Threesome with the Governess - part 1

Pantsdown for one, means pantsdown for both

* * 1 * *

There is no absolute truth when it comes to intimacy. Only one’s own preferences, beliefs, and opinions. Anna believed in two ideals with particular conviction. First, that the best experiences in life were not necessarily the most pleasurable, but the moments that were most unlikely and memorable. And second, that the quality of one’s sex life wasn’t measured by how long a fucking lasted, but by the amount of time one might spend goofing around before bedtime.

“I have something to confess,” Anna whispered coyly.

From underneath her, Ben stared back and returned her sly smile, “I love your confessions”.

“Then I’m going to tell you a little bedtime story,” she announced. 

She was already straddling his thighs, and he didn’t resist as she lifted his hands up towards the bed frame. But he was surprised to hear the crinkle of velcro as their cuffs closed around them. Clearly some planning had gone into this performance.

Her index finger pressed his lips, as if shushing him, before intruding between his teeth, and tipping open his jaw. When it was wide enough she scrunched her discarded underwear into a ball and stuffed them into his gaping mouth.

“It’s better with no interruptions,” she explained.

He emitted a short muted complaint, but it was so intelligibly muffled he ceased attempting to speak. He contented himself with staring back at her. She was so beautiful, so easy to stare at, especially from this point of view, when she loomed high above him, naked and radiant, kneeling over his lap with lust in her eyes. 

She gripped the base of his erection, aiming it beneath herself, readying herself for the six inch drop.

This was the perfect position for what she intended to say. She wanted to be looking down and into his eyes when she told her story. She wanted his absolute attention. She wanted to be in charge of the tension, to build it higher and higher, until the suspense left him aching.

She sank to her knees, impaling herself fully, exhaling a deep contented sigh. 

“I’ve met someone”, she began.

She squirmed pleasurably, savouring how her entrance had stretched, lingering for a moment. Then she rose up on her haunches, almost a full cock-length high, hovering above him like a thrown ball at the top of its arc - before succumbing to gravity, and falling back down to be filled once more.

“And I’d love to have a threesome.”

His eyes flashed even wider. They had been talking about playing with others, but he hadn’t expected her to move so quickly. He began to mumble something against her improvised panty gag, but she shushed him. There was so much more to tell.

She rose and fell again.

“Her name is Margaret.”

“No, you haven’t met yet,” she pre-empted. 

She was speaking in short sentences. Deliberately rising upwards before each utterance. Delivering the next line of what she had to say as she slid back down.

“You’ll never guess how we bumped into each other.”

“Margaret was getting changed beside me at the tennis club.” 

“I had just pulled my panties down.” 

“About to get into the shower.”

“So I was bending over in front of her.”

“You had spanked me earlier.”

“So my bum was painted with pink splotches.”

“And I heard her whisper: ‘What beautiful marks!’.”

“I turned around, and before I knew it, I thanked her.”

“Just like that, I’m standing naked in front of an attractive older woman.”

“Thanking her for complimenting my spanked bottom.”

Her storytelling had developed a rhythm now. Like performance poetry. Rising as he slowly slid out of her. A moment of apogee to catch her breath - and formulate her subsequent words. Then plunging back down so a rush of sensations filled her body as she spoke. 

“Instinctively, I felt at ease in her presence,” she continued.

“I didn’t attempt to cover myself.”

“I let her gaze wash over me.”

“She said she hoped her comment hadn’t made me uncomfortable.”

“Cockily, I told her I was glad she liked my bottom marks.”

“Then something devilish made me turn and wiggle my bum teasingly.”

“She told me she’d love to hear the story behind them.”

“And in that moment, I knew I was desperate to tell her.” 

“She seemed so friendly, and we introduced ourselves.”

“Then she mentioned going to have a drink on the club bar’s balcony.”

“Her parting words were: ‘Come find me if you want to talk about smacked bottoms’.”

“I was mesmerised.”

“She was so elegant. So athletic. So beautiful and stern.”

“And she wanted to talk about bottom smacking with me.”

“Are you enjoying my story so far, dear? Two thrusts for yes, one thrust for no.”

His hips rose, carrying her upwards as if she was a small sailboat lifted by the swell of two huge successive waves. His eyes stared back expectantly, a dribble of drool that hadn’t been soaked up by her panties was running down the corner of his mouth. She ruffled his hair in response.

“I’m so glad you like it. I’ll keep going.”

“After Margaret left, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

“So when I reached the privacy of the shower cubicle.”

“I put my hand between my legs.”

“I was soaking wet before I even turned the water on.”

“I no longer cared about washing.”

“I just soaped up my nipples and my clit.”

This time when sank down on him she mimed the action of applying shower gel to her body, moving between the triangle of locations demonstrating how she rubbed it into a naughty foamy lather. When she resumed her story, she continued caressing her hands across her body.

“I was a very naughty girl.”

“I masturbated under the hot gushing water.”

“Replaying our brief encounter in my head.”

“I imagined she was in the shower opposite me.”

“I spied on her, washing her beautiful lithe body.”

