Our Corporal Reward

A SMALL FIRE CHUCKLES in the wide grate of their stately limestone fireplace, and candles glimmer at either end of the overmantel. The room is full of books in mahogany cases that rise from floor to ceiling, interrupted only by broad bevelled mirrors in each wall. These capture the light from the candles and the odd low lamp and multiply it. It is as if we are floating among the stars in a universe made of bookbindings and leather. At the fireplace, Mark leans an elegant elbow on the mantel and leans his fine head towards Flick, who fusses with her wine glass and giggles.
Mark is a very beautiful man, with skin as lustrous as the bookshelves and as smooth as the leather chairs. He is American, in the style of Obama and with the physique of a wide receiver, all axe-handle shoulders and narrow hips. I watch his slender strong hands as he expresses some point and watch Flick lean in, mirroring. Flick is my wife.

That snapshot of memory was taken just as Rebecca, his wife, touched my elbow and topped up my wine. Rebecca was as beautiful as he, though lush rather than lean. Where Mark is all angles and elegant lines, wry little smiles and raises of brow, Rebecca is full, rich and curved. I’d been ignoring her, oblivious, and felt suddenly nervous, and awfully rude.
“It’s OK,” she said, “don’t worry. I understand.”
And she folded her hand through my elbow and leaned her breast on my arm, and with her head on my shoulder we watched our two weave towards that comfortable place that will bring the start of the lesson.

It came abruptly, in a flurry of nods and my wife turned towards me and, equal parts blushing temble and teary smile she took my hand, and gasped “Thank you” into the crook of my neck. Mark took her other hand and gently took her to a leather armchair near the middle of the room and Rebecca drew me away to a sofa nearby. The furniture had been carefully placed. We had a perfect three-quarter view of the chair, and in the mirrors the rest reflected and reflected and a thousand Marks and Felicities filled the bevelled glass.
Flick knelt on the chair, facing over the back, her eyes finding mine in the mirrors. She bit her lip. Rebecca spoke in my ear.

“It’s best to start gently, particularly with a new bum.”

And Mark stood behind her and with both slender hands ran them over the curve of Flick’s beautiful arse, smoothing the tight fabric and pressing firmly.

“Start fully clothed and warm up from there.”

Rebecca held my hand tightly, and leaned against me, spare hand on my shoulder, red lips at my ear.
Flick was wearing my favourite dress, dark cloth with a print of grasses and flowers and bright jungle birds. It fitted her perfectly and Mark made the most of this. With hands squeezing and assessing, he explored her rump. It wasn’t long before Flick’s eyes lost mine and began to look inward, and her face grew quite flush, and Mark landed the first blow.
Though light it made a fine slap on her right cheek and Flick flinched and I jumped and Rebecca chuckled and Flick found my eyes again biting her lip. And so it went on, light slaps moving in circles on each side, moving outside to in, growing heavier, faster and as her hips sagged into her spreading legs and her head lay on the back of the chair, Rebecca whispered:

“She’s ready”

And Mark pulled up her dress. The dark fabric bunched at her waist and she thrust her rump in the air, perfect, pale and clad in light pink flowers – a bright contrast against the deepening colour beneath. She was a glorious sight and I could see how her knickers were seated in the crease of her cunt and the darkness of fabric already quite soaked. Mark returned to his stroking and Rebecca remarked;

“Tenderness too, in between.”

And as she said so, Marks hands swept across her buttocks from outside to inward and Flick gave a long-shuddering gasp as they pressed across the swell of her and down over bare thighs. At this figure-eight sequence her moans became rythmic and I watched entranced as with long loops and circles she followed his dance.
Rebecca’s hand was now stroking my neck and her breath was faster.

“See how she dances, it’s time to change up.”

And Mark grew rougher until with no visible change his strokes were light slaps, then sharp ones again. Flick’s moans grew to cries and she twitched and she swayed and I caught her eyes and saw the moment in them that he slapped her bare thighs. Rebecca eagerly kissed my ears and my neck, and between rubs and nibbles told me what was next.

“She’ll want them off, soon, and then if I’m any judge, she’ll want him to fuck her, can he fuck your wife?”

By then I was hard as I could possibly be, and her hand was atop it, just denim between, and I could smell her and smell Flick and Mark’s trousers were showing the shape of Mark’s dick, and as I watched too frantic to truly reply, Flick reached for her knickers, pulled them down to mid-thigh. And while Mark spanked her firmly from pink to bright red, my wife wriggled wildly, and pulled her dress overhead.
She was quite naked now apart from stretched soaking lace, and her hair was plastered with sweat to her face and in a thick voice that was hardly Flick’s she told him to wait and pulled a leg from her knicks. With the pink knickers now but a frivolous garter, she reached for Mark and pulled him behind her. Her fingers scrabbled at his belt and his flies and I felt an echo as Rebecca worked at my thighs.
She was kneeling before me as naked as Spring, an oiled dark brown goddess with a wicked white grin and easing my clothes over the tent of my cock, she lowered her lips and her head began to bob. So while Rebecca’s tongue swirled at the length of my self, I watched Flick undoing Mark’s trousers and belt.

The moments or hours that followed are a blur, more like music than memory. But I remember distinctly the sense of awe as I watched Flick strip Mark and saw them both naked, the contrast of skin tones, the black, the white, the red. The total abandon on her face. The beauty of her fingers spreading her own lips, spreading those peach-pink folds to accommodate his beautiful cock. The polished ebony heft of it, the knurled lavender swelling of the head. How gently he eased into her and the gurgling, animal noises as she came.

Click for further educational materials!


And click for some far more thoughtful writings than you’ll ever get here!


9 thoughts on “Our Corporal Reward

  1. Posy Churchgate says:

    Like Rebel, I very much felt a voyeur in this as if seeing it fragmented from a reflection in one of the many mirrors. Your light touch worked so well with the hot action. This is a teasingly erotic story.

  2. Indigo says:

    Even better on the reread! I love the way you work in the telling details that set the scene. Your eroticism is superb. And I love the latest drawing, the perfect complement. Thanks Quill xx Indie

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *