Cinema Erotica Read online

  “It was sick,” Steve had said, leaning against the wall. “But some of the scenes were so hot, I swear I was as stiff a board. Brenda was so wet, we couldn't wait to get home. I'm warning you…some of the scenes aren't for everyone, you know? But I guarantee, you'll see it, take Marsha home, and fuck her brains out.”

  Bob smiled as he signaled for his exit. He liked any excuse to fuck Marsha's brains out. Even as she sat beside him in the passenger seat, her eyes softly closed, he loved the way her face looked, the way she breathed and the lift of her breasts. She felt him glancing at her and opened her eyes, smiling. When he saw that smile, he felt the beginnings of a swelling behind his fly and grinned.

  “I know what you're thinking,” Marsha said. “Don't take too long with the sitter. I'll be waiting for you in bed.”

  “I love the way you read my mind, sweetie,” Bob said.

  * * * *

  Home was a two-story brick house with a huge, sprawling lawn. Bob pulled into the driveway and waited for Marsha to go inside and pay the sitter. The high school student came bouncing out, after what Bob knew was a night watching TV, eating the chips they always stocked for her, and chatting with her boyfriends. He drove her home, politely chatting. She used to linger a little while with him, stalling perhaps, or flirting, but he never gave her encouragement. He heard from other men about their affairs with various young women. College and high school students, tutors, babysitters, au pairs, and even a swimming coach. But he was never tempted to try something like that.

  He had a girlfriend at home, waiting for him.

  So he bade her a good night, avoiding her questions about how they liked the movie, and broke speed laws heading back home.

  By the time Bob had turned back into the driveway, Marsha had already checked on the kids, turned the thermostat down, and gone around the house making sure everything was all right. Mark, their firstborn, was asleep in a tangle of blankets, toys scattered all over his floor. At eight years old, he was just becoming interesting to her. She could see his father in him, and a little of herself, and she liked to watch him work things out for himself.

  Then there was Cathy, restless until her thumb found its way back into her mouth. At five, she was a real cutie, with her mother's curly blond hair and her father's laughing disposition. “You're going to break some hearts some day,” Marsha whispered as she worked her daughter's thumb out of her mouth. “If your teeth grow in straight.”

  She heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and smiled as she headed toward the master bedroom. She folded down the bedcovers and turned down the lights, casually killing time until Bob came upstairs.

  He paused in the doorway, a deliciously lustful glint in his eye, teasing her until she laughed. “Ready for me?” he asked, already unbuttoning his shirt.

  “More than ready.” She reached out to him and they hugged warmly. He took the bottom edge of her sweater in both hands and slowly pulled it up, over her head, and kissed her bare throat. While his tongue danced on her neck and around her ear, she purred and pushed his shirt back over his shoulders.

  “You're so hot, baby,” he murmured, pulling her tightly to him. “I want to sweep you off your feet and fuck you silly.”

  “Mmmm. If movies like that make you feel like this, we should go out more often.” She cupped his hardness with one soft hand as he wrapped one hand in her hair to kiss her firmly. When the kiss finally broke, they were both flushed with sexual warmth, and they moved together toward the bed.

  “Did you like the movie?” he asked, pushing her gently back and unfastening her skirt. “I couldn't tell.” He eased the skirt over her hips when she raised them off the bed, pulling her pantyhose down at the same time. He leaned over her to plant a kiss on her navel, then slid his tongue down to the ridge above her pubic mound, making her shiver in delight.

  “I…I thought some of it was hot,” Marsha said finally, as he tossed her clothing aside, leaving her in only panties, lying back against the bedspread. “You liked it.”

  “Yes.” He stretched out next to her and reached for her nipples with one hand, propping himself up with the other. He caressed one softly, watching and feeling it become erect under his fingers. “I liked a lot of it. But I like you more.”

  She gasped as he pinched her nipple, and let a moan escape, then rolled to face him, reaching again for the bulge in his pants. He suddenly grinned and moved out of her reach. She looked at him in surprise.