“I knew she was looking back at me.”

“Stroking her foamy hand across her cunt.”

“Thinking about my bottom marks.”

She sat on his cock and rubbed herself, miming what she did in the shower whilst feigning the escalating ecstasy of a rapidly approaching orgasm. Then she pretended to climax, very theatrically. 

“It was the first time I’d ever come in a public shower.” 

“I felt so naughty!”

He could barely believe his ears, this was without doubt the best bedtime story he’d ever been told. Why didn’t they tell each other bedtime stories whilst fucking more often? He resolved to find an erotic story to read to her tomorrow night. He’d put the iPad on her back and use her as a lectern as he slowly fucked her from behind. 

“After I came I rushed to get dressed and literally ran to the balcony.”

“I was so relieved to find Margaret still sitting there.”

“Her face lit up when she saw me, and made me feel so welcome.”

“We sat in the sun for an hour, and got along so well.”

“She made me tell her everything.”

“I readily told her how’d you spanked me.”

“I told her how much I loved it.”

“It didn’t feel like I was confessing to a stranger.”

“I even told her what I’d just done in the shower.”

“She took my hand, and looked sternly into my eyes.”

“You deserve a good spanking, young lady!” Her voice mimicked the other woman’s prim authoritative manner. Even that sounded amazing.

“So every Thursday after tennis, we’ve been meeting for a drink.” 

“We’ve been getting to know each other.”

“Alas, only through words.”

“I told her if we were going to play together, I wanted you to be part of it.”

“I told her it turns me on to imagine this big hard cock inside her.”

For a little extra emphasis, she lingered on this downstroke, squirming against his lap to push herself deeper.

“And do you know what she said?”

“It turned her on too.”

“I should warn you: she is bossy.” 

“She likes being in charge.” 

“And she loves spanking bottoms.”

“So if you say yes, we’ll both be getting our bums smacked.”

“Properly smacked. Properly sore.”

“And she loves dressing up.”

“I think she’s wonderful. Would you like to meet her?”

“Ten thrusts for yes, one thrust for no.”

Her little boat was tossed by ten tumultuous waves. Somewhere amid the tempest, they both got swept away. 

---

* * 2 * *

Miss Margaret Cavendish entered the bar like a slow-moving shaft of moonlight. She flowed in a straight line direct from the doorway, striding purposefully between the gaps of those milling erratically around the atrium. Dressed all in white, her progress was easy for onlookers to follow. Hence Ben and Anna were standing respectfully long before she reached their alcove, as if receiving a visitor of some importance. 

Anna had chosen the venue for their first get-together carefully. Eager to make a great impression, she’d opted for this little nook in her fashionable social club. It was quiet enough here to hold a conversation without raising their voices above a whisper, allowing everyone to feel able to talk intimately and candidly.

Margaret greeted Anna first with a warm sisterly hug, before being introduced to Ben. The handshake they shared was more formal, but exchanged with friendly genuine smiles. 

His first impression was how distinguished their guest seemed. She had the effortless deportment of a celebrity actress. She was dressed in a tailored blazer, as white as fluffy summer clouds, with stylish lapels that met in the middle of her chest. It was almost as if the garment had been painted on, its sleeves hugging her arms and the waist cinched to accentuate her tall slimline silhouette.

Underneath she’d chosen a one-piece dress in the same chalky hue, which clung to her contours like a cornice of alpine snow. Had she not paired it with such a formal jacket, its tight sleeveless cut and hemline just above the knee would’ve been head-turningly daring. But paired together they gave her an air of demure sophistication. It was a carefully crafted facade, superficially blandly innocent, but hinting at fascinating depths beneath.

Her ensemble was completed by a delicate gold chain necklace, and an off-white handbag draped effortlessly over her arm. It was, he immediately noticed, much larger than most women carried, which made him wonder if she had a spanking paddle inside. 

There were streaks of silver in her immaculately coiffed chestnut hair, cut to a length that allowed her curls to bounce off her shoulders. It had been combed sideways with a parting just off-centre, exposing her brow. If one was sternly serious, they wouldn't want to conceal their frown.

Her green eyes sparkled against her fair complexion, just above her cute round nose. Her mouth was narrow, with red-lined lips. A small chin completed her delicate facial structure. She was, he found himself thinking, even before the warmth of her handshake faded from his palm, undeniably attractive.

They made themselves comfortable on the miniature sofas that lined the sides of the booth. Margaret ushered Anna in first, who chose the seat facing the open side, her new friend sat on her right, leaving Ben to follow and sit opposite her. It was better this way, they didn’t want to sit beside each other facing their guest, that would have felt like an awkward job interview.

Margaret wasted no time making her presence felt, skipping the usual small-talk trivialities to fix Ben with an incisive glare.

“Anna tells me you’re a very naughty boy,” she alleged, pausing for a moment as he held his breath. “You must tell me all about it!” she concluded jovially.

“But first,” she added, “we should have some tea.”

He was momentarily taken aback by her bluntness, until he understood it was a tease in disguise. He dutifully rose and went off to find someone to take their order.

