Caning Marianne

This story takes place several months after “Meeting Marianne”, and the reader may wish to refer to that for a more thorough grounding in the characters.

http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600091103

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Caning Marianne
A story of growing closer

NOTE: this story contains opinions on parenting that you may or may not share. Do not flame me for them. All sexual activity in this story takes place between participants age 21 and older; if that sort of thing turns you off, don't read.

Your reviews are appreciated.

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My parents were out. They were visiting from New York, shopping, taking advantage of the relatively-warm winter we were having. Rebecca was at work – now that Lisa was four, and spent a good chunk of the day at preschool, we could both bring in an income and I could still be there to drive Lisa to and from school.

Marianne’s children were all old enough to be in school for the whole day. With nothing to do, she would join me for lunch some days, or if I had a lot of work to do on a contract, she might take Lisa to the park or the grocery store.

Those were usually the days she was trying to make up for distracting me in the morning.

I worked mostly in my basement. I had a nice computer set-up, and now that Lisa was old enough to need a playroom, it was handy to have it there. There was another computer next to it, one I’d put together for Lisa so that she could work, like Daddy. It was endearing.

The basement was halfway below-ground; our house was on a stepped property, so we could drive into the garage from the street, but to get to the backyard, we had to walk down the steps from the deck or leave through the sliding door at the back of the basement.

I liked the cold. I liked leaving the sliding door open while I worked. It also gave the dogs enough freedom to come and go as they pleased. They didn’t leave the yard – too well-trained – but it beat having to walk them every few hours when I was working.

Marianne kept hoping she could sneak up on me, but it wouldn’t happen. I could see the door from my computer set-up if I shifted my head to the right or left, around my main monitor. I really only needed one, but I was a geek. Two were cool, but three made me feel like I was working in a hyper-futuristic control center, even if I was really just designing websites, programming applications, and building Flash presentation.

Hey, the money was good. I couldn’t complain. And working from home beat the hell out of fighting traffic to get to an office, which is what I used to do before we moved here and I turned freelance full-time. Things were a little tough with Rebecca not working while Lisa was too young for school or day-care, but we managed.

Marianne helped with that, too. Not with money, but just by being a good friend to us.

A good friend. And more.

Marianne’s husband had been away for her 40th birthday – he was an auto show promoter, always busy, and we were pretty sure he was fucking one of his employees. We’d taken her and her family to dinner, given her several gifts, and later that night, had sex with her. I’d introduced her to anal sex – it was her idea – and Rebecca had gotten to indulge a fantasy of fucking another woman. For her birthday, we did her together.

Marianne wasn’t what one would call attractive. She was short and overweight. Great hair though, and a smile that lit up a room. Still, her breasts – not large enough to be called immense but pretty damned big – hung down lower than was fashionable; her middle was too round to be called a tummy; her ass and thighs were wide and, when she wasn’t bending over, wrinkled and lumpy. Her hands were small, fingers thick, and her arms had extra skin that shifted when she moved too fast.

To us – to me, and to my wife Rebecca – she was pretty. I had this theory – attractive is objective, but pretty is subjective. My friends might not think Marianne was attractive at all, but I think she’s pretty. She’s a good person and a good friend, and she has a sense of humor as black as my own. And she’s a good mom, if a little too reliant on spanking. But then, that comes from how she was raised – the middle child of five, always in trouble for something. I’d shared with her the one time I’d been spanked as a boy – by a friend’s mother – and she’d shared stories of her own punishments.

It was how we’d started all this in the first place. It was how Rebecca and I had gotten her to come to our house that night, how we’d gotten her to put Rebecca over her knee and spank her, how we’d gotten her to paddle and whip me until I was nearly in tears. It was how I’d learned she wanted to have her ass fucked, and how I’d been the one to do it to her after all those years of wanting it but never getting it.

“You busy?”

“Not especially.” I saved my project in Visual Studio and leaned back in my chair, cracking my knuckles and my back. “How are you?”

“Okay. Not sore anymore.”

“That’s good.” I stood up and stretched again before going over to the old couch – it had a blue sheet draped over it to hide the fact that it was stained and threadbare, though amazingly comfortable. Marianne sat down beside me, her right thigh touching my left, and I put my arm around her. “What’s up?”

