Reminding Marianne

“Reminding Marianne”

A short vignette in the “Marianne” universe.

For more Marianne, check out "Meeting Marianne" (http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600091103) and its sequel, "Caning Marianne" (http://original.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600093893).

***************************

There is a greenbelt behind Marianne’s house. Not behind mine; mine has some trees, but through them is another person’s backyard. Hers, though, backs up to about a mile of trees before hitting a tall wooden fence that blocks nature from the Publix plaza we both shopped at. It’s nice to walk through, and with the mild winter, it’s easy to pull on a jacket and bike over to Marianne’s house, and then convince her to take a walk with me.

I didn’t used to like walking. But I found myself gaining weight – more work, more exposure, less time to jog, more meals at my desk – and wanted to start exercising, at least a little. Hence the walks through the woods.

I wondered if Marianne thought the same thing. I make no bones about it, Marianne is somewhat beyond overweight. Not that that makes me care any less about her. Not that that makes me any less inclined to fuck her. She’s just Marianne.

If she wasn’t, our walks in the woods wouldn’t be so much fun.

There was the perfect tree in the greenbelt. It had little broken-off stubs that had once been low-hanging branches. They were perfect for grabbing onto. We’d discovered that about halfway through December, and shortly thereafter the spare mattress in our basement found its way out to that tree. Marianne bought a tarp for us to wrap it in, just in time for a massive rainstorm that soaked the ground and made my sneakers sink nearly an inch into the mud.

Not today. Not recently. The ground was dry, the air cool and crisp, the sun filtering through the trees on an angle that just screamed late morning.

I’d sent Marianne an e-mail before going over to her house, suggesting that we play a little. I’d mentioned a story she’d told me, one about when she got a whipping from a neighbor with his leather belt.

When I got to her house and she was wearing a pair of jeans, I couldn’t hold back my smile.

“Why did you do that, Marianne?”

“Do what?” Her eyes were downcast, and she scuffed a toe in the dirt.

“You spanked your little sister.”

She nodded.

“Why, Marianne?”

She looked up at me, defiance in her eyes. “She was being bad. She deserved it!”

“I’m supposed to be watching you. If she’s misbehaving, I’m the one to punish her, not you. Is that clear?”

“Y… yes, sir.”

“I think you need a little something to remember that lesson.”

Now her eyes widened. “No, please! I’ll be good, please don’t…”

I shook my head once as I unbuckled my belt and pulled it slowly out of the loops of my jeans. Tears filled her brown eyes and spilled down her cheeks as I folded the belt double and snapped it.

“Please…”

I pointed to the tree. “Turn around, and stick your butt out, or I’ll tell your parents, and then you’ll just get it again when you get home.”

“Oh, God, no, please don’t.”

“Then do as you’re told!”

Marianne plodded over to the tree and gripped the branch stubs tightly. They were at a height that she didn’t really have to bend over that far, but she stuck her ass out at me.

I just looked at it for a second, slapping the belt against my palm. I loved doing things to her ass – my hand, my tongue, my toys, my cock, whatever we were in the mood for. And I loved even more that she was willing to do just the same to me.

But today wasn’t my turn.

I stepped up beside Marianne and took a couple of practice swings. The belt made soft noises as it bounced off her bottom.

“You going to be good and not spank your sister again?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

I whipped the belt around and it cracked sharply across the middle of her ass.

“What did you say?”

She opened her mouth and I whacked her again.

“Yes, sir!” This time it was a shout.

“Good.”

I laid into her over and over, five and ten and fifteen and twenty fast and hard, giving her a good, old-fashioned whipping, until her sobs were louder than the sound of the spanks. That was when I stopped and tried to pull her into a hug, but she just pushed me away.

“Marianne?”

“Your… your turn now…” Her voice was a little choked, but she got out of the way and yanked the belt out of my hand.

I guess it was going to be my turn. But when I bent over and grabbed the tree, Marianne’s arms came around my waist and undid my jeans, yanking them and my shorts down around my ankles. My cock was hard – and she did give it a couple of strokes – but the air was cool enough that I felt my balls tighten.

Marianne drew her hands down over my ass, spreading my cheeks and blowing between them. I shuddered, and she smacked me.

I felt her lips on my ass, then her tongue stroking the place where it met my leg, before she moved back and got up.