He returned to find them laughing uproariously. Anna explained she’d been relating how she’d told him the story of the first meeting in the changing room, one sentence per fuck. Margaret evidently found this both hilarious and adorable. Their chemistry was clear to see.

Once the tea had arrived, they had settled into easy conversation, rotating the questions so no one was continually being questioned, or became the sole interrogator.

“Are you two adventurous?” Margaret asked, clearly keen to understand what made them tick, “What’s the boldest sexual adventure you’ve had together?”

“Ooo,“ Anna pondered, before finally replying with a single word, “Italy.”

“Italy,” Ben concurred immediately.

“It was my birthday,” Anna elaborated.

“We’d rented a remote little holiday villa in Northern Italy,” Ben added, settling into a rhythm where they’d take turns to tell their story so no one blathered on too much. 

“It had been a hot, sultry night, so I’d been lying naked on top of the bed sheets. And you woke me at dawn with your whip stinging my bum!” 

“You had no idea I’d packed a few toys. And a few costumes!”

“It was such an amazing surprise to see you already dressed in a thigh-length blue tunic. It was super sexy, gathered at the waist with that thick leather belt.” 

“I deliberately didn’t want to tell you anything about what I had planned. I didn’t even wish you a happy birthday! I made a point of only ever addressing you as Slave, and told you to stand naked in front of me.” 

“I have to admit, I was initially shocked, but I did get into the headspace quickly. Especially when I realised I wasn’t going to be permitted the dignity of a tunic. He tied a string around my waist, and draped two grubby rags over it to make a loincloth!”

That last comment was addressed to Margaret, whose shoulder-shaking chuckles made clear she appreciated that indignity.

“The rag at the front covered my bare mound and crotch,” Anna continued, “whilst the one at the back just covered my holes. They were so skimpy, wide enough to hide my naughty bits but too narrow to cover my thighs, so they left my flanks embarrassingly exposed.”

“I’d done a bit of research on Roman clothing,” Ben mansplained, “and discovered slaves wore a simple breast-cloth around their chests called a strophium. So I’d brought a strip of coarse scratchy calico and wrapped it around your chest, knotting the two ends tight in the middle of your back.”

“Then you made me hold out my hands and buckled some leather cuffs to my wrists. They were peak slave chic, joined with a rusty clinking chain.” 

“I was thinking about ankle fetters too, but I was worried you’d trip, and I didn’t want our holiday to end up in the casualty department! I was particularly pleased with the rawhide-sole sandals I’d found.”

“Yes! I remember you whacking my poor bum with one, before dropping a pair at my feet to wear.”

“And I’d brought a leather waterskin as a souvenir, so I think we looked pretty authentic by the time we left the villa. I was behind you, snapping my whip against your bum whenever I wanted you to change direction, or stop you dawdling.”

“It felt so strange to walk past the shiny 21st century chariot we had parked outside, whilst being dressed like those who might have inhabited the 1st.”

“I had planned our walk. Near the villa there was a hill, with a dusty shepherd’s track all the way to the summit that few ever used.” 

“And you marched me up that dusty hill in chains!” 

“It was one of the best hikes we’ve ever done!”

“Despite my predicament, it was quite magical!” Anna agreed. “It was early summer, so the hillside was festooned with flowers peeping above the baked golden grass, everything glowing in a beautiful early morning light.”

“And whenever you halted to admire the view, you felt the sting of my whip.”

“You were so mean! I was grateful when we occasionally stopped, and you made me kneel in the baked dirt to dribble cool water into my mouth. I kept wondering what we’d do if we encountered others!”

“My Italian is pretty basic, so I’d probably just have mumbled ‘un film’, and mimed a movie camera. But that’s why I got you up early, so we had the whole world to ourselves.”

“It felt incredible to be outside in so little. I’d never worn a loincloth before. Soon I’d forgotten all about how we got here, all the airports and the autostrade. I was just a grubby slave girl, with dust caked on her sweaty body.”

“I did notice how deeply you got into it. After a while, I didn’t have to whip you at all.”

“We didn’t speak. Just the sound of our sandals scuffing the dirt, the scrunch of small stones, and the buzz and chirping of unseen insects. It was meditative. Amazing.”

“It must have taken us an hour to climb the hill. But there was no rush. Every step I took in those sandals felt like five more away from the reality we’d left. I knew anything I said would risk breaking the spell.”

“Part of me wanted that climb to go on forever. But part of me was already anticipating what would happen at the top. As we got closer, I noticed the bulge under your tunic.”

“I had no idea what we’d find there. But when I saw that huge rounded boulder, it felt like it had been waiting aeons just for us to arrive.”

“You tugged the chain between my wrists, and pushed me face down over it.”

“It was perfect. A table-sized lump of creamy-beige rock. Half-buried in the hillside, excavated by nature to provide the perfect spanking stage.”

“I still remember being sprawled across that rock, feeling the captured heat of the sun radiating back into every part of my body. I couldn’t help but squirm. I could feel the warm rough surface through the flimsy rags, pressing against my nipples and my mound.“

“Then you found out why I’d worn a belt.” 

