Even now, it still surprises me that I was able to go eighteen months with barely a thought to sex, yet in the two weeks following that “morning after” conversation with Brenda I could think of little else. I was in a weird place, and those two weeks both clarified and confused my feelings.
I know part of it was that I hadn ’ t had an orgasm in nearly two years, and the last one I had was more or less an accident. My husband hadn ’ t really been trying at the time. It just sort of happened. My abbreviated attempt at masturbation after Brenda ’ s spanking was more the exception than the rule. I ’ d never really done that on a regular basis. Essentially, over the last few years I ’ d become asexual.
Brenda awoke something in me that I ’ d forgotten. And now that it was awake, it wouldn ’ t go back to sleep. And this is where my mind started working overtime. I wanted to please her so much. I worked very hard around the house; cleaning, doing laundry, running errands. But my desire to please was counterbalanced by the fact that the sum total of my recent sex life was a single spanking that left me constantly aroused. As the month of May drew to a close, I ’ d fallen into a comfortable routine. I ’ d actually begun to feel halfway normal. Well, as normal as one can be when you ’ re having fantasies about your own sister. I suppose that the idea of an incestuous lesbian b/d affair should have bothered me. Putting aside the facts that I wasn ’ t a lesbian and I wasn ’ t actually having an affair, I convinced myself that they were just fantasies. I ignored the very real possibility that the basis of these fantasies would come true quite soon. And so it was that at nine o ’ clock on a Thursday evening I was in my room surfing the internet and catching up on my e-mail when I heard Brenda call me from the living room. As I saw her sitting primly in the center of the sofa, my gut tightened. With halting steps I walked over to stand in front of her. I couldn ’ t even look up. “You ’ ve done very well the last couple of weeks.” I looked up, relieved, and smiled just a bit. “Really?” “Really. You got a lot done. And you ’ re an excellent cook. I never knew.” She smiled warmly. “I ’ m very proud of you.” My smile grew. “Thanks.” I almost blushed. When I was married, I rarely cooked. My husband and I both worked, and it was a toss-up as to which of us would wind up working later. Of course, thinking back on how our marriage ended, Brad probably wasn ’ t working on those late nights. Regardless, it wasn ’ t until recently that I realized how much I enjoyed cooking. And I really enjoyed cooking for someone who appreciated it. “You only forgot one thing,” Brenda continued. My sense of relief vanished in an instant. “The coffee…” I didn ’ t even need to hear the rest as I spun to go take care of the coffee maker. “Come back, Gabby. I ’ ve already done it.” I shuffled back to stand in front of her. “I ’ m so sorry, Brenda. I ’ ve been trying so hard.” “But…” I cocked my head, unsure what she thought I was going to say. “You don ’ t think this is worthy of punishment, do you?” “No, that ’ s… I mean… I do think it ’ s… um, I just screwed up. I know I did.” “Do you want me to punish you for this?” I couldn ’ t believe that she ’ d placed the decision back in my court. I was torn. It was such a trivial thing, especially when examined within the context of the entire day, or week for that matter. And yet, I screwed up. If this didn ’ t count, at what point would it? Where was the threshold? If I said no now, how bad did I have to be before I would say yes? And there was something else… simply put, I was horny. “Yes,” I whispered, finally. “You want me to punish you for forgetting to clean the coffee maker?” “Yes.” My voice was a little stronger this time. “Then tell me so.” “I want you to punish me for forgetting to clean the coffee maker.” Brenda nodded. “Very well. Put yourself across my knee.” She didn ’ t grab my wrist this time. She was essentially making me do this to myself. I had to make the decision. I had to get into position. Brenda wasn ’ t making me do anything. It was awkward, but I knelt at her side and then lifted myself into position. I was shocked when I felt her lift the hem of my skirt and place it on my back, but I also noticed that my nipples had hardened almost immediately. “Give me your right hand,” she ordered. When I shifted my balance and lifted my hand, Brenda took me by the wrist and held it against my lower back. I noticed that the shift in balance almost forced me to keep my feet apart. Once my feet were spread for balance and my wrist was pinned, I felt her grab my panties with her free hand and bunch them into a T shape, pulling them into the crack of my ass. The tugging sent a powerful energy through me and my clit began to throb. “Gabby, I think fifty-seven is a good number. I want you to count again.” The spanking seemed to hurt a lot more this time with nothing between Brenda ’ s hand and my ass. By the time she moved to my bare thigh I couldn ’ t keep from squirming. I was so aroused that I was using what little leverage I could manage to grind my pelvis on Brenda ’ s thigh. When it was over, I was short of breath but I hadn ’ t cum. Part of me was angry. After our discussion at the breakfast table, I thought that Brenda understood what it was that I needed. Then I chided myself for assuming Brenda had