Alison Tyler - Alison's Wonderland

“That’s right, I do know what you want,” she says, her voice echoing through the water. “You want to suck my tits while I spank your ass until your cheeks are all red and tingly. You want me to spank you until you come.”

I’m so weak with lust that I can’t even manage a nod in reply. But a moan seems to suffice as I bend to take her nipple in my mouth again. I grope for her other breast with one hand and cup my own with the other, my thumb flicking the tip, already sensitive and tingly from the salt water.

I’m ready. Now.

Smack.

I swallow down a yelp as her stiff paddle meets my buttocks. My bare cunt skids over her scaly skin, and the prickling sensation ignites into a steady burn.

She punishes me again. And again. The fin makes an obscene slurping sound as it strikes, like a pussy being fingered fast and hard. I grind my clit into her, my whole body shaking, a sob rising in my throat. I’m close. Very close. The next one will take me over the edge. I know it. She knows it.

Which is why she pauses at that very moment. I’ll have to beg for it. I always do.

Suddenly a car door slams in the driveway right outside the bedroom window.

I freeze, a bullet of fear piercing my belly. A moment later, I hear a key in the lock of the front door.

Fuck, it must be Anton, even though he’s not due back from work until six or seven. It’s either my husband or a burglar, and in my panic I almost wish it were a break-in. I wouldn’t owe a criminal any explanation for why I spent the afternoon with my hand down my pants while he had to sit through endless seminars on effective management techniques at his new company.

My chest heaving like a fish out of water, I yank up my shorts and pull my T-shirt chastely over my breasts. Too late to hook my bra or do the zipper. The footsteps have reached the bedroom door.

I stretch and sigh, feigning the yawn of a woman just waking from a nap.

“Ah, the lazy life of a masseuse.” Anton bends over me for a quick kiss. He fishes his wallet and keys from his trousers and tosses them on his dresser, then takes off his watch, the things he does every day when he comes home from work. He has no clue that his wife has spent the last hour cavorting with a piscine dominatrix.

I exhale with relief. I might just get away with my little afternoon infidelity.

“Shiatsu classes don’t start for three weeks,” I remind him. “Until then my only job is to be your love slave, right?”

It’s a risky move, but I’m feeling bold. And horny. If he has to come and interrupt me just when things are getting hot, the least he can do is help finish the job.

He pauses, fingers at his shirt buttons, eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Love slave, huh? As a matter of fact, that is my preferred job description for you. Lucky for us the seminar finished early today. The facilitator had that Friday-afternoon golfer’s gleam in his eye.” Anton’s eyes gleam, too, as he looks down at me.

I’m expecting he’ll go into the walk-in closet to hang up his suit, so I can at least zip my shorts, but unfortunately, my come-on line was a little too successful. He undresses quickly, draping his suit and shirt on the armchair, then peels off his briefs. I can’t stop staring at his hard-on, a thick, red baton, floating in air as if by magic. My mouth starts to water. On summer days his dick tastes saltier, like a big pretzel stick.

He slips into bed beside me, and I press myself against him, hoping he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m already partially undressed.

It seems, however, that my luck has run out.

He’s already reached under my T-shirt. “Hey, what’s with your bra?”

“I unhook it when I nap,” I answer quickly. “It’s less constrictive.”

His hand drops to my shorts and slithers through the gaping fly. I know my panties are damp. Sopping, actually. And there’s no mistaking that briny fragrance of aroused female.

“Okay, Stef, what were you really doing when I got home?”

My stomach clenches with guilt and a touch of fear. Which is stupid because he knows I masturbate when he goes on business trips. He certainly wanks when he’s away. But it’s different to be caught in the act with no excuse except the old saying “Idle hands do the devil’s work.”

“I was just doing what you do in those hotel rooms while you’re watching porn movies,” I say, trying my best to sound cool.

“Actually, I don’t waste money on stupid movies. There’s plenty of good stuff for free on the Internet.”

Anton laughs and I join in, a touch too heartily.

Then I ask shyly, “Do you mind?”

I’m not sure why I feel so guilty about this. As if I’d actually cheated on him with another woman.

“Not at all. I’m sorry I missed the show.”

“I think we can put on a better one together,” I whisper as I turn toward him. I cup his balls and walk my fingers back to the sensitive strip of flesh between his legs. Stroking him there always stops any conversation short.

He sighs and his thighs ease open. “So, what were you thinking about when you were doing it?”

My fingertips pause on their journey back to tease his ass crack—which would surely have distracted him from unwanted questions. What do I say now? Of course, I’ve shared a few fantasies with him before. Crushes on movie stars. Doing it on the beach. But getting an ass-searing spanking from a lesbian mermaid was something else altogether. Besides, Anton was a swimmer in high school—his team came in third in the state finals. If he knew his doggie-paddling wife had nautical yearnings, he’d probably laugh himself silly.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” I say. Even I know it sounds unconvincing.

“Come on.”

“It’s true.”

Anton closes his legs, forcing me to pull my hand away. “You know, we had a presentation about people like you in the seminar today.”

His tone is playful, but I feel my body tense. “What do you mean?”

“Difficult employees. They’re a challenge. And I have to say your performance as my love slave leaves a lot to be desired right now. But the facilitator explained that each employee has a different working style and if the manager modifies his communication tactics to meet those needs, the result can be a mutually beneficial outcome.”

I can’t restrain a derisive snort. “You’ve lost me there, honey. Can you put that in words your more simpleminded workers can understand?”

What happens next catches me totally unawares. Anton plants a nice smarting slap right on my ass. Which is not nearly as surprising as what follows: an embarrassing gush of wetness between my legs and my involuntary cry of pure arousal.

I swallow hard and look away, struggling to pull myself together. “Is this what they’re teaching you in that seminar?” It’s meant as a clever comeback, but my voice is husky and my heart is pounding.

Anton tilts my chin up. Our gazes lock. He knows. My whole body blushes with arousal and shame.

“Were you thinking about having sex with someone else?”

It’s my chance to confess and come clean, but perversely, I shake my head.

He slaps my ass again.

“Tell me the truth.”

I wonder, fleetingly, if this new managerial tone will have the same effect on his employees as it has on me. By now I’m so aroused I can barely breathe.

“I…can’t do that,” I stutter.

“Then,” he replies, his voice calm, “we can both agree that you need serious disciplinary measures. Pull down your pants and lie on your stomach.”

I’m his love slave, I have to obey. Hands shaking, I struggle out of my shorts and panties and position myself as instructed. He reaches under my T-shirt and takes my nipple between his fingers. In a perfectly timed motion, he tweaks my nipple just as the first smack lands square on my ass.