lips to his eyes. "I'm sorry, too." He didn't know why he was sorry, really, but he wasn't taking any chances.
"You're right," she announced. "I don't give you the respect you deserve. You work hard all week, and you deserve for your home to be a refuge from the outside world. I've been very bad." She let that last word sink in before continuing. "How can I ever make it up to you?"
Now they both knew how she could "make it up to him." He patted her rump. "I think we can find a way." He pulled her closer and kissed those lucious lips that had attracted him the very first time they had met. She slid down off of the chair and handed him his wide cowboy belt that he wore on "special occasions" when he wanted to think he could have grown up to be a cowboy if only he had grown up in Texas or Oklahoma instead of the flatlands of Indiana. He stood up and pulled her into a positioin over the arm of the chair with her rump at just the right height for his hand.
"Wait a minute," she started. She was having second thoughts, but they had gone too far for that, too far to back out now. He was in the heat of the moment as he rubbed her gorgeous ass. She tried to get up, but he had her pinned down with the weight of his arm. He felt the heat rising within him as his hand began a slow, methodical tatoo from one side of her ass to the other, bottom to top and back again. She began to squirm to avoid the blows as they began to pick up the pace, hard now, insistent, punishing. Her cheeks were blushing pink - all four of them - as he turned to seize the belt.
"Stop it!" she was hollering. She hadn't meant - not really ... But, he was beyond listening to her cries for reason as the belt came whistling down across both cheeks at once. The pain was nothing compared to the sound. She knew now she was in for it, a sound thrashing. The red spread as the belt did its job, falling again and again. By the fourth time, the blows were so hard she rose off her feet. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she began to sob and argue, trying to reason with him. "You're being too rough! You're hurting me! I hate you!" But, he couldn't stop now. Her teddy was hiked up to her armpits, and her ample tits were swaying back in forth in time with the belt. Ten, twenty, thirty times it rose and fell, fast and hard. Her ass was aflame, and she felt that old, familiar stirring deep within her. She began to relax, even, in tune with the spanking, going to that place where she hadn't gone in so long.
He stopped to admire his handiwork for a moment and lifted her up by her arms. She was sobbing, broken, and so very, very turned on. "Fuck me, daddy," she whispered. "Fuck me here! Fuck me now! Take me hard and deep!" She had her hands on the front of his pants and knew that she was about to get exactly what she wanted. She had his pants off in a flash, and squatting before him, she worked him into a frenzy with her lips and tongue. He pushed her away, gently now, and laid her across the arm of the chair again. Now, it was his turn, as he showed his appreciation for her sacrifice with his tongue and his fingers, kissing her upturned ruined bum, exploring the space between her thighs, hot and wet and ready for him. His tongue was everywhere, licking and poking and stroking. He sucked her clitoris between his lips and felt her shudder. His hands stroked her nipples and pinched them hard as he stood and slid himself into her - warm and tight. He stroked into her, holding her hands behind her to drive his mindless member deeper into the warm sweetness that she had become. She moaned and panted, feeling him in her, against her, above her until with a squeal her tension was released. She bucked against his thighs and felt him explode deep inside of her, hot and sticky.
Neither one of them wanted to move, but finally he pulled away, shriveled and spent. They embraced hard, as if they wanted to become one person instead of two, wanted to share the exact same space in the universe. His hands massaged her burning cheeks as they hugged and kissed and explored one another with their tongues. As the moment passed, she smiled up at him. "Maybe I'll just have to pick another fight tomorrow."
I loved this story, I hope you will all leave a comment to thank our author this week. Anon, thanks again and please keep writing. Now for the rest of you, let me guess – this is not you most relaxing time of the year? If you don’t have time to write spend your time fantasying in your mind or trying new spanking ideas for real. Then when you get time you can write the next Fantasy Friday for us! Send any stories to email@example.com