“That belt was so cruel! But every whack just made me push against that warm boulder more.”

“And then I lifted your bum rag to expose your cunt. You’d already smeared a sheen of your mess on the rock beneath you.” 

“Then you stood behind me, and pressed against me, your legs over mine, and pushed your big stiff cock deep inside me.”

“It was so hot fucking you against that huge rock, looking down on the valley below.”

“I felt so objectified. You fucked me like I was property, without any care for my pleasure. You never spoke to me. But I knew what you were thinking.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“Yes, then after you came, you wiped your sticky cock on the bum rag of my loincloth. That was so humiliating.”

“And then I used your bum rag to wipe you from hole to hole. I’d always thought the loincloths of slaves were basically just cumrags.”

“God, being wiped like that…”

Anna exchanged a look with Margaret that crackled with erotic charge.

“For a while, afterwards. Nothing happened. I lay over the rock, with you behind me. Silently. Just taking in the view. Then out of nowhere, you suddenly hugged me, and wished me a happy birthday.”

“It wouldn’t have been so special if you were expecting it.”

“But you didn’t remain out of character for long. You slapped my bum hard and said something like: ‘On your feet, slave!’” she delivered that last line theatrically, as if he’d been a particularly hammy actor.

“For the walk home I tucked your bum rag into the waist-string, so you were completely exposed at the back. I figured if we were walking downhill, anyone we encountered wouldn’t see you from behind. And it was such a beautiful view. Staring at my milky cum seeping out of your swollen slit.”

“All the way down that hill, I was waiting - actually - hoping that you’d break character again. That ‘tender you’ would reappear, even for a few moments. It made me feel so needy. Knowing the real you was so close, but hidden, out of sight.”

“I felt that deeply. You never complained, or pleaded to stop our little game. You knew the real me was right beside you. Every step you took in those sandals was an expression of your trust in me. It was such a buzz.”

“When we walked through the door of our villa, I expected you’d unbuckle my cuffs and treat me like a princess.”

“Just like a fairytale! But where’s the fun in being predictable?” he asked rhetorically.

“I spent my entire birthday as his grubby slave!” Anna addressed that comment to Margaret directly, as if making an allegation of outrageousness to a presiding judge. 

“Even when we went out for dinner that night, he didn’t allow me to wear any panties. I had to wear my cum-stained loincloth under my evening gown!”

Margaret looked at Ben, and subtly nodded her appreciation.

“We should do things like that more often,” he said earnestly.

“Definitely. You used to spank me when we went off hiking, before you got all sensible,” she teased, sticking the tip of her tongue out provocatively.

“Like that time I made you take everything off on that hill in Sweden. I sat on a big boulder and spanked your bum pink, and you yelped and moaned and we had no idea whether there was anyone in earshot.”

“You were such a meanie! Making me stand on that rock afterwards holding poses like a nude spanked statue. Then I had to walk all the way back with my panties drenched and my bottom glowing.”

“We did have an incredible time when we got back though…’ his voice trailed off, as if no longer talking, but reminiscing.

It dawned on Anna they might have got rather carried away in their recollections. Not that their audience seemed to mind, she’d been enraptured throughout their story. If one knew how to listen, you could learn a lot about those you encountered from what they chose to reveal about themselves.

“I hope that answers your question to your satisfaction, Miss,” she ventured, in the way a pupil might conclude her presentation to a teacher she really wanted to impress. 

“My goodness. I couldn’t think of a better answer to it!” her assessor replied.

“So yes, we do quite like dressing up and going on little adventures!” Ben said proudly, “How about you, Margaret?”

“Well young man, when I take charge, I like to do so as an Edwardian governess. And that means dressing up those I discipline in appropriate costume too.”

“Anna told me you like to smack bottoms.”

“I can’t think of any better way of securing the attention and obedience of young scamps. Hours of anticipation before, and hours of heat ‘left behind’ after.”

Her audience both nodded, solemnly, as if her proposed remedy was regrettable, but clearly necessary.

“I think there’s so many smart young people out there,” she continued to muse, “living such busy and stressful lives, who’d benefit from the clarity of mind that only a strong, strict hand on their bare bottoms can bring.”

“Don’t you agree, Anna?” she prompted.

“Yes Miss. My mind is always clearer with a smacked bottom.”

“What do you think, Ben?” she probed.

“I’m afraid I can’t speak from personal experience. No one has ever been that strict with me.”

“May I ask a personal question?”

He nodded.

“When Anna mentioned me, and my propensity for smacking bottoms, did you think about what that might feel like?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a smirk. His imagination was always hungry for new fantasies, it would have been negligent not to explore it. 

“Do you think a naughty boy would find it arousing to be spanked by me?”

“Yes, I think he would.”

“In my experience, a good whacking does make a boy very hard. But there’s something I’ve always been curious about. Perhaps you can enlighten me with your perspective?” she ventured.

“I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Do you think if a boy who was used to being dominant and taking charge was spanked by his governess, would he lie awake in his room, rubbing his sore bum, fantasising about getting his own back?”

