CHAPTER TWO THE PINK DOOR
I had been in every room of the house, from attic to basement. Partly out of curiosity, partly because I had to dust and vacuum. It was a big house and had many rooms.
There was one room which remained a mystery to me though.
The room I speak of was two doors down from my room. The door to it remained locked at all times. I never saw anyone go into that room and never heard any sounds from the other side of the door.
I even tried to peek through the keyhole but couldn’t see anything. I certainly didn’t see anyone on the other side and could only make out small details. It looked like a bedroom but I didn’t know for sure.
Mr. Clemons never mentioned the room with the pink door and when I did bring it up over dinner once he told me not to worry about it.
Then he said something strange.
“All good things to those who wait,” he said with a grin.
What the Hell did that mean?
I was kneeling down one day, my face pressed against the floor, straining to see under the door. My butt was sticking straight up.
I was so focused on being nosy, I didn’t even know Mr. Clemons had walked up right behind me.
I couldn’t tell you how long he’d been standing there.
All of a sudden he reached down and gave my butt a hard spank.
I squealed out and he laughed.
Man, did he laugh.
“All sorts of surprising things can happen when you’re in that position,” he said as he walked down the hall to his room.
He looked over his shoulder and caught me rubbing my butt.
I know I was pouting a little. I tended to pout. I’m not proud.
Mr. Clemons looked at the pink door and then back at me. He had a big smile on his face.
I stared at that damn door.
The strange thing about it, other than being painted a light pink, was the little pink ribbon wrapped around the knob.
I let my fingers play with the ribbon.
Then I looked back down the hall. Mr. Clemons was no longer there.
I walked into my room still rubbing my butt.
CHAPTER THREE ROUTINES
I settled into my new life in the large Victorian on Cherrystone Court.
I have to say my life with Mr. Clemons was certainly not boring.
I thought of myself as a good tenant and I did my best to live up to my end of our agreement. I followed all the house rules. I didn’t play my music too loud. I didn’t have parties.
Heck! I didn’t really have any friends to speak of so there was no one to invite over for parties or sleepovers.
I took out the trash and recycling. I kept the pool sparkling. I was even started to get into a rhythm with the housekeeping. I dusted and vacuumed. I did all the laundry, mine and his.
I had very little free time.
What downtime I had was spent in the pool.
I did laps every morning.
Mr. Clemons would join me every now and then. We would play pool basketball or just float on some long rafts and talk about a variety of subjects.
Sometimes I would just lie down on one of the deck loungers and work on my tan.
Mr. Clemons would give me a hard time about my choice of bathing suits. He’d ask how I expected to get a decent tan on my legs wearing the long board shorts I wore as a bathing suit.
“It’s not like I can just wear nothing,” I said one day.
“Sure you can,” he said pointing to the fence around the pool, “Why do you think they call it a privacy fence?”
I looked at the 8 foot fence which circled the pool and for a brief second entertained the thought of skinny dipping.
“I will if you will,” I dared him.
“You have a deal,” he said with a mischievous grin, looking as though he was going to pull down his suit.
My heart leapt to my throat.
Would he? Should I?
I didn’t have much of a social life so staying at home and watching television or movies with Mr. Clemons became a regular thing. It was always a fun evening.
I would make popcorn.
He would choose what we watched. I didn’t care.
“His house, his rules,” is what I told myself.
The days turned into weeks.
I started to notice something about the relationship that was forming between Mr. Clemons and I.
I was still his tenant but something had changed.
He seemed to be taking on more of dominant role in our relationship and, I, for some reason, took on the submissive role.
It was as if he was taking on the role of a father figure. At least that’s how I felt, especially when he talked down to me as if he was talking to a teenager or even a small child.
He also expected me to call him SIR.
It didn’t bother me, mind you.
I had never known my father so having an adult man taking on that role was kind of nice. If he wanted me to call him ‘Sir’ it was okay.
Mr. Clemons was kind and generous man. I really liked him and found myself trying to please him.
There were times though when I said something or did something which displeased him. Those were the times I saw another side of Mr. Clemons.
The first time I experienced the other Mr. casino siteleri Clemons was a Saturday morning.
I remember the day very well.
