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Richy
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Richy
I was lying in the tub, warm water up to my neck,
enjoying the brilliance of the July sun shining through the
bathroom window and the buoyancy of my breasts in the soapy
water. It was a peaceful, lazy feeling. My husband Roger had
been away on business for a few days but was due back that
night, and my stepson Richy was still asleep.
Richy was EIGHTEEN (whew! missed this one) and was spending
most of the summer with us. He'd arrived right after school
was out, and, as is usually the case with stepparent/stepchild
relationships, things had been kind of strained at first. This
last week, though, while Roger had been out of town, Richy had
stuck with me like glue. In fact, one of the nicest things
about lying in the tub that morning was the sense of privacy
that I'd really begun to miss in the last few days.
A sound penetrated my reverie. It took me a few
seconds to identify it as the creaking of a board in the
hardwood floor outside the bathroom door. I waited for the
sound of Richy's footsteps going down the hall, but there was
nothing but silence. I was just sliding back under the warm
water when I heard the door rattle, ever so slightly.
"Richy, is that you?", I called out. There was no
answer but I heard the floor creak again.
"That little sneak!", I thought to myself. The
bathroom door had one of those old-fashioned locks that used a
skeleton key, but none of us ever locked it--in fact, the key
was missing--and I was as sure as I could be that Richy was
outside the door, peering in at me through the keyhole.
That really pissed me off. It wasn't so much that he
was seeing my in the nude--I've always been proud of my body,
always enjoyed the knowledge that men were appreciating my
looks, and even though I was fourteen years older than my
stepson, I thought it would be a long time before he'd see
anyone sexier than I was in the buff. But I'd been feeling as
though my space was constantly being invaded as it was, and the
realization that I couldn't count on privacy anywhere was
almost more than I could take.
I decided that Richy and I were about to have a
confrontation, but I also figured that I might as well make it
worth his while. Opening the bathtub drain, I stood up, facing
the door, and started toweling myself dry. I took my time
drying one full breast at a time, rubbing my nipples with the
rough side of the towel until they were erect. Then I put one
foot up on the side of the tub and drew the towel through my
crotch. They were motions I went through every day, but the
knowledge that I had an audience somehow made them feel erotic
rather than merely functional.
Stepping out of the tub, I turned my back to the door
and bent over, my feet well apart, drying my ass with the towel
but giving my spectator an unimpeded view of my pussy as well.
As I drew the towel down through the crack of my ass, between
my legs and up over my pubic mound, my aroused clit begged for
more attention. I was tempted to spread the towel out on the
floor and lie down to finger-fuck myself, but I decided that
that would be more than a pubescent boy could take.
I took my robe off its hook on the inside of the door
and let it dangle in front of the keyhole. Instead of putting
the robe on, though, I reached out and touched the doorknob
softly. Then in one motion I turned the knob and jerked the
door open.
It was the kind of scene that only happens in comedy
movies. Richy had obviously had his eye literally pressed
against the keyhole, because he sprawled onto the bathroom
floor on his face.
"Richy!", I gasped in feined surprise. One arm was
pinned under him, and I grabbed the other to roll him onto his
back. He jerked the other hand out from the front of his
cutoff jeans and started to stammer. He didn't get up, though,
and I realized that lying on his back, with me standing astride
him, he was spellbound by a much closer view of my cunt than
I'd given him from across the room.
I stepped back and put my robe on. "What were you
doing outside the door?," I demanded. "Were you watching me
through the keyhole?"
Richy turned scarlet and said that he'd just wanted to
see if I were in the bathroom.
"If that's all you wanted you could have knocked," I
pointed out. "I think you were there a long time, spying on
me!" Richy made no response.
"Well, you're going to be punished for this," I told
him sharply. "I'll discuss it with your father tonight and see
what he thinks would be appropriate."
Richy looked horrified. "No!", he exclaimed. "Don't
tell Dad!"
"Why not?", I demanded. "Don't you think your father
has a right to know when you've done something this
outrageous?"
"But Dad'll use the razor strap on me," Richy wailed.
Roger had used the strap on Richy a few weeks before,
and the way Richy's screams had echoed through the house had
made me wonder if perhaps Roger was being too severe. "If you
don't want your father to strap you," I said, "then I guess
I'll have to punish you myself. Come with me."
Richy looked relieved and followed me into my bedroom.
I closed the door and locked it, then turned to face him.