“I finally got around to watching those movies,” she said, snuggling against me. She was very warm, even though it was only about 55 in the room with the door open.

“Did you?” I’d burned her a short stack of DVDs with a bunch of movies on them, and one additional DVD packed with interesting porn that I thought she might enjoy. Mostly stuff that the three of us had done together, either in pairs or as a threesome. “And that brought you down here at…” I checked my watch. “9:30 in the morning?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? It was on my mind. Besides, who’m I going to bother if not you?”

I squeezed her quickly in a half-hug. Her hair was heavy and soft on my arm, and I could feel the heat of her skin through the loose knit of her sweater. “You’re just lucky I’m not that busy this week. Business drops off after Thanksgiving, then picks up again before and after Christmas.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right, you also install computers. Sounds…”

“…boring,” I finished for her. “If you knew how many times I’ve had to explain to people that they need to run the cleanup utility I install, and how many phone calls or e-mails I get from people who don’t and then want me to clean viruses off their computers…”

“…I’d still not really know what the hell you’re talking about.”

I hugged her again, my fingers stroking her shoulder.

Her hand rested on my thigh, high enough that it made parts of me shift more than just infinitesimally. “So, about those movies…”

“About them?”

She stroked my thigh with her fingertips. I was wearing a pair of workout pants; the feeling came through them quite well. “What’s the attraction with caning?”

It had never been innocent, but I suppose I could say that it started innocently enough. Rebecca didn’t like to take me in her ass, and she didn’t like to spank me, not the way I wanted. And there was no humanly-possible way for me to become another woman and let her fuck me with a strap-on. She showed no interest in fulfilling that fantasy on my ass, so I shrugged it off and we moved on.

In the beginning, Marianne would come to our house and get the bag of toys. She would find new and creative ways to spank me. New and creative positions. And afterward, she would take off her clothes and bend over, and I would coat myself in lube and fuck her ass. At first we did it gently, but as she grew more accustomed to taking me there, she wanted it harder or faster, or she wanted it in right away rather than me easing my way past the entrance to the tight opening.

She started wanting it more and more. I found myself getting less work done because Marianne kept coming over and convincing me to fuck her ass. Not that it took much convincing.

And Rebecca got her own with Marianne, too. Marianne’s husband didn’t have sex with her anymore; he was rarely even home. Rebecca’s fantasy of using a strap-on on another woman filled that need of Marianne’s nicely. Between the two of us, she got enough sex to keep her glowing pretty much all the time.

It only took a couple of months for Rebecca and I to have a little chat about things. The original deal was simple: either Rebecca or I could do the things with Marianne that we wouldn’t or couldn’t do with each other. It was a handy way to get all three of us satisfied.

The problem was that Rebecca and I had never been satisfied with it just being about sex. We were together for months, and had already said “I love you,” before we ever had intercourse. That’s not to say we didn’t do other things, but by the time we got past kissing, we were pretty sure we were in love already, even if we hadn’t said it out loud.

As much as we both liked being with Marianne, we both felt like we were using her – we’d have our way with her, or she with us, and afterward we’d have lunch, or go for a walk, or watch her kids so she could see a movie.

“Do you think she’d be interested in more?” I asked Rebecca frankly. “She’s got her own family, her own life. Why would she want to be a part of ours?”

We were both naked on top of the covers; there had been sex, and now we were talking, as we were wont to do.

“I feel strange about it. Unclean, in some ways.” Rebecca had taught high-school English before she got pregnant and took a four-year leave. Sometimes she wore her glasses when she seduced me. “I wouldn’t go to a prostitute. Why should I treat Marianne like one?”

“We’re not treating her like a prostitute.” We’d had this discussion once before. “She wants to have sex with us, and we want to have sex with her. Simple as that.”

“Not really.” Rebecca turned onto her side, laid her hand on my chest. There were tendrils of black hair in her face, and she blew them out of the way. “Don’t get me wrong, I was elated that she fulfilled my fantasy, and absolutely blown away at how far she was willing to go.” To hear Rebecca tell it, Marianne had been so eager to be with Rebecca after that first time that the next time she’d practically ripped my wife’s clothes off. “It just feels more like an obligation now. Like I have to keep having sex with her.”

