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Serving Her Scientist

By: Jessica Brand
Published By: Blushing Press
Copyright: 2016© Blushing Books® and Jessica Brand
23 Chapters / 54,000 words
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Paul and Donna are happily married. Maybe their marriage isn't the hot, pulsing sex romp it was when they first said their I dos on the beach so long ago, but it's safe, dependable. Boring. Donna, ever the bookish librarian, spends much of her spare time playing computer puzzle and word games on the internet. Paul's work as a rocket scientist in the military weapons industry requires that his computer remain safe and virus free. State secrets are at stake. That's why his lovely but sometimes naughty wife is forbidden from playing her games on it.

Ignoring his instructions once too often, the inevitable happens and she infects his computer with a virus. Realizing the depth of her mistake, she is willing to do almost anything to atone for her sins and accepts that she will receive an old fashioned spanking as punishment. Much to her surprise, despite the pain, she finds the whole ritual exciting, awakening feelings that have lain dormant for years, and arousing her to such a point that she craves more. She confides in her best friend, Peta, and is shocked by Peta's in depth understanding of the benefits of erotic pain and punishment. Peta consults with Paul and then puts into motion a chain of events destined to change forever the tenor of Paul and Donna's lives.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains the spanking of adults, elements of bondage, discipline and power exchange. If these activities are not to your taste, you are advised not to buy this book.



“By the authority conferred upon me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And so ended our fairytale ceremony. As I turned to embrace him, the warm white sand slid between my toes, his strong hands pulled me against him and our lips met. His tongue entered my welcoming mouth and began a slow exploration as his hands slipped down my back and closed over the globes of my tight derriere. At that point, for all intents and purposes, we were alone on the beach together, miles from anyone and anywhere. It was just the two of us, joined as one and deliriously happy as we started our married life.

We had written our vows together and the words were delivered by my best friend, Peta, who had been deputized for the day as a celebrant. The law in California allowed her to conduct a single ceremony to legally marry us. Unbeknownst to Paul, I had altered the words a little and he ended up promising to give me whatever I wanted until death us do part.

When he realized later what I had done he thought it was a bit rich because, in his mind, he already did that, but he gave me points for chutzpah and managing to get away with it. He made the promise in front of a bunch of friends. No doubt some of them would try to hold him to it.

As we continued our kiss, he scooped me up into his arms and began running clumsily up the beach as our friends watched in wonder—wondering when we'd fall that is. After about three steps he broke the kiss and heaved in a great lungful of air, having forgotten how strenuous it was to run in soft sand. I burst out laughing as I watched him trying to work out what next.

We’d only invited a handful of very close friends and none were surprised at his impulsive action. As they all stood barefoot in the sand one of his friends called out in mock disgust, “Get a room, you two,” only to receive a slap on his arm by his partner. “It looks like that’s what he’s trying to do,” she hissed back at him.

“You’d think they never done it before,” laughed someone else.

“Come back here, you two. You have a reception to host,” Peta called out. “Besides you have your whole life to do that.”

He stopped, dumped me back onto the beach then turned back to the wedding party, not even noticing that I didn’t have my balance as I fell face first into the soft sand behind him.

“Sorry. Just looking for a threshold to carry her over,” he replied to Peta with faux contriteness as I got to my feet, spitting sand and looking most un-lady like as I tried to rub it from my glossy lips. Grabbing him, I spun him around, ensuring his back was towards the group. Grasping his face in both hands I smiled and said in my most sultry voice, “Patience, lover. Don’t worry. This will be a night to remember,” all the time blowing grains of sand into his face. Kissing him passionately, I dropped one hand to his crotch and squeezed him firmly. I broke the kiss. “Boy do I have plans for that. You’re going to be putting that in places you’ve only dreamed about if I have any say in it.”

The reception was held in a restaurant downtown before those who wished to continue the celebrations made their way back to our place where we drank and danced the night away. Paul and I were particularly careful to limit our drinks so we would be able to close out our first night of marital bliss in the traditional way. The last thing I wanted was for Mr. Woody to turn into Mr. Droopy right at the critical moment.