any inclination to fulfill my fantasies. Isn ’ t that an unreasonable expectation to have of your own sister? “Are you okay?” she asked as I eased myself back into a kneeling position. I nodded. I wanted to run back to my room to masturbate but I stayed as I was. “I ’ m proud of you, Gabby. I always have been.” I smiled meekly. “A coffee maker is a pretty minor thing.” “I know.” “Then why did you ask for the spanking?” “Because if I didn ’ t, I ’ d then have to decide when something was too trivial to deserve punishment. It ’ s just easier to say that if it ’ s something I should have done and didn ’ t then it ’ s worthy of punishment.” I didn ’ t mention that I ’ d been able to think of little else since the last one. “You ’ re a good girl. Do you want to cum?” I ’ d just finished convincing myself that it was something I was going to have to take care of on my own, and now she ’ s doing it again. She ’ s making me make the choice. She ’ s forcing me to admit that I ’ m… what? A pain slut? An exhibitionist? No. I ’ m not sure what it was that I was admitting to, I just knew that I had to admit it. “Yes,” I answered with a shudder. Brenda nodded. “Perhaps we ’ ll take care of that one day.” Brenda left me kneeling there as she went to her room. I sat in shock for a few minutes, before I too went to bed. I thought about masturbating, but Brenda had said ‘ one day ’ . Unfortunately, that day didn ’ t arrive any time soon. I was so intent on doing a good job around the house that there honestly wasn ’ t that much to get in trouble for. It ’ s not as if Brenda followed me around with a white glove inspecting my work. Even though she was home most of the time, she was usually in her office writing. On the few occasions I did screw up, whether big or small, I always received exactly fifty-seven strokes, and invariably I was left extremely turned on but unable to get over the edge. Oddly enough, I never masturbated again. I never even considered it. She never told me that I couldn ’ t take care of my needs before then, but I decided to wait for that one day . I suppose that I assumed that Brenda would decide when it was time for me to get the orgasm I ’ d craved for so long. As May became June, and then July, my frustration level became almost unbearable. I know that I could ’ ve simplified my life and taken matters into my own hands, but part of the thrill of it all was the fact that I had this self-imposed restriction. I dreaded getting into trouble even as I craved it. My biggest worry was that Brenda might be having second thoughts about helping me with my little problem. My growing frustration level and the distraction that it caused would soon directly result in Brenda ramping up my humiliation a notch. I ’ d started having some really erotic, and disturbing, dreams. They would start with me being spanked, and, as usual, by the time I reached the count of fifty-seven I would be so turned on that I would do anything for a good cum. In my dreams, Brenda would roll me onto my back and within a few licks and one little nibble I would have a mind-blowing orgasm. When I would pull her face up to kiss her, instead of Brenda ’ s face, it would be mine… covered in my own juices. Like I said… really disturbing, and not just because of the impossibility of giving myself oral pleasure. So it was the morning after one of these dreams that I just wasn ’ t paying attention and set a carton of orange juice on the counter only to discover that I ’ d set less than half of it on the counter. It tipped, fell to the kitchen floor, and exploded. Juice went everywhere. I mean everywhere . My first thought was to get it cleaned up before Brenda saw it, but there was no way. She ’ d be out for her coffee in a few minutes. This was just going to take too long. So, knowing I was in for a spanking to practically start off my day, I grabbed a bucket and a sponge and knelt down to get started cleaning. When Brenda poured her coffee, she didn ’ t say anything; just tried not to track juice anywhere else, then sat at the table and watched me for a while as she got her first caffeine fix of the day. Finally, she got bored with that and stood to pour a second cup. “When you ’ re finished there, come into the living room and we ’ ll take care of your punishment. I ’ m going to watch the news for a while before I get started on my day.” The punishment that morning wasn ’ t really anything unusual. If you ’ re used to being spanked by your younger sister once or twice a week, that is. The problem was that I was already incredibly turned on and being spanked simply cranked me up to an even higher level. Brenda did pause in the middle of the spanking and softly rub my ass for a few minutes, so on second thought, I suppose it was a little unusual. She ’ d never done that before. I suspect that she paused to keep me from having an orgasm because I truly believe I was on the verge of a massive one. What set that day apart was not the five minutes of ass rubbing. It was the fact that I was so wound up that I screwed up again later in the day. It wasn ’ t even noon yet when I dropped the vacuum cleaner bag that I was changing and sent a cloud of dust over half Brenda ’ s office. I ’ d never been punished twice in one day before. Normally, Brenda isn ’ t really mad at me when I screw up. It ’ s a ritual. One that we ’ ve successfully used to help me be a better