“I’m sure she’d love to hear that.”

“I’m not going to tell her. Not in that way.”

I sighed and took Rebecca’s hand by the wrist, bringing it to my mouth so I could kiss her fingertips. “All we can do is tell her how we feel.” I smiled up at her, and she kissed the side of my jaw. Her hair tickled my face when she did; she had a huge mass of black curls, impossible to tame. “If she wants to stop, we’ll stop.”

“What if she wants more?”

“Then she wants more.” I turned onto my side to face Rebecca, my hand on the bare curve of her hip. “We’re already unconventional. How bad would it be to have a third person in the relationship? An adult, I mean, someone who’s our equal, someone whose mind is already open to the kinds of things we do, would it be so bad to bring her into the family?”

“And her kids? Or Lisa? What would they say?”

I moved my hand up Rebecca’s side to touch her cheek. “You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Rebecca was perceptive enough not to take it as such. “I don’t know,” she said, worrying at the corner of her lower lip with her teeth. “I certainly like her a hell of a lot, and I love the idea of having her be ours. But what about her husband? Wouldn’t she have to divorce him? She doesn’t work, and she hasn’t since she had Tammy. Can we support her?”

“I see your point.” I thought a moment. “She’s married. She doesn’t date. If Barry wants to sleep with her when he’s home, fine. But somehow I don’t think he will.”

“It still makes me sad that she stays with him even though they don’t really care about each other anymore.”

“Nothing we can do about it. We make her happy, even if he doesn’t, and isn’t that all anyone wants?”

Rebecca leaned forward to kiss me. Her right leg came forward as well, the inside of her thigh smooth as she laid it over my hips. I felt myself perk up again, just a little. “Let’s do it,” she said.

“What, have sex again?” I looked down, then back up. “Might be a minute.”

She smiled, a quick flash. “That too. But I mean, let’s do it, let’s tell Marianne. Let’s make her ours.”

Now Marianne was ours. We both slept with her, together or separately, and sometimes not at all. It gave me freedom to expand her horizons, and I learned that she, like me, was something of a masochist. Or, at least, her endorphins rushed from pain the same way mine did. It was the way she liked me to fuck her ass that made me realize it, one late morning after she’d surprised me with a visit.

Marianne made it hard to ignore her. I told her I was busy, that I had to finish something, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. And, really, I’d known she wouldn’t. She’d come over wearing clothes that came off easily – a loose, long, button-down shirt and equally-loose skirt.

She insinuated herself between me and the computer, pushing my chair backward. As she dropped to her knees, she undid enough buttons for me to see the wide valley that was her cleavage. Kneeling between my legs after she spread them, she moved forward, lifting her breasts so they smothered my cock as it moved inside my slacks, rising, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to move her breasts, which were so large and so heavy that when she was on top, we had to be careful she didn’t cut off my air.

Now she was more interested in cutting off her own air. She opened my slacks and my cock, which I hadn’t bothered to adjust inside the fly of my shorts, came out thick and throbbing and she swallowed it into her throat in one quick motion that made me almost cry out. The opening of her throat was tight on my head, her tongue broad as it stroked, mouth warm and wet. One small hand reached into my slacks, found my balls, pushed hard on them.

I heard her gag a little as my cock shifted downward, and finally she had to pull away, gasping, a line of saliva connecting me to her lips. “You’re not too busy. Trust me.”

I nodded, breathing hard, and twined my hands in her hair, pulling her face back to me. “Not for that, no. Not too busy.”

Marianne went back to sucking on me, quicker now, loud slurping noises coming out around her lips as they pulled at my cock. She kept pushing on my balls, then squeezing, then curling her fingers underneath and thrusting them upward. She really did have the most marvelously strong hands.

And she knew when I was close enough to stop. She didn’t much care for me coming in her mouth – not because of the taste, which she didn’t seem to mind, but because if I came too hard, I would hit the back of her throat, and that had once almost made her throw up. Not exactly sexy.