Two weeks of self-imposed pre-wedding celibacy—well, I imposed it and he just went along reluctantly for the ride—would see to it that nothing would stop us from consummating our union when we finally had the privacy to do it. Our selection of music—he picked most of it—meant we had ample opportunity to get up close and personal. As we gyrated around the dance floor the sexual tension continued to build until we could barely keep our hands off each other.

When the door closed behind the last of our guests in the wee small hours, I peeled my dress off and tossed it carelessly to the floor and he turned to see my skin-toned satin and lace lingerie, the garter belt which held up my sheer stockings, and my white patent leather high-heeled sandals. As he watched, I shook my long red hair out and tossed my head back as I gazed at him with longing in my eyes. I hoped the message was unmistakable, but just in case he missed it, I ran my finger up the length of my labia inside my panties before stepping forward. I made sure he saw it glistening in the light before inserting it into his unresisting mouth. “There are lots more where that came from.”

“Not as much as there will be by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Promises, promises,” I teased. “Now my horny hunk of a husband, come and fuck me like I deserve to be fucked. Take me however you wish. Make me your slut,” I breathed. It’s not the way I usually speak but past experience had shown that when I did speak to him like that, his body responded quite powerfully. Tonight was no different as he scooped me up in his strong arms and raced me into the bedroom, tossing me like a rag doll onto the bed. It was easier for him to run on the wooden floor than it had been on the beach and I didn’t end up with sand everywhere so it was a win for both of us. In his enthusiasm, he nearly threw me over the bed and onto the floor, which would have really spoiled the moment. Luckily our bed is large enough that by clutching at the bedclothes and holding tight, disaster was averted and the moment ended as perfect as it could be.

I looked up in mock fear as he ripped his shirt off, exposing his well-toned torso, which had been shaped by hours in the gym, softened only slightly by drinking a regular six-pack. Then he took off his pants and stood, hands on hips looking down at me, his bulging erection forcing his tight briefs out which I found very sexy. I watched his cock flex before looking back into his eyes and licking my lips in anticipation.

Reaching down he slipped his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them over my butt, down my legs and off and held them up to his nose.

“Ahh, the scent of a woman in heat,” he said softly, trying his best to imitate a scene from a movie he’d seen recently, before casting them aside.

He knelt down between my legs, holding them wide open as he lowered his head and took one of my outer lips in his mouth, sucking it gently. As I moaned with pleasure, he swapped to the other lip. I moaned some more. After going back and forth several times, he closed his mouth over my clitoris and without touching it directly, sucked. This time he was a little more forceful, slowly drawing me into his mouth and sensitizing the whole area as he slipped his finger into my pussy. Slowly his finger moved in and out as I squirmed, trying to get even more out of his finger and his lips. Before long I was moaning in unmitigated bliss as my climax approached.

Taking my nipples between my fingers, I pinched them and rolled them through the material of my bra, hard enough that I was on the threshold of pain, just the way I loved to be. My eyes were closed as he released my clit and, as he removed his finger, he slipped his tongue between my juicy folds, the tip of it entering me before he began rapidly fucking me with it. Darting in and out, it noisily lapped up my excitement as I flooded him with more. I was so close to coming, my moans getting louder, my whole body squirming as I sat on that edge. What was it that would tip me over?

Removing his mouth, he re-entered me with his fingers, there must have been at least two, maybe even three as he curled them up inside and rubbed me just behind my clit. I squealed and arched my back.

“Now, come for me, you horny slut,” he demanded.

That was the trigger I needed and nothing would have stopped me as I clenched his fingers as they continued doing their job. I didn’t realize how loudly I screamed until he closed his mouth over mine, muffling me as he forced his tongue inside. Then came a second wave of pleasure, every nerve ending alive as I tried to draw his whole face into my mouth. I could hear the sloshing sound of his magic fingers and for a split second I wondered whether I had wet the bed but I pushed that thought aside as my pleasure mounted. He was controlling every aspect of my being and I never wanted it to stop. I had never known such pleasure and I yearned for even more.