  “I think you liked it more than you're saying,” he whispered. “Tell me.”

  “You tease,” she said. Then she leaned up on one elbow and looked at him squarely. “Do you really want to know?” He nodded. “I liked the part where that woman in the miniskirt was all tied up and the man with the mask…you know.” Suddenly, she found herself blushing. But Bob seemed to find that as arousing as anything else that evening, so she moved closer to him again. “What did you like?” she asked.

  He avoided answering her for a moment. “You liked it when that woman was tied up and raped, huh?”

  “She wasn't raped! She enjoyed it. And it was so good…you could tell.” Marsha blushed again, both at the memory and the quick feeling of wetness between her legs as she spoke about it. “Come on, what did you like?”

  “I liked that part too,” Bob admitted. “But I also liked the spanking scene.”

  “Which one?” Marsha asked warily.

  He smiled. “All of them. All I could think of was how it would feel to lie under you while you rode me, and feel my burning ass against the bed.”

  “What?” Marsha sat up in surprise. “You want to be…spanked?”

  He sat up too. “Well, if I'm going to tie you to the bed, you should do something for me too,” he said seriously.

  She smiled through her amazement. “Would you really tie me up? Do you think we should?” Marsha asked, looking around the room. “It's so…kinky. I don't know…they seemed to have a lot of, well, stuff, in that movie. Paddles and things…and honey, what if I hurt you? What if you don't like it? What if the kids…”

  “Listen,” Bob took her hands in his and looked into her eyes, “You would never hurt me.” He kissed her again, slow and lovingly. “And,” he said, when they broke the kiss, “I bet we can find anything we need right here. I say we do it. If the kids didn't wake up the night we rented that Kama Sutra tape and tried some of those positions, they won't wake up now.”

  She giggled at the memory of that night, the pillows on the floor and the “love lotion” everywhere else. Then she looked at him again and nodded.

  “Good. Let's see…I'll go find stuff to use on you, and you find stuff for me. I'll meet you back here in…ten minutes?”

  “In ten minutes.” Marsha got up and threw her robe on, and purposefully left the room quickly. Bob chuckled, thought for a moment, and then slipped a sweatshirt on.

  * * * *

  Marsha found herself in the kitchen, standing in her bare feet and looking at the utensil rack. Once, when she had been small, her mother had used a wooden spoon on her behind. For what crime, she couldn't remember. She never struck her own children, but she did have a full rack of things her mother would have probably loved to utilize. She took one wide spatula down and swatted it against her hand. Instantly, she yelped. She would have to be careful. She took two more and went back upstairs, suddenly inspired.

  Bob slipped out to the garage, where he spent a few minutes uncovering the items in storage for spring. Coiled neatly in a net bag was about fifty feet of soft but strong clothesline. He sprinted back to the house and turned off the kitchen light that Marsha had left on, then softly walked upstairs. She wasn't in their bedroom. He briefly wondered where she could be, then stashed the clothesline under the bed. Waiting for her, he dug into one of her drawers and took out a silk scarf he had given her while they were still dating. It smelled of her, of her perfume. He tucked it under one pillow, then stripped off the sweatshirt and his shoes.

  Marsha was tiptoeing t
hrough her son's room, looking for a bright red box she had noticed earlier. When she found it, she opened it silently, and felt around inside for what she was searching for.

  One scene in the film had depicted a caning. Marsha remembered flinching as she watched little lines form on reddened skin. While she was standing in the kitchen, she had been wondering if the handle of a wooden spoon would work like that. It seemed too hard, too thick and brittle. The cane in the movie had been whipper-thin, and so supple it could be bent into a circle. Then, she suddenly had a flash—there was something in the house like that—the wand from little Mark's magic set.

  She pulled it out with a flourish and quietly left the room. Her last visit was to the hall closet where she stored the summer items. There, in a box with a pile of white plastic balls, were two matching ping-pong paddles. She took one.