Not that it mattered. She pulled off with one loud sucking sound that ended in a pop, then turned around and bent over my desk.

I needed no further invitation. I found the tie on the side of her skirt and, as I stood up, I pulled it free, letting it pool around her ankles. Her wide, pale ass was spread out before me, spread even more when she reached back, cheeks filling her hands, small thick fingers digging into the flesh, opening herself so I could easily see her opening. I was amazed it was still so tight-looking, a brown crinkled star shape, given how often I fucked her ass.

Though my cock was already slick with her saliva, I knew it couldn’t hurt to have more. I worked up a bit more of saliva and leaned down, dribbling it over her hole and using my fingers to spread it around.

She pushed back against me, groaning.

Then I thrust my cock into her in one savage, sharp stroke, and the groan became a wail that ended in an anguished, choked-off cry.

I’d heard it before. It was an expression of pleasant surprise, a noise that meant she would lose control of herself from the rush of ecstasy.

Marianne let go of her ass; her cheeks closed around me, and when I started to fuck her in earnest, my balls slapped her sex, my skin sticking to her for an instant each time before I pulled out.

She was breathing in quick moans when I brought my hand down and slapped her left cheek, hard enough to leave a handprint. It was the first time I’d ever done it that hard – sure, a smack here and there in the throes of passion, but this was a spank in the same way she spanked me.

Her ass clenched hard, and it took every ounce of mental fortitude I had not to spill myself inside her at that moment. Instead, I left a matching handprint on the other cheek, and when her moans got higher and more frantic, I realized I’d found something new, something she seemed to like but hadn’t expected to.

I lost track of everything: how many times I smacked her, how many times she came, what she was saying in those incoherent noises flying out of her mouth, muffled by my desk as she pushed her face into it, and even after I clenched up and growled and shot thick, hot streams of come into her ass, I held myself up with one hand and kept on spanking her with hard, measured strokes until I was too soft to stay in her and slipped out in one long, slick motion.

I fell onto my chair; Marianne stayed bent over the desk. I ran my fingers over her ass cheeks, which were covered in bright-red handprints set in relief amid a pink background.

I traced one handprint, and she sucked in air through her teeth.

“You all right?”

“Fine.” She was still breathing hard, body heaving. I gently spread her open, watched as my come dribbled out of her. I pulled a couple of tissues out of the box and pressed them to her opening. “What?”

“Don’t want you dripping that on the carpet. Do you know how hard it is to get it out?”

She managed to laugh a little. So did I.

“You said the marks were all gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see?”

Marianne nodded and got up on her knees on the couch, leaning on the armrest. I pulled down her loose cotton pants, leaving the waistband tucked under her cheeks. Sure enough, she was pale again, as white as the t-shirt I was wearing, the bruises from her first-ever paddling completely healed. I gave her a couple of gentle swats, then kissed the top of one cheek.

“If you’re going to do that,” she said, “I’m not going to lean on the armrest. I’m going to bend over the couch.”

This time the smack was slightly harder, enough to leave a pink blush. I moved back and she sat back down next to me, not bothering to pull up her pants. Just those few slaps to her ass had aroused me enough that my erection was easy to spot under the workout pants I was wearing. Marianne licked her lips. “Want me to do something about that?”

“Not right now.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why not? It’s not like you don’t like it. I know you do.”

“You asked me about caning. I wanted to answer you before you got too busy to listen.”

“Oh. Right.” She blushed slightly. She was getting better about not blushing; after being in the middle and getting fucked from both ends, I think there was little that actually could embarrass her. “So, what about it?”

I explained briefly about English schools and discipline in them.

“It looked really painful,” she said after a few moments of reflection. “All that force concentrated in that one little area.”

“I guess that’s the attraction,” I said. “Plus, there’s the whole role-playing aspect. Naughty schoolgirl, stern headmaster or headmistress, lift your skirt, drop your knickers, six on the bare, and so on.” I put on an English accent for that part.

Marianne grinned. “When you say it, it sounds sexy, not like a punishment at all.” She poked me gently in the ribs, then rested her hand over my pants, squeezing my cock through them. “Do you have any canes?”