His fingers slowed and eventually stopped. They remained deep inside me and his hand simply clamped my sensitive pussy as I slowly came down from my peak. I had clenched my legs in the throes of passion, but they finally relaxed and he removed his hand, before climbing on top of me and easing one leg between mine, pressing his thigh against my still swollen and sensitive sex.

As our bodies ground against one another I reached around and raked my nails down his back. I knew the effect it would have and I had no doubt I’d be able to see the results of my passion for days. It was also intense enough to awaken all of Paul’s senses and enrich his animalistic lust as I gazed up at him with eyes that made it clear I wanted more. Not only did I want more but I was not prepared to wait. He appeared quite happy to indulge me now that that his erection had returned to full strength.    

“I want you to see this. I want you to watch yourself as I give you exactly what you need.”

Taking me by the hand, he pulled me to my feet. As his rigid cock forced itself between my thighs, he kissed me passionately, unclipping my bra at the same time. He then broke the kiss and let my bra slip to the floor at our feet before turning me around.

“Get into the bathroom and bend over the counter.”

I didn’t move quickly enough for him so he provided some additional impetus—each step was accompanied by a resounding crack as his hand playfully crashed against my firm flesh. As soon as we were inside I found myself pushed up against the cold hard edge of the stone counter top and his warm hard body preventing me from moving. I looked up into the mirror and recognized my husband, but whom was the woman staring back at me? Oh wait! That’s me looking like a bitch in heat, like something out of a bad porn movie. The raw animal lust in both of us took my breath away.

I was also quite disheveled, which was understandable and I looked at him with trepidation as he pushed me down onto the cold granite. My nipples were already standing out proudly and when they hit the cold bench top, they hardened more. I managed to lift myself slightly and support myself on my forearms, watching in rapt fascination as he delivered another firm swat to each butt cheek. He was just so manly—so dominant.

“Open your legs. Let me feel just how wet you are.”

The swats reverberated right through to my core, which only seemed to increase my arousal as I wiggled my butt seeking more. My legs spread and I was grateful that I'd kept my high heels on. He slid roughly up and down my slick slit, coating his thumb with my juices. Then as he slid it deep inside he brought his fingers up to clamp against my mound and gave a thrust with his thumb.

I grunted with surprise at just how good it felt and knew it wasn’t going to take much to push me back over the top. With his free hand, he took a handful of my hair and pulled my head back so I could watch. Slipping his hand out from between my legs and removing his underwear, he brought his head down beside mine. We stared at each other in the mirror, each lost in our own thoughts before he finally spoke.

“Now I will take what’s mine.”

Without further ado he took his rigid cock in his hand before wiping the head of it purposefully along my slick labia a couple of times and then pausing. He deliberately brushed it back and forth across my clitoris, just to tease me and to enjoy my moans of pleasure with every movement. The head of it was pressing against my quivering sex. If I could have pushed back against him, I would have willingly impaled myself but I couldn’t move. Then I felt his cock slowly enter me, filling me, teasing me before he gave a pelvic thrust. My mouth opened; I mewed long and loud and high. He withdrew it again. Bastard!

As he paused, my frustration was obvious as I squirmed around, willing him to continue. I was determined not to beg and eventually gave up trying to entice him back into me. Let him play his little game. The timing of his next thrust was perfect, causing me to squeal. I hissed a long drawn out, “Yes.” He continued to thrust as he reached around me with both hands and took my hard nipples in his fingers. He had total control over me and as he squeezed, I erupted in climax, my muscles clenching his cock as it slid rapidly in and out, growing in size as his own climax approached.

“Maybe I should take it out and slip it into your gorgeous ass,” he said with a fake snarl.

His words made me even more excited. “Oh god, yes… oh fuck, it’s coming again.” I moaned in lust-filled surprise. I had no idea my body was capable of such responses and although I knew I would be sore later, I didn’t want this moment to end.

He was thrusting harder, pounding me against the counter before exploding inside me. His climax triggered yet another one for me and I squealed as he milked himself dry. He lingered inside until his erection subsided and we caught our breath. He cupped my breasts and pulled me against him. We gazed into each other’s eyes, dreamy smiles on our faces as he said tenderly, “I love you, Mrs. White. Now we’d better get to bed before I get tempted to do it all again.”