Marianne had spanked me plenty of times, paddles and belts and slippers and her hand. This wasn’t the hardest. It wasn’t the worst. But each and every time she slammed that belt into my ass, I made some sort of noise. First it was grunts or gasps, but as she went on, tireless, I started moaning or yelping a little.

My ass was on fire, probably quite bright red, when she knelt behind me again. I was warm enough that my balls were relaxed, hanging down under my cock, which was thick and throbbing. I felt her hand – warm from her exertion – wrap around the base of cock and my scrotum, and I jumped when she brought the leather against my balls, which she’d tugged on to make them stand out.

“Marianne, what?”

“Shh.”

I had to stand there and take it. I was afraid to move. She tapped my balls ten times with that belt, and each time I felt a jolt of pain and ecstasy.

Her mouth covered my balls after that, and I only felt ecstasy.

“I want you,” I managed to choke out as Marianne’s lips and tongue caressed my balls.

“No,” she said. “We can’t.”

“What?”

“Period.”

“Oh.”

I must have sounded disappointed, because she ran her hands over my ass, squeezing it. She kissed my balls. “Doesn’t mean we have to stop.”

I was going to ask, but I heard her spit into her hand, then do it again. Her hand went around my cock, slick and warm, stroking slowly from head to base. I already felt like exploding, but when I tried to thrust against her hand, she squeezed hard. “Wait. I’m not finished.”

I felt Marianne’s small, thick fingers spread my cheeks and she spat again. Her aim was exceptional – I remember getting laughed at in summer camp because I couldn’t spit, but Marianne would never have been ridiculed for that.

I’m glad her aim was good. An instant later, as I felt her saliva slicken my ass, I groaned loud enough to shake the tree. She’d shoved two fingers into my ass, to the hilt.

I might have been saying something. I don’t really know. All I remember is intense, overwhelming pleasure as she pumped her fingers in and out of me and pumped my cock harder and faster, moaning with me until I let out what had to be an earth-shattering yell as I spurted thick, hot streams of come over the tree bark, the roots, Marianne’s hand, her fingers tight as my come poured out onto her fingers as she pumped just as hard and as fast, not letting my cock relax, milking it until the last dribbles had soaked her knuckles.

Only then did she let me go. She didn’t remove her fingers from my ass, but when I looked back, slumping against the tree, she was licking my come off her hand, her wide, flat tongue scooping it off in large strokes. I watched her throat shift as she swallowed.

“How’s your ass?”

She shrugged. “Probably not as bad as yours.”

“Dunno. Show me?”

Now she did have to take her hand back, but not before scissoring her fingers – both of them hitting my prostate, making me groan and press against the tree, not even close to minding the roughness of the bark on my rapidly-softening cock. She idly wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans, then undid them and pulled them down, flipping her underwear – Marianne wasn’t much for sexy underthings; these were a pale, washed-out pink in a style known nationwide as “granny panties” – so I could see.

There were several fading red stripes still painted across her broad, white ass cheeks. I couldn’t resist; I smacked her right cheek hard enough to leave a handprint.

She twisted around but couldn’t see any marks at that angle. “Yours looks like the monkey-bars,” she said, chuckling. “Only closer together and a hell of a lot of them.”

I managed to pull up my pants, wincing as my clothes scraped over the welts on my ass. Marianne had a far easier time of it.

We walked hand-in-hand back to her house. We both relished what we were feeling, although I was sure I’d taken the lion’s share of both pleasure and pain. My ass was hot enough to shoot knives of warmth up my spine. By the time we got back to the house, I was hard again.

Marianne noticed. In the foyer of her house, she pushed me up against the wall and yanked my pants down and treated me to a blowjob that had me weak-kneed before her hand went back to my ass.

This time when I came, she gulped it down without hesitation, my cock pushing the top of her throat as it spurted, her fingers shoving forward, finding the spot where it would do the most good.

In that moment, I regretted that I couldn’t do the same to her. Even if it wasn’t her time – and honestly, at that point, I might have fucked her anyway – I was so insensate that I barely managed to stumble to the living room and collapse on the couch, pants still around my ankles.

When I woke up, there was a blanket over me. I sat up, relishing the needles of mild discomfort wherever my ass hit the upholstery. The note on the coffee table said Marianne had run out to pick up her dry cleaning, and she’d be back in ten minutes with lunch.

She whipped me, sucked me, and made me lunch? I should remind her of her punishments more often.

***************************

Reviews are welcome. Encouraged, even. And enjoy my other stories.