It was a perceptive question, it had indeed been something he had been thinking about. How would he react if someone strict gave him a taste of his own medicine?

“I’m not sure,” he lied.

“Do you think he’d want to poke his stiffness into his prim disciplinarian’s bottom?” she probed. “Is that what naughty little boys dream about?”

He was aware she was no longer letting her gaze float between himself and Anna, it was now firmly fixed on him alone. She had a surprisingly intense gaze for such a comely face. He ummed nervously, so she reformulated her question more bluntly.

“Have you been thinking about poking your stiffness into my bottom, young man?”

“No! Of course not!” he blurted.

Margaret held out her palm, and signalled for Ben to do the same. As his hand approached hers, she slapped her fingers against his palm. He recoiled as if stung.

“I will not tolerate lying, young man,” she scolded.

“Now, let’s try that again. Have you been thinking about poking your stiffness into my bottom?”

This time, he merely nodded guiltily.

“Yes, Miss,” she corrected.

“Yes, Miss,” he complied.

“Shallow or deep?” she queried.

“Balls deep, Miss.”

“Did you touch your penis as you imagined all this?”

“Yes, Miss,” it was embarrassing to admit, but also weirdly exciting. He had indeed gripped his stiff cock, as he’d rubbed his bum with his other hand, imagining the warm glow she’d spanked into it. But he kept those sordid details to himself.

“That’s better. And thank you for indulging my curiosity.”

There was that electric crackle of sexual energy again, like how clammy skin tingles before the very first lightning flash. It was the same buzz he’d felt in the villa the night they’d arrived, when he could feel the erotic possibilities that were yet to be, yet surely imminent. He’d just confessed to being an extremely naughty boy, and this eminent lady seemed to know all about dealing with naughty boys.

Anna could feel the rising sexual tension too. She let it linger, it was hot to witness Margaret’s masterful exercise of authority. But she also didn’t want to risk the conversation stalling here, and moving onto something dull and inoffensive, so broke the silence with a question of her own: “Do you give a lot of spankings, Miss?”

“I do. Anyone who demonstrates their integrity will never be short of bottoms to smack.”

“Do they just call you? Like making an appointment with a hairdresser?” Ben queried.

“Goodness, no! I am far too busy for that! Those privileged with my discipline are not in charge of my diary. We have an understanding. Once every three months they can respectfully send a message inviting me to visit. And if I happen to be free, I might send them the time and place of their pantsdown.”

“Their… ‘pantsdown’?” Anna queried.

“Yes. Pantsdown is the time I expect someone to have their bottom bared. I also tell them where they should be, and after that, there is no further communication. They know where to be and exactly when they’ll have their pants down, no matter what. It becomes inevitable. Inescapable.”

“Ah. Like being sent to their bedroom, and knowing they were expected to be bare when you walked in,” Ben observed.

“Precisely, but this is a fate the recipient might be anticipating for days, or even weeks.”

The more they talked, the more the couple were entranced by Margaret’s swagger. Through the questions she asked, and the insightful wisdom in her replies, she seemed like a woman who knew what she wanted, and had managed to decode life and its many baffling complexities. 

By any measure, this woman was so much more socially distinguished than either of them. It wasn’t just that she was older, or had climbed higher on the class status ladder of life, with a prestigious job title and subtle accompanying signs of affluence. They found themselves eager for her acceptance. Adjacency to such eminence was quite an aphrodisiac. 

Her erotic erudition was obvious when she began to ask about their polyamorous expectations. 

“So, why three? And not just two?”

“Some games are just more fun with more players,” answered Anna.

“If we played, what restrictions would you place on me?” inquired Margaret.

“None,” Anna replied, whilst her partner nodded his agreement.

“I’m very pleased to hear that,” said Margaret. “We have every right to assert our own personal boundaries, but it never works when we try to make demands on others.”

“Yes, a girl once asked me to play with her boyfriend present,” Anna concurred, “but she didn’t want him to touch me, and I wasn’t allowed to touch his cock. That felt weird and controlling, like only her feelings and fantasies were important, not mine.”

Margaret shook her head wearily. “The number of couples who flounder because of their own insecurities, insisting on red lines for their partner, or wanting to manage others by remote control. It’s very sad. If only they could just let go of their jealousy, they could create a life full of intimate friends.”

“We would love to play with you, Miss,” implored Anna. “Be in charge of us!”

“Even if it meant sore bums for you both?”

“We’d be disappointed if it didn’t!” she smirked.

They talked for another half-hour before Margaret reluctantly declared she had to leave. Before they parted, each got a hug, and an extremely stern look. It didn’t escape their notice that her final word to them both wasn’t “Goodbye” - it was “Behave”. 

They walked home with tummies aflutter, the echoes of their conversation reverberating through their minds. Had they made a good impression? Had they come across as too naive? Or too horny, or too needy? Had they embarrassed themselves with their excruciating gaucheness?

