The Courtship of a Goddess

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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The Courtship of a Goddess
Part 1

(*****, M/F, Intense, some spanking, sex)

A lonely, middle-aged bachelor tells the bittersweet story of how he fell in love with the woman of his dreams. (Approximately 8,069 words. Originally published 1996-02.)

My name is Tom. My last name is Jefferson. Please spare me the routine. I've heard them all, believe me. My mother really wanted me to go by Thomas and was crushed when I began insisting on Tom, but I was tired of all the ribbing.

I am 42 years ancient. Until a miracle happened a few months ago, I was miserably single. I had pretty much resigned myself to bachelorhood when I met Samantha. This is the story of our courtship, the improbable courtship of a geeky middle-aged wimp and a beautiful 28-year-old blonde goddess, and the miracle that bound us together. Literally.

First, let me tell you about myself and my history. It's really boring, I know, but you won't really understand what a bombshell Samantha was in my life if you don't know how miserable and alone I was before.

To put it bluntly, I'm a geek. I'm a nerd, a social incompetent. I almost always was, too. I'm not really bad looking, but I'm awkward and I don't carry myself well. For instance, I'm very tall, 6'5", but I'm useless at sports. Too clumsy. I'm also extremely thin and frail, though lately that's changing.

I wear glasses, of course, and I'm extremely studious. I'm an engineer for Boeing. My work is really my life, or has been. Sometimes I'll work all night on a particularly tricky problem, trying to come up with a solution. Most people just use technology and have no real appreciation for how truly difficult the design and engineering is.

My lack of social skills isn't all my fault. My father was a Colonel in the Army. Our home was run like a military camp. Order and formality were the rules. At school when the other boys would be running and playing and pulling the girl's pony tails, I'd be inside helping the teacher dust the erasers and wash the blackboard. Needless to say that didn't help my social standings.

Just before high school my dad got a promotion of some sort and we had to move to Brussels, Belgium. We thought it was going to be for a year, but it turned out to be just six months. Then we were in Spain for four months, and then we moved to Washington, D.C. for almost a full year. It continued like that all during my high school years. We moved eight times in those four years, including my senior year, just three months prior to graduation. I had to graduate with a bunch of strangers.

I'm not blaming everything on my dad. He was a good man, a very good man. He loved me and cared for me, but we were never very close. I could never discuss something intimate with him, something like my social troubles. Besides, he would have just _ordered_ me to ask a girl out or something, not advise me on how to do it.

My mother was very gentle and kind. She and I got a long great during my high school years. I was very obedient and helpful to her. I loved her very much and though we could discuss my career and interests and other things, I never felt comfortable discussing sex with her. She just didn't seem the type. She'd blush just seeing a turkey baster.

Anyway, all through high school I became extremely self-sufficient. I studied hard and made very few friends because my studies seemed to be the only thing that transferred with me to my new schools. I had a few friends that promised to write and keep in touch. I never heard from them. Perhaps they tried but we had moved on. I don't know. But it left me feeling rather alone and not very trusting.

College continued the tradition. I was a loner, shy and reserved, unless it involved structural engineering or aerodynamics, my pet hobbies. I asked a few girls out, mostly acquaintances or dates my roommates set up. I never went out with anyone I really cared for or wanted. I had a number of crushes, but they were always with those super-popular girls, you know the type--the one with about fifteen members of the jock strap club on her arms, the jocks docilely following behind her, licking the soles of her feet just to be near her. I didn't want to be like that. It revolted me, and though I desired such pretty girls, I could never bring myself to act like such fawning jerks.

There was one girl. Her name was Erica. She was an engineering student like me. Pretty, in a quiet way; very docile, very conservative, a good student. We became pretty good friends. We shared a lot of interests, and we had many involved discussions over engineering theories and problems. There was nothing sexual, at least not initially. Soon I began to really grow attracted to her. I began to dream of her, late at night, occasionally, though I tried desperately to resist the urges, even masturbating while I imagined her climbing up onto the library table in front of everyone and slowly undressing and telling me she wanted me, she secretly loved me, and she wanted us to make love right there on the research table.

Of course the next day nothing like that happened at all. She'd be polite and tell me how brilliant I was, and I would challenge her with some new theory of mine and she'd answer it with a clever argument I hadn't anticipated, and before our first class we'd be deep into five-syllable words and obscure references.

But I slowly grew more and more desperate, resisting the urge to fawn over her, but trying everything I could think of to please her and demonstrate my deep love for her. I brought her flowers. I bought her dinner. I even took her to an engineering department social. But there was no sexual overtone. We were just friends. Everything was relaxed and normal. I resolved to tell her of my feelings. It took me over two weeks to screw up my courage and outline what I wanted to tell her. I called her on the phone one day.