I was just coming in from having run some errands. I had gotten up early with my day all planned out.
I would grab a quickie breakfast, run my errands, do the housework, a small load of laundry because I was pretty much caught up, and then chill out by the pool and catch some rays.
You know what they say about the best laid plans though.
When I walked back into the house through the side door next to the garage, I discovered Mr. Clemons sitting at the kitchen table.
He did not look at all happy.
“Where have you been?” he asked with a tone that sent a chill down my spine.
“I had some errands to run, Sir,” I answered.
“And were these errands so important you forgot to clean up after yourself this morning?”
I looked around the kitchen.
Then I saw it, the mess I had left after fixing breakfast. I had totally forgotten to clean up after. The milk was out on the counter. There was cereal spilled on the table right in front of Mr. Clemons and the cereal box was open and sitting in a puddle of spilled milk.
I started to stammer an excuse but Mr. Clemons interrupted me.
“It looks like a pack of wild pigs got loose in here.”
Again I tried to speak but he had a full head of steam working and he lashed out again.
“It looks like some irresponsible little boy decided to fix breakfast for himself and figured he could leave a mess and Daddy would come by later and clean it up.”
Mr. Clemons stood suddenly and his chair fell backwards onto the floor.
“HUSH! I don’t want any excuses because there are none. Come with me.”
He started walking into the living room.
When I hesitated he barked at me, “NOW!”
I quickly followed him.
Mr. Clemons sat down on the couch and told me to come over to him. I was scared. I had never seen that look in his eyes before. He was very angry and I wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
When I didn’t make a move toward him, he looked at me and in a very controlled, very low tone asked, “Do I need to come over there?”
I shook my head ‘no’ but then remembered.
I slowly walked over to him and he pulled me so I was standing between his muscular thighs.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Ozzie. You know the rules but apparently-“
I interrupted him, “I’m so sorry. I just forgot. I didn’t mean-“
“To interrupt me when I was talking? Did you forget that as well?”
I felt his glare burn into me.
“Tell me Ozzie, do we interrupt an adult when they are talking?”
I was scared to say anything.
“I AM an adult!” I snapped back.
“REALLY? Well, the adults I know don’t leave messes like the one in the kitchen after fixing themselves a bowl of sugary kiddie cereal. Only little kids do that and when little kids do things like that…when little kids are naughty…an adult has to remind them of the consequences.”
“Take down your pants and lie across my lap,” he said plainly like this was something normal that happens between two adults all the time.
“You’re joking,” I scoffed.
He spun me around and quickly delivered three sharp slaps to my backside.
“OWWW!” I screamed.
“TAKE DOWN THOSE PANTS NOW!”
Rubbing my bottom which was stinging, I loosened my belt and undid the snap. I unzipped my jeans and when they loosened let them fall to my feet. I slid off my sneakers and kicked them and my jeans to the side.
I was now standing in front of my landlord in just a t-shirt and my underpants. He looked at my underwear.
“Tighty whities,” he scoffed, “The perfect choice…the perfect underwear for a naughty little boy.”
I bit my lip. I shifted my weight nervously from one foot to the other. I folded my arms defiantly.
“Unfold your arms,” he said sternly.
“And you can get that look off your face. A pout and a furrowed brow aren’t going to save you from what’s about to happen.”
I tried to compose myself but come on! I was about to be spanked like an 8 year old who’d been caught shoplifting!
Mr. Clemons waited to see what I would do.
He looked up and down my body.
I tried to cover the front of my childish underpants with my hands.
He waited patiently.
I don’t know why I did what I did next but it would change the course of my life forever. Fearing the worse, I submitted myself to him completely.
I lay myself across Mr. Clermons’ lap.
My whole body was shaking. My head was down on the couch and my ass in the air. I was totally exposed to him.
I wanted to cry but didn’t.
“Every now and then,” he said as he pinned me down with one powerful arm, “A daddy must discipline his naughty child.”
I felt his fingertips brush across my vulnerable backside. His hand rested on my left buttock and he spoke quietly to me.
Oh my God. I was about to be spanked. slot oyna
My body was shaking.
I knew the thin material of my cotton briefs would offer no protection from what was about to happen. I braced myself. I closed my eyes and waited.