It was like being at school again, Anna expounded, when you got close to the uber-cool girl, and hoped she’d see enough in you to want to be your friend. The worry wasn’t the potential disappointment of missing out on nights of sexy fun, it was the sickly dread that you might not be worthy. Once you’ve glimpsed riches, it’s awful being poor.

---

For a week after their soirée, they’d heard nothing more from the lady both had come to refer to as you-know-who. It had become a running joke between them, every time Anna’s phone had chirped. Have you been good? She’s coming to spank us! But they’d been told she’d be in touch when her schedule was clearer, so her silence was not unexpected.

It was whilst they were watching TV late one evening that they heard a distant buzz. Being the kind of person who’s easily distracted, Anna had strolled over to where her phone was sitting on the breakfast bar, and read the message silently.

“It’s a message from Miss,” she announced reverently.

“What did she say?” He flicked the TV off.

“Pantsdown, Saturday, 2pm. Your place.”

“Goodness. Is that when she’ll get here?”

“No mention of that. Remember what she said. Governesses like to keep their charges on their toes. We might have our bottoms bared a few minutes before she arrives, or a few hours.”

It all felt very serious now, as if a fog had surrounded their fantasy. Now that hazy shroud was rapidly dissipating, and they were beginning to glimpse the sober reality beyond.

“Does knowing we’re going to be spanked together turn you on?” he asked.

“As soon as I saw the message was from her, my tummy flipped. Opening it made my nipples tingle. And now, I can feel my pussy leak.”

He rose to join her, embracing her in an all-enveloping hug from behind, whilst peering over her shoulder at the screen. The single line instruction glowed with a succinct, authoritative clarity. Deep inside his own head, he could hear her prim, strict voice saying it. He felt his own cock stir and tingle. 

He cupped her breasts, then reached around her waist and lowered her sweatpants to the floor in one swift motion. She did not demur. But he deliberately spent much longer languidly tugging her briefs over her hips and all the way down to her feet. He could smell her arousal immediately.

“Pantsdown, young lady,” he said solemnly.

“Pantsdown for one, means pantsdown for both,” she reminded him.

She was quite right, of course. He conscientiously lowered his own to the floor.

He pushed her forward so her elbows rested on the top of the breakfast bar, and splayed her buttocks apart. The message had indeed added a glistening sheen to her pouty pink lips. He knelt between her thighs, lapping up her slippy excitement until his cock was hard. 

Then he fucked her where she stood, bent over the breakfast bar. Despite her shaky fingers, he made her keep hold of her phone and compose a reply. He dictated a new letter to her with every thrust. 

We are both extremely excited to see you, Miss.

Excited was an understatement. 

“Send it as you come,” he’d told her, grasping her hips and lunging forward with increasing vigour. 

Her trembling finger hovered over the button as he fucked her ever closer towards the brink. She dispatched their reply mere moments before her orgasm overwhelmed her.

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* * 3 * *

It was Saturday, and they’d been acutely aware of the approaching threshold all day, on every glimpse of the time on their phones, and every passing glance of their kitchen appliances. There wasn’t long to go now.

“Almost pantsdown,” Anna observed, contemplating her phone as if it was the sinking golden disk of the setting sun.

They waited until the exact moment the hour changed, and then did as they’d been instructed right away, unbuttoning their jeans, and pulling their underwear down to their ankles. For several minutes they stared at each other in silence, as if they were looking at the other’s nakedness for the very first time again. 

Hobbled by their own trousers, they soon stepped out of their lowered garments, and made themselves comfortable as they waited for their visitor, clad only in their tops. They realised they had never sat in their own living room naked before, so it was a tingle-inducing novelty to feel their own sofa in direct contact with their bare bottoms. 

“Does this make you feel like you’ve been super naughty?” Ben asked.

“Like I’m waiting for someone strict to get home, and discipline me,” she agreed. 

“She knows what she’s doing.”

Anna could see his cock swelling, but demurely kept her legs closed with her hands on her lap. She wanted to create a good impression, and not be a drippy mess when their guest arrived. But it was difficult. She knew Strict Miss Cavendish, who’d been the subject of her fantasies for weeks, was at this very moment on her way here, and she suspected she might be sitting quite so comfortably soon.

They had been completely chaste today, even though he’d woken with an exceptionally hard erection. Even though she’d teased him about wanting to poke it into Miss’s bottom, he hadn’t spanked her for it, so Miss would get the honour of taking charge of a pale unmarked bottom.

Their daydreaming was abruptly interrupted by the alert bell of their driveway gate chiming. Ben grabbed his phone to admit their visitor, angling his screen to show Anna the sleek black electric sports car now gliding past the security camera. On its plates was BUM 1.

They scampered to the entrance hallway together, opened the front door, and lined up in the hallway like a welcome party. A darkly dressed figure was approaching. His slanted erection greeted her like a salute. 

“Good evening Miss,” they chorused together. 

“Good evening, you two,” she said in a voice that was prim and authoritative. She walked into their home without waiting to be invited.

“It’s always best when panties come down voluntarily,” she said approvingly, “it gets everything off to such a positive start!”

Her accent was so deliciously plummy, it deserved to be smothered in custard.