“Oh my god. You’ll leave me red raw, you sex maniac.”

“I wasn’t planning to go back there. There was somewhere a little tighter and a little hotter that I was considering.”

“Oh no. Not tonight. Don’t think I’m not interested but let’s save that for another time.” I purred sexily as I clenched my butt and pushed back against him.

As we moved in less than perfect synch, my heel came down on the top of his foot and all of a sudden it was his turn to moan although it didn't sound like he was having nearly as much fun as I'd been having when I was moaning. He soldiered on bravely, helping me from the bathroom and into bed, even removing my shoes for me. Curiously he left me in my stockings and garter belt before crawling in beside me. I didn’t care and as I pushed back against him I could have sworn I could feel him coming back to life. I made a conscious effort to ignore it before exhaustion overcame me and soon I fell asleep in post coital bliss with him spooning me.


Chapter 1 – Surprise Revelation


I kissed Paul good-bye before he headed off to the office. I then put on the last of my makeup before I too, headed out to work. Having just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary two nights earlier, we had settled back into our normal routine of work and domestic life. It was not exciting but it was safe and it was predictable despite it being nothing at all like what I had hoped married life would be. Maybe my dreams had been unrealistic. Maybe all married couples fell into this kind of routine after the gloss wore off and life got in the way.

Our anniversary had been a pleasant evening as we shared an appetizer of a shrimp salad washed down with a chilled, crisp Australian sauvignon blanc. The first course was followed by home cooked pork ribs and an expensive bottle of Argentinian shiraz. I have to say that few people can cook ribs like me and even Paul could see that I had pulled out all stops in exercising my culinary skills to make this meal a celebration. We lingered, savoring the rich red wine that complemented our main course perfectly as we exchanged details of our day’s activities.

My mind briefly turned to other, more erotic things and although some hot sex would have been a nice touch, it wasn’t going to happen. Gone were the days when a few drinks would have no negative effect on his erection, but rather drawing it out further while I used him to my heart’s content. These days a simple glass or two of wine was a sure recipe for impotence that a box full of Viagra wouldn’t have touched, despite my best efforts to arouse him. If the truth be known, the constant ache that I used to feel to have him inside me also took much longer to awaken after a few drinks. It wasn’t his fault. So this was what old age had to offer in the years ahead. Dang!

We were both comfortable enough with each other that we knew the sex could wait. We’d reached the stage where we were both busy enough with our careers that we didn’t make much time for each other and quite often when we did, it was a case of: in—bam—thank you, ma’am, before we went our separate ways. Unfortunately, sometimes I didn’t even hear the thank you from him at the end.

I would then either go to sleep or immerse myself in some sort of erotic story that allowed me to escape my suburban housewife existence for a while. Sometimes Paul would walk into the bedroom unannounced to see me rolling around in bed with my hand between my legs and I would blush and convince him nothing was wrong. He, on the other hand, would log onto the Internet and read the latest news or sport. I never ceased to be amazed at how often I would glance at his screen, as I was walking by, to see scantily clad women and men. I would quite often wonder how some of their activities could be categorized as sport, but who was I to pass judgment? They seemed to spend most of their time either congratulating each other or licking their wounds.

Despite our spartan sex life, our love for each other hadn’t diminished over the years. Still, life often managed to get in the way. Sometimes I would wake in the morning feeling quite horny and I would push back to feel his morning hard on but it rarely developed into anything. There was the occasional afternoon delight but the opportunities seemed to be few and far between.

We would still get together once or twice a week and when we did, it was certainly worth the effort, at least for me, but the drive had waned—considerably. The variety of positions we used to engage in had been reduced to only a few and whenever I suggested something a little out of the ordinary, he would invariably screw his face up and tell me I was sick. While in the early days I took that as a compliment and reminded him that was why he had married me, I now, more often than not, avoided the issue.