“Hmm?”

A quick laugh, then a squeeze to get my attention. “Canes. Do you have one? I kind of wonder what it would feel like.”

I thought for a moment. “I know I don’t have any canes, but I might have something in the garage that would come close.”

“Go on up. I’ll wait.”

It took me about five minutes to find something. When I got back to the basement, Marianne was bent over the couch, on her knees, her pants around her ankles and her shirt pulled halfway up her back. From somewhere she’d found a rubber band to pull her brown hair back in a ponytail.

If that’s what she wanted…

“Why were you sent to my office, Marianne?” I put the accent back on.

“I… um…” She sounded like her mouth was actually dry. Maybe it was. “I talked back to my teacher.”

“And you were told what would happen if you did that again, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” She dug her fingers into the couch. “I was told I would get six strokes with the cane.” There was a tremble in her voice.

I had to improvise. I knelt on the floor beside her and showed her what I’d found. It wasn’t a cane; it was a wooden dowel maybe a quarter-inch thick, about three feet long. I’d bought it years ago when I needed an extra bit of wood to fix something on Lisa’s crib. The store would only sell me a four-foot piece before cutting it down, and I wasn’t about to let them keep the rest of it.

“Are you ready, Marianne?”

I tapped the dowel gently against the fullest part of her cheeks and she shivered.

“Marianne?” I dropped the accent. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” The tremble was still there.

“Very well,” I said, in character again. I drew the dowel back, measured my stroke, and took several slow practice swings. “Perhaps next time you’ll respect your teacher.”

I think she was about to play another line, but I cut her off by giving her the first whack.

Her shout of surprise and pain was so loud I had to look up quickly, make sure someone had shut the sliding door. Fortunately, she had.

Marianne had her hands on her ass, right across the bright-red welt that had risen in a long, straight line across her cheeks. She was shifting from side to side, her face pressed hard into the couch.

“You will remove your hands, Marianne, or you’ll get twelve instead of six!”

She instantly moved her hands and looked to the side. There were tears in her eyes. I looked a question at her, and she gave me an imperceptible nod.

Another stroke. Another instant welt. Another shout, this one higher and longer. She kicked her feet into the carpet, drumming her toes into the floor over and over.

The third stroke, an inch above the first two, right across the center of her ass. Another welt blossomed, and this time the accompanying noise was a muffled, high-pitched scream of agony as she pushed her face into the cushions.

I stroked the welts gently with the dowel until she turned her head. Her eyes were puffy, and tears were streaming from her eyes.

But she nodded.

The fourth stroke was right at the base of her cheeks, a little diagonal; her mouth dropped open and she screamed silently, punching the couch hard several times, her breath coming in hitches as her cheeks grew slick.

The fifth stroke I laid across the fourth, so there was an X across her ass, broken by the valley between her cheeks. Again she punched the couch, shouting expletives broken by her sobs.

I waited until the cries became moans before I gently laid the dowel just above where her ass became her thighs. She jumped, but said nothing.

I’ve been spanked and paddled enough to know this one would hurt the worst.

I drew back my arm; she clenched her fists, screwed her eyes shut, tears still leaking out.

“Are you ready, Marianne?”

She nodded.

Marianne’s fingers finally uncurled, letting go of my shirt, which was soaked with her tears. Her voice was hoarse, her face blotchy and red. “I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

I was still rubbing her back, holding her to me as we huddled together on the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She kissed my shoulder, then started to pull away. “Hot, but sure.”

I helped Marianne to her feet, gently pulled her t-shirt over her head – she’d taken off her sweater while I was up in the garage. She didn’t have a bra on – she rarely wore them if it was just going to be me or me and Rebecca seeing her – and I held her warm, naked body against me, her breasts pressed up to my body, so large that they rose above her shoulders like pillows.

“We’re not doing that again,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I know.” She stroked my arm. “That may be the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

She shook her head. “Just open the door. Let some cold air in here.”

I did as Marianne asked, and she got up on the couch, on her knees, leaning over the back of it. “How bad does it look?”

I moved closer, kneeling behind her. “May I?”

“Uh-huh.”