  If he wants a spanking, she thought, good-naturedly, I'll give him a spanking he'll never forget. As she headed back to their bedroom, she had a moment of doubt. Could she really do this? Hit her husband on his bare butt, hurt him and make marks on him? Would he really like it as much as the handsome actor did in the film?

  A sudden wetness between her thighs gave her the answer. Whatever Bob felt when it actually happened, she was turned on by the very thought. Even if it didn't work, she would end up tied to the bed with his big cock slamming into her welcoming pussy. She took a deep breath and walked into their room, holding her handful of improvised implements.

  She was surprised to find him already there, his bare chest quietly rising and falling in the deep rhythm that signaled a strong but quiet turn-on. He was standing by their bed, still wearing his dark slacks, his feet bare. He immediately noticed her burden and came forward to help her.

  “No.” She stopped him on an inspiration. “Just stand there, exactly like that. And remember, this was your idea.”

  Bob grinned and stood still, watching his wife empty her armload of objects onto the bed. Carefully, she separated them and laid them out next to each other, arranging them in what she felt was an order of severity. As she did this, she glanced around the room, trying to figure out what Bob had brought. To her dismay, there seemed to be nothing different about the room. What is he planning to use, his ties? She frowned slightly, more than a little annoyed. Couldn't he think of anything?

  When she glanced at him again, he was still grinning, and she realized her disappointment at his seeming lack of preparation could be used in the game they were about to play. Not returning his smile, she stood straight and asked quietly, “Do you expect to take your spanking over those pants?”

  Bob noticed the swift change in mood, and stammered. “Uh, well, I guess not. Do you want me to take them off?”

  “No.” Marsha got another inspiration. She sat primly at the edge of the bed and straightened her robe over her thighs. “I want you to drop them to your knees and drape yourself across my lap.” She half expected him to balk. This wasn't exactly what had happened in the movie, and she didn't think it was what he had bargained for. But her fleeting doubt was banished in an instant. Behind the dark material of his trousers, Bob showed her proof that he found what she was doing exactly right. As he moved to her side and ran the zipper down, his cock was hard and curved against his stomach, trapped by his clean jockeys. He started to run a finger around the waistband of those too, but she stopped him again.

  “Just the pants,” she said, a surprising hoarseness in her voice. She loved the sight of him, erect yet contained, and wanted to keep him that way for just a little while longer. Without showing any disappointment, he did as she told him and pushed his pants down around his knees. Then, a little awkwardly, he bent forward over her lap, and shifted his body until he found a position he could stay in. She felt his manhood tight against her thighs, and was glad her knees were close together. If they weren't, she would have actually dripped on the floor.

  Marsha took a deep breath and examined her husband's ass and the backs of his thighs. She ran her hand lightly across his cloth-covered ass, and he shivered against her, a delightful sensation. She tickled the hairs curled on his legs, and ran her fingers across his taut muscles. He wasn't the college athlete she had married, but he was a strong man, in good shape. Having him across her lap and in her power was a thrill.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a little more assured.

  “Yes. God, yes!” Bob's voice sounded strained, and it wasn't just the position. Marsha immediately knew he was having the same emotional charges that wracked her mind, and in response, she raised her hand and slapped it once against his ass.

  The thin cotton muffled the sound, but the sensation was amazing. Bob jerked under her hand, and ground his still-hard cock against her legs. The slight sound he made was like a sigh. Marsha raised her hand again and struck the other cheek, and Bob's reaction was the same. This is easy, she thought, delighting in the game. She began to spank him regularly, first one cheek, then the other, until he began to squirm.

  Bob was trying not to lose control. The details of making up his mind to ask, asking, then planning for this had kept him too busy to really think about how it was going to feel. It was wonderful! His hot dick was pressing against Marsha's lap, feeling ready to spurt every time she whacked him. The position he was in raised his ass up and tightened his balls against his body, causing sweet torment with every move. And Marsha was enjoying it. He could tell by the way she aimed her swats and kept pausing to run her fingers across his ass. Pretty soon, he wouldn't be able to hold back. He tried to think about other things, tried holding his breath, counting, thinking about work. Nothing was working.

