At dinner, I could barely speak. I was rushing through the plan in my mind. I excused myself, and after helping clear the plates, pretended to go off to bed. Instead, I sneaked into her room, and hid myself inside her unused closet. I heard the nanny putting the children down for the night. I could hardly wait for her to step through the door. My penis was already growing inside my drawers. I gave in and rubbed it a bit through the material, but only briefly: I wanted to wait until I could see Ms. Anderson. It must have only been a minute or more before she walked into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Immediately, her fingers began working the buttons of her sweater and blouse. I could hear her humming that same song she used when she lulled the twins to sleep. She hung the sweater in her closet and then took her blouse down off her shoulders, tossing it on the bed. She was facing away from me, but the sight of the bare flesh of her back as it was exposed quickened my pulse. She reached back and unfastened the clasp of her brassiere. This, too, she tossed carelessly on the bed.
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Letting out a deep breath, she raised her hands and rubbed both of her breasts. Not in an erotic fashion, rather like letting them out after being confined all day in that tight brassiere. I shifted my weight slightly; this was the moment I had been waiting for! I slid my drawers down my legs, and took my willie in my hands. It was already stiff and pulsing as I began to rub up and down its length. Still humming, she moved toward the bureau and pulled out the stool. I caught another glimpse of her milky breast as it swayed when she bent to slide the skirt down over her hips. Now sitting in just her bloomers and silk stockings, she turned and began to take down her hair. I eyed her stockings, remembering the time I had stolen one from her laundry and used it to rub on my penis until I came off. What a mess I made of the stocking! I cleaned it as best I could, and then slipped it back in her laundry the next day, hoping she wouldn't notice. It was a tense week until laundry day came and went with no complaints. I shifted my weight again, and from my vantage point was able to see her back as well as her breasts in the mirror! I continued stroking myself, quickly, but silently. Ms. Anderson had finished letting her hair down and rose quickly, walking into her bath room. I waited until I heard the water tap start, and then opened the closet door quickly. I stepped out, drawers in hand, and tip-toed quickly towards the door.
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My stiff willie was pointing the way. I wanted to get into my own bed so I could finish stroking myself off! It wasn't to be. "Jared! You stop right there! What are you doing?" I turned to face Ms. Anderson. She was standing, hands on hips, and from the fire I saw in her face, fit to be tied. She was, however, still dressed in only bloomers and stockings. I tried my best not to stare at the swell of her breasts. "I'm just. . . I. . . " I was dumbfounded; and I was caught. "If your father were here he'd whip you until you bled.
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Or worse!" "Yes, Ma'am," I admitted. "You need to be punished, but this is nothing that can wait until your parents get back," she continued. My prospects suddenly brightened--she was right, my father would have skinned me alive. I was willing to take whatever she decided was a fair punishment if he never was to find out. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Come here," she ordered, and I dutifully approached, ever aware of the sway of her succulent bosom, and my still stiff penis. "You will be spanked. Over the knees, Jared. " I must have turned red as a radish--after all, I was fifteen! Nearly a man. However, I knew that I must succumb to her wishes, or I may never live to become a man once my father heard of the deed. I did as she instructed, my ass in the air on her lap, and my still-swollen penis trapped between her thighs. One of her stockings had slid down her leg, and the underside of my penis rubbed against warm, bare flesh, while the top was rubbing against the silk of the other stocking! I knew I was in trouble, but I could not help but be aroused by the situation.
She delivered the first slap on my backside. It stung a little, and brought me to the reality of what was happening. The second stung a little more, and I felt embarrassment wash over me.
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After a few more, the embarrassment got the best of me, and I began tearfully apologizing to Ms. Anderson. She delivered a few more swats, and then rubbed my crimson backside for a few minutes. Then she ordered me to turn over. I did as I was ordered, placing my head in her lap. As I did, she began scolding me again, telling me how bad it was that I was spying on her. She called me a "Peeping Tom. " Then she again surprised me by saying, "and I now can guess who made such a mess of my stocking last month!" She had taken the one that had slipped down her leg and was now holding it for me to see. I needn't have said anything. The look on my face gave it away. "I thought so," she said. To my surprise, however, she reached over, and tied the silk stocking around my balls! I looked up at her in astonishment as she began to stroke my stiff penis. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed! She looked down at me, still with that stern look on her face, and brushed her nipples across my face. I didn't know quite what to do, so I just put out my tongue and began to lick and suckle on her warm breasts. She continued to stroke me, increasing the tempo as I continued to explore her breasts with my mouth.
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My first taste of a woman's nipples, the silk tied around my balls, and the warm hand stroking my penis was all that I could take. I came off like a rifle, squirting the stuff high into the air in great, pulsing arcs. It landed on my chest, my thighs, all over the silk stocking and Ms. Anderson's hand, and some even made it to her breast! I lay in her lap whimpering, still under her soft cleavage, with her gently stroking my now slippery penis. She untied the stocking, and said, "We'll not let this happen again, Jared. Now off to bed with you!""Yes, Ma'am," was all I could say. .