"Erica, I need to talk to you. Can we meet at three at Murphy's?"

"Sure, Tom. I've got some wonderful news to tell you!"

"Really? What is it?"

"Wait until we meet. I want to tell you in person."

By the time three o'clock had rolled around I had almost called her three times to cancel the meeting and forget everything. But somehow I held on and at five after three Erica came in. She was beautiful. Slim dress, elegant yet casual, accented by a loose white jacket. Her face was beaming and she raced straight to my table. She seemed very excited.

"Oh, Tom, I know you wanted to talk to me but I just can't _wait_ to tell you! Look!" She held out her arm proudly, and I stared blankly at her hand, not understanding. "He asked me to _marry_ him, Tom! Isn't that wonderful? We've set the date for June 17. You're invited, of course. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't that the most beautiful ring you ever saw?"

Stunned beyond words, I just stared at the sparkling thing on her finger and couldn't even breathe. This was impossible, ridiculous, but true. The proof was right there in front of me, on her finger, indisputable. "Congratulations, Erica," I managed. "I had no idea you were even dating anyone."

"You remember John, don't you? I introduced you to him that time he met me after class to take me to the basketball game? We've been going together ever since."

My mind whirled and I vaguely remembered a tall, athletic-looking young man, very handsome, obviously out of Erica's league. At the time it hadn't occurred to me that it was anything serious. Erica dated infrequently, perhaps a few times a month, always with a different guy, usually someone one of her girlfriends had set her up with. I hadn't thought that time was anything different.

I was crushed. I brushed off Erica's questions about what I had wanted to talk to her about and left rather rudely, hurting her I suppose. I never saw her much after that. She seemed sad and sorry, and I think she guessed the truth, but I never told her. I didn't go to her wedding. Sadly, I don't know what happened to them since.

Well, I graduated from college and did some graduate work, and started working for a small start-up company in Seattle. It was very successful at first, and my designs were extremely well-received. But the company's marketing was terrible, and within three years of my joining them the corporation folded, and I was without a job.

Then Boeing called me. Seems someone there had liked my designs and had heard what happened to Dunlatch Corp. and wanted me in for an interview. The position was a dream one. I would get to work with some of the top engineers on the planet, and the salary was a hefty one, almost double what I had been making at Dunlatch. I accepted on the spot and a week later I started.

The years just flew by. I was so absorbed in my work I barely noticed. The technology was changing right and left all around me and it made my job incredibly exciting. The airplane industry was booming and everything seemed to be going well. I got promotion after promotion and became a senior level engineer by the time I was thirty-five, at least ten years ahead of most.

Many of my ideas were patented by Boeing and earned the company tons of money and influenced the industry. One of my inventions, a small gasket, was even stolen by a Chinese manufacturer and there was a big lawsuit and international uproar over the event. I had to go to Congress to testify before a committee regarding my patent. In the end we won, but it was a long six-year battle.

When I was forty-one my father died. Though at the time I went back home and comforted mother and such, looking back I realized I barely noticed. Not that I'm uncaring and unfeeling, but I was too involved with work and I really hadn't been close to my father for years. I loved him, but he was just the distant figure that put food on our plates or took me into his bedroom for a whipping when I was bad.

A year later when Mom passed away the shock finally hit me. I was alone. My grandparents had gone when I was very young. Now my parents were gone. I had no brothers or sisters. I was alone. At forty-two years of age I realized that a large portion of my life had slipped past me and I discovered dating at 42 was even more difficult than dating at 22. I was miserable.

I threw myself back into my work with a vengeance, but it wasn't much help. I was lonely. I bought a dog. It helped some, but whenever he did something really cute I wanted to share it with someone. There was no one there.

Something else began to bother me. I realized with astonishment that I was still a virgin. I'd never really intended for it too happen like that, but it was true. I'd never had sex. This bothered my ego greatly and troubled me at night when I lay alone in bed, fighting off the urge to go look at one of those magazines I keep in a box at the bottom of my closet. I felt humiliated and ashamed, and I wondered if it showed. It made my talking with women even more difficult. Could they see what a wimp I was? Could they tell I was a virgin?

I began to panic and had all kinds of horrible nightmares about it. I had this one dream of a beautiful woman who took me to bed. She pushed me back against the bed and began to pull down my pants. I was hard, of course, my penis huge. When she took down my underwear my cock popped out and she began to laugh hysterically, saying she'd never seen such a tiny weeny. I woke up drenched with sweat and wondered if I was going insane. All my childhood terrors were coming back and they were much more intense and twice as humiliating because I was at an age that should have overcome these fears long ago.