I ran the back of one knuckle over the lowest welt. Her skin was smooth above and below, the redness barely extending outward, but rough where I’d caned her, raised and puffy. She hissed and let out a small sob but didn’t move.

I traced all six welts with my fingertips. “You look beautiful,” I murmured against the side of her ass, at the end of one welt.

“Can I see?”

I had a digital camera on the side table; I turned it on and snapped a few quick shots, then handed it to her.

“Holy shit.”

“That bad?”

She turned her head to the side. “Actually, not as bad as I expected. It hurt a lot more than it looks like it did.”

I touched the lowest mark again. “You’re going to feel this for a long time.”

“I know.” I pressed gently on it and she moaned.

“I know this is probably a bad time to mention it,” I said, my mouth close enough to her sex that my breath ruffled the thatch of curls there, “but that erection I had before? Even harder now.”

“I can take care of that,” she said.

I moved back and sat on the floor. She got off the couch. “Lay down,” she said. “Take off your pants first.”

I pulled them off quickly and got on my back. My cock was as hard as it’d ever been, throbbing with each beat of my heart. I watched as Marianne stood on either side of me, then came down to her knees. Her sex filled my vision, her thighs hot and silky and suffocating – but in a good way – as she pressed herself to my mouth.

I needed no further enticement, though when her mouth closed over me, I had a hell of a time maneuvering my mouth and my fingers in concert. The benefit I received when two fingers, slickened with Marianne’s wetness, were pushed into her ass as I pinched that lowest welt hard… that all made it worth it.

Even more so when she reciprocated and I thrust into her mouth and clenched down on her fingers and what felt like one long stream of come filled her mouth as she ground onto me and hummed around me and flooded my mouth and face with her orgasm and we fucked each other with our fingers and our mouths until we couldn’t move, until Marianne’s body ceased to smother me in a good way and just grew too heavy for me to move.

Marianne and I have done this enough times that when we finish and roll onto our sides, our fingers stay where they are. Sometimes she massages me and I surprisingly get hard again; sometimes scissoring my fingers inside her gives her a nice little orgasm like the cherry on the sundae. But this time we were both too tired to even bother.

“We need to get up soon.”

“Why?”

“My parents will be coming back around lunchtime. I don’t think they’d understand.”

She pulled her fingers out of me; a bit of come dribbled from the tip of my cock. “You’re probably right.”

Marianne got up on her knees; my hand fell away from her ass, but I couldn’t resist giving her a quick slap to the back of her thigh. She squeaked and grinned at me.
I got to my feet, pulling my pants back on, then watching as she dressed herself. It was particularly enjoyable to see her adjusting the cotton across her ass.

“Hurts?”

“Yeah.” She gave me a hug, then grabbed my ass and squeezed hard. “Especially where you pinched me!”

I kissed her forehead. “I couldn’t resist. And you liked it at the time.”

“I did.” Her hands were soft as she stroked my arm. She turned and, as I hugged her back, my arms crossed at the wrists, hands caressing her breasts, she pressed her ass against me. “Hurts now though.”

I chuckled and kissed her hair, then gave her a gentle swat on the ass. “Go on upstairs. I’m going to check my e-mail and then we can have a drink or something.”

She started up the steps. “Don’t tell your parents I want to come to lunch with you. I won’t be able to sit down for hours.”

“If your ass is bare when I get up there, I’ll get some ice and rub it for you.”

That led to a quick fuck in the living room with Star Trek on in the background. We finished just as my parents drove up in their rental car.

Someday I’d have to explain all this to my parents. But as I introduced Marianne as “a friend who sometimes watches Lisa when we go out at night,” I was glad that day was not any time on the horizon.

***

Author's Note:

As someone who has experience with BDSM, I warn you to be very careful with caning. It can be dangerous and more damaging than you may want it to be. I have experimented with a wooden dowel, and the effects chronicled here are somewhat accurate -- I can't know for sure since the dowel I used was thicker than a quarter-inch. Anyway, if you're not 100% sure of what you're doing and how to use your toys -- official or improvised -- don't use them until you are.

The Marianne saga continues with "Reminding Marianne", found here:
http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600094069