Mr. Clemons rested his hand on my bottom. He slid across both cheeks, feeling the material under his touch.
Then he reached into my waistband and began to slide them down. He didn’t stop until my underwear was down to my knees.
I was totally exposed to him.
“Please know that what I’m about to do, Ozzie, comes not from anger but from love. I only want what’s best for you. However you need to know there will be consequences for your actions. When you are naughty you will be spanked.”
And with that he started spanking me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I was spanked.
Maybe I was six? I remember I had done something to piss off one of my mom’s douchebag boyfriends and he had taken off his belt and whipped me.
Gary. I hated Gary. Gary was a drunk asshole.
This was different. Mr. Clemons wasn’t Gary. He wasn’t about to whip me with a leather belt. He was calm and controlled and was going to use his hand as I lay stretched across his lap.
I didn’t like the thought of what was about to happen but I didn’t think Mr. Clemons wanted to hurt me. He just wanted to teach me a lesson.
I waited, my whole body shaking. He steadied me and then I heard him exhale.
The first blow startled me.
It hurt so bad and I cried out.
Then came another nine, one after the other. My ass was on fire. I felt like such a naughty little kid. I was sobbing now.
Finally Mr. Clemons stopped and he helped me stand.
He stood me and with his strong hands on my hips, pulled me close to him.
I was pouting and couldn’t look him in the eye. He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face to his.
“I know that hurt, Ozzie, but I’m not sorry. You needed to learn your lesson. Understand?”
I didn’t really but replied, my voice trembling, “Yes sir.”
Then he said, “Why don’t you go up to your room and take care of that and I’ll be up in a minute or two.”
I looked down and was shocked to see my cock sticking straight out.
OH MY GOD! I had an erection!
I got a fucking erection from being spanked by Mr. Clemons!
I felt humiliated. I had just been spanked and was now being sent to my room like some naughty five year old child. Worst of all I’d gotten aroused in the process.
I turned to go upstairs. It hurt to walk but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be as far from Mr. Clemons as I could get.
I quickly ran up the stairs, my erection bouncing as I did.
I stepped into my room, closed the door and lay on my bed on my stomach, making sure my throbbing cock wasn’t being crushed under me. It was up against my belly.
My brain was trying to process everything and my little cock was aching for release.
Cool air drifted across my ass which was still on fire.
I heard footsteps and lay there silently.
Mr. Clemons came in and sat on the bed next to me.
“This will help with the stinging. The other thing you’re going to have to take care of yourself.”
I felt his fingers touch me. He was gentle. He was tender.
Then Mr. Clemons began rubbing something wet and cool onto my blistered bottom.
“This is a salve. It will help with the pain and burning. You’ll feel better in no time.”
His voice was different now.
There was no anger in it.
There was only love and compassion.
Whatever he was rubbing onto my sore bottom felt good.
He asked if it felt good and with my head pressed into the mattress, I said “Yes Sir it does.”
“Good. I’m glad,” was all he said as he continued massaging me.
As he spoke to me and worked the salve in, I found myself grinding my still hard cock into the bed. My eyes were closed and I was breathing deeply.
He rubbed and I pushed my aching cock into the mattress.
Rub. Push. Rub. Push.
We slowly got into a rhythm he and I.
As he rubbed forward, I gyrated forward. When he rubbed in a backwards motion, so did I.
I didn’t care if he knew what I was doing.
“Still feel good,” he asked.
“Yesssss,” I moaned.
Finally he stopped and said, “Just lie there for a bit and let the salve do what it does. Also think about what you did and what happened as a result. I’m going to leave you now to finish.”
His finger went into my crack to smooth out a large dollop of salve. I felt him slide between my quivering cheeks which no longer burned. He let his finger sit there for a second or two and then he removed it.
He stood and walked out of the room.
I lay there lost in my thoughts. My heart was racing.
When I rolled over onto my side I discovered my erection had finally subsided. I also discovered that I had cum. I had cum while Mr. Clemons had been rubbing that salve onto my ass.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
The sheet under canlı casino siteleri me was stuck to my cock and I had to pull it off.
