The Spinster's Exploits

She was getting a little obsessive about the hasty, outdoor switchings she’d received on her last day out with him. She was also – embarrassingly – getting weak-kneed at the sight of the rather battered hazel switch shoved in the urn; and her vibe was getting far more use than was dignified for a seventy-year-old she thought with a private grin.

She could not wait to see him again and had been thinking about potential walks where such activities may be possible and getting disconcertingly swoony every time she reimagined that casual swishing of the switch as they walked along sedately between the moments of attention from her switch-swishing Switch…

She was thrilled to hear his voice before their next meeting and enjoyed the effect of his phone call on her; despite the fact he would be later than first planned.

She was also amused by his reaction to a piece she’d written sometime back – fiction but a reflection of her life then. It was the complex lingerie that had amused him. So far, she was always knickerless and braless and in a frock that soon disappeared as soon as they reached the bedroom – other than the time he’d told her to open the door to him naked – and she did…

She’d not had a lover into lingerie for over a decade and so far they could never wait to be skin-to-skin as soon as possible but she got the impression he may not be averse to such underpinnings – on her!

She did send a pic of the lingerie drawer just to prove possession of frills and furbelows, and did wonder about dressing up for him, imaging her lovely Switch swishing a switch at her door…

She loved the fifties look and found the frothy petticoats a fun piece of silliness she always enjoyed. She’d worn her petticoats with a fifties-looking dress the evening before she was seeing him and loved the swishiness of another kind imaging wearing such clothing for him and having her petticoats lifted for his attentions…

As she lay in the bath soaking in vanilla-scented water she contemplated dressing up in a basque with stockings and her petticoats and giving him some unwrapping and unveiling to do and still she thought about the sting of a switch. And her thoughts again wandered over how lucky she was to receive so much attention and her concern that he was not missing out. She knew she was no Domme – and he had one – but she could perhaps try and make an effort and provide something a little different, but hopefully of interest…

And she amused herself with the idea of feeling neglected at his delay on seeing her, to watch rugby in the pub. And the idea of taking the initiative and trying her hand at switching entertained and excited her. Her 50s household fantasies always featured her getting spanked, but being in charge might just be fun… Why couldn’t she deliver a spanking and then demand attention from a willing bedroom slave?

And she sent a message saying she may have been too accommodating at playing second fiddle to the rugby and excitedly rifled her lingerie drawers.

Her black and purple basque of choice lacked its detachable suspenders and to her annoyance, the loose suspenders she found did not match. She would have to discard the lace-topped pale stockings she had thought suitable, for the black hold-ups with the ribbon lace-ups on the shiny wet-look stocking tops. Some black lacy knickers – the first knickers she’d worn for him – completed the first layer. And then of course her gorgeous flouncy net petticoats in red and black. She was happy to rock red and purple! And once the important underwear was sorted a plain white blouse and her lovely red and black circular skirt almost completed her look.

She grinned to herself as she found the pretty half pinny and dug out her granny slippers – very fifties and she had plans for one of those slippers. As she had never delivered a spanking or beating, she grabbed a hairbrush and the rather nasty – in her opinion – bathbrush and tried to calm herself as she went downstairs to wait for him.

He had messaged her, but she found herself all over the place psychologically, but very excited to be sat in her finery awaiting his arrival.

She opened the door to him and as he leaned in for a kiss, she surprised him with her withdrawal and possibly her attire as she told him she was not impressed by having to play second fiddle to the rugby and having to put up with a non-functioning doorbell and lightbulb. And suddenly she was telling him to remove his clothing and he obeyed.

It was hard for him to take her entirely seriously as she told him not to even think about taking off his jeans before his socks as she was aesthetically offended by trouserless men in socks. While attempting a case for the defence on practical grounds he soon lost shoes, socks and jeans. She told him he could keep his shirt for the time being.

And ordering him over her lap was surprisingly easy and surprisingly sexy. As was the taking down of his pants.

The hamster wheel of her rules and ethics, however, whirred and interrupted her so she made a clumsy attempt to get his assurance that any marks she may make would not cause him problems. And as she had ambushed him, she was aware of his lack of agreement.  She knew however, that he would not allow his own abuse. So she told him he was to be spanked and beaten for his neglect, but he could stop it “if he couldn’t take it”. All somewhat awkward and unimpressive, but it made her feel better. Meanwhile his Wicked Willie of a cock was signalling “Interesting – what’s happening now?”!

And for the first time she had a half-naked man across her lap presenting a bare bottom for her attention and her first experience of switching was surprisingly satisfying. His reactions to the handily hidden hairbrush and the dreaded bathbrush pleased her enormously, but he was better at containing his reactions than she was and not a single expletive escaped him – although they both knew he was made of sterner stuff than she was – as he later confirmed!

Never-the-less, he did end up with a nicely reddened bottom and she surveyed her work with some pleasure.

And she decided that a chastened man may be a bit of a waste and so she ordered him to the bedroom to make up for his neglect. And she was silently impressed and amused by his eager cock standing to imposing attention.

And she instructed him in the removal of her pinny and blouse and skirt and stepped out of the slippers she’d forgotten to use and lay back awaiting distraction as she ordered him to pay attention to her breasts. And both were aware of the novelty of her encased flesh and as he eased them out of the confines of her basque and they rudely presented themselves for his close and serious attention.

And as she lay there almost swooning with pleasure she became aware of his insistent cock and had vague thoughts about her next command. And as he laughed and explored under the petticoats, she lost her knickers and much will power while his kisses, her awareness of his cock and his power grew as she wrapped herself around him and he repositioned himself and all she wanted was to be fucked. And she was. Beautifully and urgently and completely. Sometimes only a fuck will do.

And then full of him, they lay in a daze among her rucked-up petticoats and rudely rearranged basque and exposed breasts. And she kissed and licked the source of their recent delight and they kissed. And he paid further attention to her reawakening body and she relived her domination and submission and the satisfying thud of wood on his flesh and her desire to receive the kiss of his desired instrument on hers and she came for him.