"Take off your clothes," I ordered. Richy blanched and
then his eyes opened wide.
"Oh, no, please, Dad never makes me do that," he said
earnestly.
"You're lying to me, Richy," I snapped, "and that's
going to cost you. If you're not in your birthday suit in 30
seconds, then we'll just wait and let your father deal with
this when he gets home tonight."
The momentary bravado gone from his eyes, Richy quickly
stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it on my bed. He started
to fumble with the snap on the waistband of his cutoffs, and
then turned his back to me as he unzipped them.
"Turn around and face me," I commanded. He turned,
holding the shorts up with both hands.
"Hurry up and get those off, you've only got ten
seconds left," I warned him. Richy's face turned scarlet as he
slid the cutoffs down, his jockey briefs dropping with them. I
gasped silently as his semi-hard young penis leapt free of the
elastic. He had only a few whispy strands of pubic hair, and
his balls still looked like those of a little boy, but he was
well on his way to developing a cock like his father's!
I looked him over, slowly, from head to foot, watching
his whole body turn red with embarrassment, making a point of
staring at his genitals. His oversized cock became no more
erect, but neither did it soften.
"Well," I said severely, "maybe now you're beginning to
know how it feels to be spied on when you're naked." He
mumbled something about being sorry, and I told him he'd be
even more sorry in a few minutes.
I walked over to my dressing table and picked up my
hairbrush. It was made of wood, finished in black lacquer with
Japanese designs on its flat, oval-shaped back. Hairbrush in
hand, I went back and sat down on the side of my bed, pulling
the hem of my robe up to the tops of my thighs so he wouldn't
slide around.
"Lie down across my legs," I directed. Clumsily Richy
draped himself over my thighs, flushing again as we both felt
his cock press into my leg. I turned partly sideways so both
of his legs would stay on the bed, then grabbed his knee and
spread his legs wide apart. The position exposed his tightly
sacced balls and spread his asscheeks a little, and what a
delight those pink little buns were! I could feel my pussy
starting to dampen at the thought of the inviting target in
front of me--although the sensation of his penis poking into
the side of my thigh may have had something to do with that.
"I hope you remember this a long time, Richy," I told
him. "I'm not going to give you any of that BS about how this
will hurt me more than it hurts you; it's going to hurt you a
bunch. Are you ready?"
I wasn't sure what he answered, but it didn't matter
anyway. I lifted the hairbrush and brought it down sharply in
the middle of his right asscheek. Richy yelled and squirmed,
but I just tightened my grip on his waist and planted another
sharp SMACK on his left cheek. Again he yelled and struggled,
but he wasn't strong enough to escape me.
Both cheeks of Richy's ass now sported red blotches,
and I avoided those as I continued the energetic paddling. I
gave him a dozen or so blows alternating from cheek to cheek,
then another dozen in a row on the left cheek and a dozen more
on the right. For the first few he cried out each time the
hairbrush landed, but the separate cries soon turned into a
continuous wail, and before I stopped he was yelling "no more,
no more" again and again.
Besides the yelling Richy was writhing, squirming and
rolling his ass in a futile effort to dodge the hairbrush. All
that movement was giving his cock quite a workout against my
leg, and each smack of the hairbrush forced his ass downward
and drove his stiffening cock into the inside of my thigh. By
the time the brush landed for the last time I could tell that
he was totally erect, and for a crazy instant I wondered how I
could position him so that one more stroke would drive that
man-sized organ straight into my sopping cunt.
The sight of his bruised asscheeks reminded me that he
was only a young boy, and I realized that I would have to find
another way to quench the fires that the jabbing of his prick
had ignited. I put the hairbrush down on the bed and ordered
him to stand up. His face was almost the same color as his
ass, and both matched the reddish purple of his swollen penis,
which stood so straight and long that it almost touched his
navel.
I got to my feet and my robe, which had come untied and
slipped off my shoulders during Richy's struggles, fell to the
floor. "Take a good look, Richy," I leered at him. "I want to
be sure you remember exactly why your little ass feels the way
it does now." He closed his eyes. "If I ever catch you
sneaking around and peeping through keyholes again," I warned
him, "what you got today will seem like just a few birthday
spanks. Now pick up your clothes and go to your room."
I had a pretty good idea what Richy would do when he
got to his room, assuming he could manage it lying on his
stomach, and I had very much the same thing in mind as I closed
the door and locked it behind him.
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