Their visitor deposited the two bags she’d been carrying onto the floor, and closed the door with the confident familiarity of someone entering their own home. Only then did she stop to look at them, each in turn, like a visiting president might inspect a guard of honour, her gaze beginning at their feet and rising slowly until it met their eyes. Along the way, she let a fingertip stroke up one thigh, until it lingered on their pubic mounds.

“Both shaved so smooth,” she commended.

She placed her palms between their legs, simultaneously grasping his scrotum and the base of his stiff penis, and cupping her slit in a show of unchallengeable authority. 

“I am in charge of these now,” she announced.

“Yes, Miss,” they gasped together. 

Their new governess had the air of gothic Mary Poppins, or an immaculately attired stormcloud. She was dressed from collar to knees in black satin, in an eye-catchingly elegant vintage Edwardian outfit. It was an ensemble that not only conveyed her strictness, but one that also demonstrated her impeccable taste. 

A wide-brimmed bonnet, also black - naturally - was perched jauntily on her head. It had been embellished with a canopy of lace and ribbons in order to resemble a bouquet of dark flowers. She lifted it from her brow, then paused, as she looked around for somewhere appropriate to deposit it. Then she hung her hat on the tip of his obliging penis. 

A self-congratulatory smile illuminated her face, as if to say: Oh yes, that will do perfectly. 

Ben remained at attention, despite the indignity of suddenly becoming her handstand. It would’ve been very disrespectful to let her hat fall to the floor after being so carefully trusted to his care. He now resembled someone who’d been suddenly surprised in a state of undress, and so forced to cover his modesty with the very nearest thing he could grab. Or one might see a boy offering a bouquet to a princess, which she’d have to reach down to accept.

Removing her hat revealed her hair, which complemented her austere clothing perfectly. It had been styled into an updo, parted in the centre and neatly swept back. Above her temple her hair was smooth and sleek, held in place with several small ebony combs, whilst at the back, it was coiled into a neat chignon that rested on the nape of her neck. 

The most prominent feature of her costume was her bodice, which seemed to have been meticulously tailored to fit the contours of her tall thin torso. Above the small mounds of her bust was a panel of intricately patterned white lacework, which formed a striking contrast with the surrounding black satin. It rose to a high collar around her throat, which was encircled by a short black ribbon whose tails were tied into a bow.

The sleeves of the bodice, which were slightly puffed at the shoulders, added a subtle air of formality and femininity. They tapered down to the wrists, accentuating her slender arms, and culminating in cuffs adorned with the same delicate lacework that graced her chest.

Between her breasts, and extending as far as her navel were two columns of small fastening buttons, which also added a touch of decorative flair. The bodice was cinched at the waist, to emphasise her hourglass figure. Beyond its tightest point, the fabric flared out gently over her hips, before both sides narrowed into an apex at a point that, whilst unseen, was just above her pubic mound.

The flared bottom of the bodice concealed the top of her skirt, one made of the same black satin-finish cotton, which flowed so seamlessly it seemed she was wearing a single garment. The A-line skirt subtly flared out in a dozen wide pleats, its hem falling to the level of her calves. Underneath she wore no stockings, just white ankle socks and shiny round-toed black bar shoes that lifted her slightly with a modest heel.

Their guest did not wait to be guided around their house like polite visitors might, but strode ahead to explore for herself. She left her luggage behind, a timeworn carpet bag with an arabesque pattern of red and gold, and one made of smooth russet leather. Anna picked up the nearest, and Ben - after plucking her hat from the end of his stiffness - grabbed the other, then both scurried after her.

They caught up with her in the living room, admiring the garments they’d been wearing until very recently, and which now lay neatly folded on one of the armchairs. She ostentatiously opened out Anna’s black briefs, and examined the creamy smear with the meticulous scrutiny of an investigating sleuth.

“I see my imminent arrival excited you, young lady.” 

Her deadpan delivery made it impossible for Anna to tell if she was being praised or scolded, an ambiguity that only increased her eagerness to please.

“May I have my bag please, young man?”

Ben dutifully did as he was told, placing the bag on the breakfast bar as directed, before sheepishly putting her bonnet alongside, which provoked a wry smile but no reprimand. She was much more focused on unzipping her bag and extracting its contents. First, she took out a short cane, and several riding crops and leather paddles. Then there was a strap-on harness, and a separate phallic dildo that was obscenely realistic. There was also a collection of smaller accessories, like a mysteriously opaque green glass jar, and a beautifully enamelled vintage carry case of condoms. 

“Now, let’s have a nice cup of tea!” she declared jovially when her bag had been emptied, prompting Ben to hurry into the kitchen to do the honours.

By the time the tray of refreshments arrived, they had gathered in the seats around the coffee table, and settled into easy small-talk. Did you have a smooth journey here? Such a beautiful car! It must be so nimble and fun to drive! Small-talk seemed safer, what else could one say when sitting on a bare bum in front of a resplendently dressed governess? Do you get turned on when you cane naughty bottoms? There was an elephant in the room, and they could feel it about to trumpet.