roommate. But this time she was really quiet, so I knew she was fuming inside. Finally, she told me that she was going to have lunch with her editor and that we would deal with “the situation” when she got back. For the next three hours, I cleaned the office. Top to bottom, I thoroughly cleaned everything that could possibly have been affected. I wiped down her reference shelf, all of the knickknacks, her framed photographs, mostly of the two of us through the years. I even dusted underneath things like her computer monitor and the clock radio. Then I sat in the living room and waited. And worried. As time passed, I worried more. I wasn ’ t worried about my punishment. I knew what to expect there. No, I was worried about Brenda. Normally for these lunches she wasn ’ t gone for more than two hours, three at the most. It was nearly dinner time before she returned. She ignored me as she passed through the living room and went to her office. After a few minutes, I heard her on the phone but I couldn ’ t make out what she was saying. Then she ignored me again as she passed through on the way to the kitchen. Finally, drink in hand, she sat down on the sofa and sighed heavily. I could smell the rum in her Diet Coke. It was difficult, but I didn ’ t say anything. I just waited. “I ordered Chinese tonight,” she said when she finally broke the silence. “It ’ ll be here in about thirty minutes.” I simply nodded. “You ’ ve been a bit of a klutz today, haven ’ t you?” “Y-yes.” “Are you doing this on purpose?” “What? No!” She looked at me suspiciously. “Are you sure? I would understand if you were. You ’ ve been a bit… on edge lately.” So she had noticed. Had she been doing this to me on purpose? Had she been intentionally frustrating me? If so, why? “Brenda, I swear. I would never have done that on purpose. Not in your office.” Brenda ’ s office was her sanctuary. No matter what was happening with the business side of being an author, she was happy in her office when she was writing. Even when she was dealing with a case of writer ’ s block, her office was the place where she could create her own world. I couldn ’ t purposely take that from her. She put her drink on the coffee table and told me to come to her. It ’ s hard to describe what I was feeling as I stood from the chair I was in and crossed the room. Of course I was nervous and excited, but I was also… confident. I knew that I wanted this. Outwardly, I was demure. Inside, my heart was racing. Brenda didn ’ t say anything when I stood in front of her so I took this as a signal to put myself into position. I was wrong. She stopped me before I could kneel at her side. “Take off your panties first.” “What?” My confidence was gone. This was new. It seems strange as I look back on it. I ’ d spent the better part of two months hoping for an orgasm at my sister ’ s hand and yet I balked at the idea of taking off my panties for a spanking. This step would change things. It would become less about punishment and move us more obviously into the realm of sex. It was what I wanted and dreamed about. But the reality of it was difficult to get my head around. “Take them off, Gabby. You won ’ t be wearing them for the rest of the evening.” I stood there without moving. It was only six o ’ clock. We hadn ’ t even eaten yet. It would probably be four of five hours before I went to my room for the night. That was a long time to go without panties. “Fine,” Brenda said, interrupting my thoughts. “You can go a week without panties. Now take them off.” “A week? Brenda, I ’ ve got things to do… I have to go to the dry cleaners to pick up your suits. There ’ s grocery shopping. I can ’ t...” “A month it is, then.” I saw her smile wryly. “Do you want to go for a year or are you going to give in and just do what I tell you to?” I felt ridiculous as I tried to push down my panties without flashing my sister. I knew that in a matter of minutes she was going to have an up close view of my bare ass, but for some reason I was still trying to protect my modesty. Which of course went completely out the window a few moments later when I was finally in position. Brenda ’ s slaps were unbelievably hard. She wasn ’ t spreading them out either. She was concentrating on the bits I ’ d be sitting on later. Though I was obviously aroused, this little episode confirmed for me that I was not a pain slut. The pain kept me from cumming. I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. “That ’ ll be our dinner.” She quickly delivered the final five strokes directly between my legs. I suspect that Brenda hadn ’ t hit me as hard as she had on my ass, but it was still agony. I couldn ’ t count. I could barely breathe. The doorbell rang again. I was still gasping when she pushed me up to my feet. “Get some money from my purse on the counter and bring our dinner into the kitchen.” As I paid the boy from the Chinese place, I imagined that he heard the end of my spanking. I imagined that he knew I wasn ’ t wearing panties; that he could tell by my flushed appearance and my shallow breathing that I was on the verge of an orgasm. I imagined that he simply lifted the front of my skirt and wiggled his thumb over my clit until I collapsed in a heap. Instead he just smiled at the tip, gave a quick little bow, and left me standing at the door trying not to touch myself.
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