My lingerie seemed to have morphed over the years from satin and lace—come eat me, into cotton—comfortable, functional but don’t bother racing over. There was hardly a thong to be found in my underwear drawer. I still enjoyed wearing my finest matching lingerie, stockings and high heels and occasionally dressed up for my own enjoyment but I couldn’t figure it out. I knew it turned him on in the early days for me to be in lingerie and heels but now he barely paid any attention. Had my body really become so ho-hum that I was no longer attractive to him? I figured this must be the way most relationships developed as the stories from the girls at work mostly seemed to follow the same patterns. We seemed pretty normal. Eek! I'd never considered myself “normal” yet here I was.

He brought a lot of work home and although he carried a laptop around during the day, he reverted back to the desktop computer, which sat in the study, whenever he wanted to work at home. I had my own laptop and tablet to use for work and to play games. He didn’t like me using the desktop machine for my recreation. Although we had the latest virus and malware protection on all of our machines, he was still worried that I would inadvertently download a virus and corrupt his data right at a critical time. I wondered why my games were such a threat but his “sports” sites weren’t.

I cleared away the breakfast dishes and kissed him good-bye before heading into the bathroom to continue getting ready for work. “Don’t forget, I’m meeting Peta after work for a few drinks. You can join us if you like,” I called back over my shoulder.

“Thanks but I’ll pass. You two need to get together and engage in a little girl talk. You know, bitch about your partners, tell each other how bad you’ve got it, and spread a little gossip.”

I stopped and turned back to face him. “We don’t gossip any more than you guys gossip.”

“Men don’t gossip. We simply solve the problems of the world over a few drinks. Our conversations are serious. It’s women who gossip.”

I stood with my hands on my hips. “Well, okay then. I am going off to catch up with Peta and gossip.” I was feeling petulant and didn't try to hide it. “Maybe we’ll create some gossip.”

He mirrored my stance. “Maybe you will. Make sure it’s juicy and only has a hint of truth about it.” He smiled and waved as he headed out the door.

A few minutes later I head his motorcycle start up and he disappeared down the street. I finished making up then headed off to work. My job as a librarian was not particularly exciting, but it was stable and I liked the people there. I didn’t think I fitted the stereotype of the typical librarian, although most of the women who I worked with did just that. They were bookish types with ultra-conservative clothes, glasses straight out of the 1950s. Most of them could talk of little else except what they had most recently read and the good and bad points of the Dewey decimal system.

My day passed like all the others. Then it was time to shut off the computer and head to the bar and catch up with Peta. Neither of us had been to this particular bar so it would be interesting to see what it was like inside. It had only been open for a few months and looked quite tastefully decorated on the outside. I hoped it would live up to its promise.

It seemed like such a long time since we’d gotten together but in reality it was only a couple of months. Even so, I was really looking forward to seeing Peta. She was someone with whom I could really let my hair down and be myself. I was early. She wasn't there yet. She tended to be a stickler for timeliness. Neither late or early. Always right on time. I wondered if she wasn’t a little OCD.

The décor lived up to its promise. It had a lot of old school charm. The floor was carpeted, the walls covered in paintings and prints. Velvet drapes were positioned around the walls but it was clear they were designed to enhance the ambiance rather than to cover windows. A row of booths covered one wall. Each one had a lead light lamp hanging from the ceiling. In fact, the light level right through the bar was low, projecting a feeling of calm and quiet.

Although there were quite a few people inside, they were mainly couples who were engaged in private conversation and I breathed a sigh of relief that we would not have to shout at each other across the table. This was quite civilized—just what madam was seeking, I thought, chuckling to myself. I checked my watch. With just over ten minutes to wait, I ordered a glass of wine, figuring I would just be finishing it when she walked in and the timing turned out to be perfect. As she entered, I looked at my watch and drained the last of my glass before standing to greet her. I smiled broadly. “Right on time as usual. You are so dependable,” I said as we hugged.

“It’s great to see you. You look great.”

“You too,” I replied as I got the waiter’s attention. We ordered drinks before sitting down to catch up. By the time I was finishing my third glass, I was feeling a little buzzed and it felt good. I sat back and let out a large sigh. With a smile I said, “Gee it’s good to see you.”