  Then Marsha stopped. He relaxed his body for a moment and panted.

  “That's hard work,” Marsha commented, shaking her hand out. “Maybe we'd better switch tactics.” She reached for the line of household objects on the bed and picked up the wooden spoon. Aiming carefully, she brought it down sharply at the very center of his ass.

  He yelped in shock, and jumped. That thing hurt! Marsha reacted to his reaction by pulling back, thinking she had gone too far and had really harmed him. “Oh,” she started to say, “did I…”

  “I'm all right,” Bob said. “It just surprised me.” That was true; the sensation was already fading away. “Go on…please.” Impulsively, he bent further and kissed her calf.

  Marsha hastily rubbed her husband's butt where the spoon had hit him and smiled as she felt his lips against her leg. Then, she abandoned the spoon and picked up the ping-pong paddle, judging it to be too wide to cause such a sharp pain. She was right. The first smack with the paddle made Bob nestle firmly back into her lap, and fairly purr with satisfaction. She used it for a while, liking the feel of the broad paddle against his ass. Liking the way it pushed his cheeks forward, and loving the feel of him rubbing his cock against her again.

  She stopped long enough to hook her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pull them down to his thighs. His ass was slightly reddened by her attentions. She couldn't resist running her fingers across the redness, and he shivered again when she did that. She laughed, and used the flat of her hand again, spanking him with enthusiasm.

  When her hand was sore again, and he showed no sign of wanting to stop, she used one of her spatulas, making small, rapidly reddening marks all over his butt, until she sensed it was too harsh for him. She switched back to her hand for as long as she could stand it, then picked up the magic wand. For effect, she swished it back in forth in the air above him.

  “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

  Bob felt ready for a repeat of the invasion of Normandy. He felt he could lead it, too. His butt seemed to be afire, an all-through warmth that had alternately wilted and strengthened his prick until he could barely stand the sensation. It was almost free now, the head poking out of the pushed-down waistband, and nestled against the flesh of his wife's thigh, where her robe had been pushed aside. He lifted his ass a little more, and, knowing what he was doing, Marsha parted her
legs, allowing his cock to edge neatly between them. It sprang free of the confines of the shorts, and Bob gasped as he felt the heated moisture that had been trapped inside Marsha's tight delta. If nothing else, her arousal made him even more eager to shoot his load, but he wanted to do that inside her, while she was tied down. That image almost pushed him over the edge, but he didn't want to stop. He remembered the caning scene too, and he wanted to feel that wand.

  “Keep going,” he whispered, bracing himself.

  Marsha raised her hand and brought the wand sharply against Bob's upturned butt. The black plastic whistled as it flew, and left an immediate white line behind it when she pulled it away. Bob's body jerked against her, and his breath expelled in a gasp, but he found the strength to say, “Yes, do it, keep going,” fearing she would stop. Made bold by his plea, and excited by the sensation of his manhood trapped between her thighs, she did as he told her and left another white line, and another. These lines rapidly turned red as they added up, and before long, his entire ass was a crosshatching of red and white lines. He squirmed and wiggled against her, biting the inside of his lip, trying desperately not to come. But he had to; his balls were full, and the strain of holding back was unbearable.

  “Oh, Jesus, oh God…Marsha, I'm gonna come, you sweet bitch, you're making me…” He gasped and felt the explosion build.

  Marsha heard him, and dropped the wand in her excitement. Not knowing what to do, she tightened her thighs around him and hit the underside of his ass with her bare hand.

  That did it! Bob came like a roaring freight train, bucking against her lap, and holding onto her leg. His come spurted out of him, hot and thick, splattering her legs. He had never looked at his cock when he was coming, at least not from this position. The tension on it, trapped between her satiny thighs, was too much. Out of breath and slightly out of his mind, he could only whimper and stretch against her.

  She understood immediately, and opened her legs again. The scent of her own arousal was overwhelming. Bob just relaxed and allowed his body to roll off her lap, hissing when his ass touched the bare floor.