I laid back down, on my back and stared at the ceiling.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember was hearing Mr. Clemons say, “Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up and get dressed. Then come downstairs and I’ll fix you lunch. Sound good?”
Groggy, I sat up and said, “Yes sir. That sounds good.”
He smiled down at me.
He walked out of the room and that was when I remembered I was naked from the waist down.
I didn’t care though. The man had just given me a bare-bottom spanking. He’d seen my naked ass up close and personal. He’d seen my erect penis. I was also pretty positive he’d watched as I masturbated myself while he rubbed my butt.
Nothing was sacred anymore. Plus, I don’t think he was shocked by any of it. In fact, I think he kind of enjoyed those moments.
I’m not sure some part of me didn’t either.
I got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom still wearing only my t-shirt.
Mr. Clemons was standing in the doorway to his room drying his hands with a towel. I felt his eyes on me. I knew he was looking at my ass but I didn’t care, not anymore.
I closed the bathroom door and started the shower.
When I was dry I dressed in a tank top and a pair of shorts. I went downstairs and Mr. Clemons and I had lunch. We didn’t discuss the events of the morning. There was no need to. We moved on.
Lessons had been learned.
CHAPTER FOUR THE WAY THINGS WERE
And that was how the next month or two went.
If I did something to displease Mr. Clemons, I would end up over his lap to receive my well-deserved spanking.
After he would take me back upstairs to my room so he could apply that wonderful, soothing salve. Sometimes he held my hand as he led me to my room.
Once I cried and he pulled me to him and let me cry on his shoulder. He patted my back and told me to let it all out.
After my spankings, back in my room, I would lie on my bed, face down, my red bottom exposed, and he would rub salve onto it tenderly. His voice and gentle touch would calm me.
Mr. Clemons would tell me he cared about me and I believed him. He told me he just wanted me to be good. I understood that now. He wasn’t spanking me because he hated me.
Mr. Clemons cared about me. I truly believed that.
I was becoming more submissive to him.
I didn’t know why but I was.
One evening he was making something for dinner. He had made this sauce according to a recipe he’d found in a magazine.
As I walked past him to go to the fridge, he offered me his sauce covered finger to taste his creation. Without a second’s hesitation I opened my mouth and let him stick his finger inside it.
I closed my lips around it and tasted his sauce.
“It’s good, right?” he asked, with his finger still in my mouth.
“It’s really good,”I said, my voice muffled, as I sucked his finger.
He pulled his finger out of my mouth and gave me this look.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
I was confused about the whole situation.
Was it normal? What IS normal?
I liked that Mr. Clemons cared about me.
I liked when I was lying across his lap. I liked those moments right before he spanked me when I would feel his fingers brush against my bare skin. Little electric shocks would shoot through my body to my brain.
I liked when he sat next to me on my bed and rubbed salve onto my sore bottom.
I liked that my body would sometimes touch his and I liked, that on more than one occasion, as I lie there awaiting his hand on my bottom, I could feel his erection under me.
I liked that I made him hard.
Holy shit. Was I gay?
Afterward my spankings we would always talk about what had happened and then we would hug it out. I liked those hugs too.
Oh God I think I’m gay.
Mr. Clemons had made me gay.
No. That was stupid. Nobody can make you gay.
Those were the feelings that haunted me as the weeks passed.
I tried to be good and follow all the house rules.
I was a good little housekeeper and kept our house very clean and tidy. I was doing such a good job in fact, Mr. Clemons told me to quit my job and take care of the house, garden and pool full time. He wouldn’t charge me rent and in fact would give me a small allowance.
I quit my job the very next day.
Every day I cooked all the meals and did the dusting and vacuuming. I did all the laundry. I had even gotten quite good at ironing Mr. Clemons’ shirts. I liked the smell of the fabric softener and would press his clothes, fresh from the dryer, into my face and inhale. One I accidentally did that but what I thought was a t-shirt actually turned out to be a pair of his boxer briefs.
He walked past the laundry room at that precise moment but didn’t say a word.
I was such a good little housekeeper Mr. Clemons rewarded me with a little apron.
I hesitated at first. An apron? Really?
But I took it gladly and wore it when I did the housework. It did keep my clothes cleaner and was soon wearing it without any thought about how weird it might have looked.