Peta looked at me oddly and after a few seconds asked, “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up. What do you mean? Life is good, work is good, if not wildly exciting. I’m living the dream.” As she continued to watch, I inexplicably burst into tears.

“Hmm. If life is so good, I’d hate to see what you would be like if it weren’t so good.”

“I didn’t realize,” I sobbed. “I… I don’t know—didn’t know—there was anything wrong.”

“How’s Paul? Is he treating you well?”

“Yes! Very well… too fucking well. Four years and two days of wedded bliss with the man of my dreams.” I wasn’t aware of the bitterness in my voice.

She continued to observe me, not reaching out and not saying a word.

“I love him deeply and I know that he loves me but we’re stuck in a rut. I remember the man I fell in love with, the exciting lover who swept me off my feet. I remember the man who couldn’t keep his hands off me, who wanted to make love every night in every way possible. I remember the man who, every time I laid eyes on him, would cause my heart to skip a beat. What happened to that man?”

“Do you think he’s gone?”

“No… well maybe… I don’t know.”

“Does the fun loving woman he fell in love with still exist? Is the woman who yearned for his touch, who couldn’t keep her hands off him the night of their wedding, still inside? My god! You two were so carnal on the dance floor that night. We were openly discussing what was likely to happen in the bridal suite and whether there would be complaints from other guests.” She ordered another round of drinks.

I smiled through my tears and gazed into the distance. “Yes. That night was certainly one for the books. We had wound each other up as you know and when we were by ourselves, he brought me to the most earth-shattering climax with his mouth. After I’d come down from that, he took me into the bathroom and… well let’s just say there were orgasms exploding all over the place that night—his and mine.”


“Now we’re down to sex twice a week. Maybe. Oh, when we do it, it is still enjoyable but unfortunately some of the spark has gone.”

“Gone or just been smothered a little bit, ignored as you get caught up in your day to day lives?”

“Well, smothered, I guess.”

“And you haven’t contributed to that, of course.”

“Well, it’s not my fault…”

“I’m not apportioning blame, neither should you. To make a fire, you need a spark and some fuel, and you need to feed it plenty of oxygen. Sometimes you will be the spark and sometimes you will be the fuel but in all cases you need to provide oxygen.”

She continued to look at me and I could tell she wasn't finished.

“Donna, I love you like a sister but…"

Uh oh—This was not going to be good.

“How long since you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

“I look in the mirror every day and I…”

“No! I mean really looked. Look at your clothes. What's that style, dowdy librarian circa 1950s? Your skirt. What are you? Hello, when did pleats and mid-calf skirts go out? And lacy frills and cuffs on a white shirt? The only thing missing are the bobby socks. You have a beautiful body hiding underneath those remnants from last century. Those beautiful auburn locks—they look great now but I’ll bet that most of the time he sees them they are tied up in a bun. Try to imagine them splayed across a pillow as you gaze lovingly up into his eyes.”

“Ah. I think I get it.”

Adopting an imperious tone, Peta continued. “Well, if you don’t at least start to get it, you deserve to go over my knee.” She responded to my look of shock and added, “Or at least somebody’s knee.”

Cheekily I asked, “Your knee? Is that a threat or a promise?” She didn’t reply and I was grateful because I wasn’t sure I really wanted an answer. The wine had reduced my inhibitions and if she had continued the repartee, I don’t know where it would have ended. As I sat there I formed a mental picture of me across her knees as she pulled my skirt up to spank me. Holy cow. That picture was hot!

“I need to go when we finish these,” she said, holding up her glass. “I have a date with my current beau.”

“Ooh, and will you be going over his knee?”

“Or her knee,” she replied.

I studied her and couldn't tell if she as serious or just teasing me. Over the years I'd come to realize that her preference was for someone compatible. However, gender was irrelevant. She was “flexible” and I was fine with that. But, this new kink rendered me curious. “Are you serious? Would you really put me over your knee? When did you become a sadist?”

“A sadist? That's a bit extreme. Let's just say that a person's sexual proclivities evolve over time. Sadist. Masochist. The definition is… based on one’s point of view.” She giggled, but the look on her face belied the giggle.

I turned away, embarrassed, but oddly aroused. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”

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