“Now you two,” Miss Cavendish said at last, placing her cup on the tray with a delicate alacrity that immediately captured their attention, “I have a little treat for you both.”

She rummaged in the arabesque bag and extracted two gift-wrapped packages. The recipients took them when offered, and thanked her effusively - and then paused, not wanting to seem rude or impetuous, obediently waiting for permission to proceed.

“Yes! Yes! Do open them!” she confirmed cheerfully.

It was as if Christmas had come early, both grinned widely as they tore open the shiny paper with almost juvenile levels of enthusiasm. 

Inside each package were clothes. Anna cooed with delight as she discovered a vintage lemon yellow sundress, jumping to her feet like an excited little girl to let it drape to its full length. It was made of fine cotton, decorated with panels of netting and its edges trimmed with lace. Accompanying it was a pair of snow white French knickers. She couldn’t wait to try them on.

Ben opened his gift to find an adult-sized sailor-boy’s uniform, consisting of some unexpectedly skimpy underpants, a navy blue shirt and matching shorts. It made Anna squeal excitedly when she glanced across and saw it, and that alone turned him on.

“You can get dressed in a moment,” she announced, “But first I think we should agree on some ground rules.”

They snapped to attention, and nodded earnestly.

“I would like a clear ‘Yes, Miss’ - or ‘No, Miss’, to my questions, please. Firstly, do you consent to being intimately inspected?”

“Yes Miss,” they chorused in unison.

“Do you consent to me spanking you?” 

“Yes, Miss.”

Do you consent to me sucking or licking you? 

“Yes, Miss.”

“Do you consent to me penetrating you?”

“Yes, Miss.”

He realised he was responding to her questions by nodding like an eager little boy, he could feel himself blush with embarrassment.

“Splendid! And for my part, I consent to all of the above too.”

Anna and Ben stared at each other wide-eyed for a moment, and shared a knowing smirk.

“I am going to give you both new names whilst we’re playing. You, young lady, are now Miss Anastasia. And you, young man, will be Master Benedict.”

This provoked giggles from the newly rechristened Anastasia.

“So this is what I suggest that we do. First, we shall play how Miss Anastasia desires. Then we will all be following Master Benedict’s instructions. Then finally, I shall be in charge. Is that acceptable to everyone?”

“Yes, Miss!” they exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Now Master Benedict, I’d like you to pick up your new clothes, and go to your room to get dressed. I shall be up to fetch you when I’m ready.”

He gathered his new outfit, and left them alone to discuss what Anna had in mind. He could easily have loitered at the foot of the stairs and eavesdropped, but knew it would be much more fun not to know, and enjoy the surprise. 

Once he reached their bedroom he examined his new costume more closely. He had a dark navy blue shirt that was embellished with an almost comically wide white starched flap collar, which flared out like huge lapels and covered the shoulders and much of the upper back. The front of the shirt was fastened by a column of small black lacquered buttons, and its collar was trimmed with a thick blood red ribbon. 

He removed the last vestiges of his old clothes and donned his new identity, beginning with a pair of surprisingly skimpy white cotton briefs. They felt at least size too small, and hugged his bum and crotch like a squeezing hand.

He stepped into his new button-fly shorts and hoisted them to his waist. The legs were knee-length, and quite constricting, inhibiting his movement as surely as a forbidding voice. Donning this made him feel small, like a little boy who’d outgrown his clothes, but had to make do with them until someone bought him replacements in a larger size. For the first time in decades, childish feelings of dependence flooded into his psyche unbidden.

He stood in front of the bedroom mirror and tied the loose ends of the red collar ribbon into a bow. The outfit was quite unlike anything he’d ever worn. He stared at his reflection, barefoot and bold, and a mischievous little boy stared back.

He heard an echo of Miss’s strict voice in his head, something she’d said on that first evening they’d met, and which he’d mentally replayed many times since: “Have you been thinking about poking your stiffness into my bottom, young man?”

The boy in the mirror smirked. Yes Miss, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

He could feel his libido rebelling. I’m a big boy now. I won’t be meek and small. He felt himself swell against the restrictive clutches of his clothes. Unbuttoning the fly relieved some of the pressure, and it felt even better when he tugged down the front of his briefs. Now his growing penis was poking crudely through the gap at the front of his shorts. What a naughty big little sailor boy he was.

He began to stroke himself, not quite masturbating, more an appreciation of his own hardness, a moment of communion with his own masculinity. 

The clump of approaching footsteps interrupted his meditation. His first thought was to stuff his penis back into his shorts, to button up his fly and make himself decent, or at least as decent as a conspicuous bulge would allow. That was how a little boy wanking would react to the imminent arrival of his governess. A rush of shame and fear. 

But he was a big boy now. And as the footsteps grew louder, he grew ever harder. How naughty to be caught stroking your cock by your imperiously strict governess. How bold to be caught wanking without a care in the world.

He didn’t stop when she appeared at the open door. 

If anything, he put on a bit of a show.

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Continued in part two…

Threesome with the Governess - part 2

@spankingtheatre 2024