I tried to seek out professional help, and failed. I don't mean a shrink. I couldn't imagine telling all this to a doctor. No, I tried to pick up a whore. Doesn't sound that difficult, does it. But I failed. Four times I circled the block. I could see several, walking the streets with those mini-skirts and way too much lipstick. I wasn't especially attracted to any of them but boy my dick was hard as a stick. But I couldn't stop. I just didn't have the nerve. They'd know in a second I was a virgin and they'd laugh at me. It was too humiliating. I drove home and shamelessly spread out all those magazines in the living room and spent the night spraying my come all over the furniture.

In the morning I felt exhausted and frustrated, and strangely, very angry. I was in a terrible mood. I thought about calling in sick but the concept of sitting at home all day and masturbating like some freaky pervert made my stomach turn. I drove to work, miserable and ashamed. My dick hurt too, from all the activity of the previous night. I wished I was dead.

* * * * *

I had been at my desk for scarcely an hour when I heard one of the junior engineers making crude comments about a new secretary. "She's got huge bazoombas," he said, or something equally childish.

"Knock off the sexist remarks, Dave," I scolded. "It's the 90's, you know. Do you want to get sued?"

"Well! Who stuck a dowel up _your_ butt this morning!" he sniped back and walked off. I tried to go back to work but now I couldn't concentrate. I kept hearing Dave's stupid remark in my head. I decided to go grab a soda from the rec room.

As I came back with the soda I passed the main lobby of the R & D section, where the secretarial pool is located. As researchers we don't each get our own secretary, but we put our requests into the pool and they divide up the work.

I stopped in my tracks and stared. Sitting at the desk near the paneling I would have to pass on my way back to my office was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She had huge waves of blonde hair falling all around her head and shoulders, graceful, smooth, silky hair, like in those TV shampoo commercials. Her face was exquisite, chiseled out of soft granite and shaped to perfection, curled lips, button nose, high cheekbones, the works. Her eyes were large, almond-shaped ovals, and as she was looking away from me I could see the white of her eyes. I love a woman's eyes. You can tell more about a person from their eyes than anything else.

I approached, stumbling slightly, lost in a daze. I was vaguely aware that this woman had a sex-kitten body, with huge "bazoombas" and a trim figure. Her dress was slim and simple, an elegant white that showed off all those delicious curves. The neckline was tight and her breasts were well-covered. Conservative but sexy. I liked it a lot. I liked her a lot. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Suddenly I bumped smack into the partition in front of her and she looked up at me, straight into my eyes, her mouth opening slightly in surprise, the lips curling slightly in an amused smile, her teeth white and perfect. "Can I help you?" she said with a pleasant, efficient tone, all business. She spoke to me with respect, probably because my ID badge showed I was a senior-level manager.

Without a thought in my brain, completely unconscious of the other secretaries or how incriminating this would sound to a sexual-harassment judge, I blurted out, "You are a goddess!"

The awe in my voice must have amused her, because she smiled and blushed slightly. "Thank you, sir, but I don't really think that's appropriate."

In my fog I completely misunderstood her. "It's completely accurate," I said quickly, hearing myself talk and wondering who was controlling my speech. "You are indeed a goddess, far too pure to be walking among mere mortals like myself."

She blushed again and graciously dropped her eyes. All that color made her far more attractive. "Sir, I don't think you should be telling me this. It might be misconstrued," she said quietly. She looked very embarrassed.

Suddenly I realized everyone was watching us. I looked up and around and all the secretaries were staring at me. I looked behind me and several of my colleagues were watching me with raised eyebrows. Like a punch to the stomach I was floored. I shrank back and mumbled some sort of an apology. My face turned beet red and I rushed to my office, closing the door and dimming the lights. I collapsed in my chair and sat trembling.

What had I done? Had I just ruined a promising career? How could I have behaved like that? I'd never done anything like that in my life! And after just lecturing Dave on the proper behavior around women, too! This was humiliating. I wondered if I needed to go to my supervisor. I'd have to apologize to the girl, of course. Perhaps she wouldn't put in a complaint. She was new, perhaps I could have her transferred to a different department so there wouldn't be any question of preferential treatment by me. Oh, what was wrong with me? I wanted to die!

I though about the girl. She was so pretty, so composed. She probably was married. In either case she certainly had more than her share of boyfriends. She was the kind of girl I'd always wanted in college, but never could get close to. As I thought about it I decided I hated her. She would surely resent my rude remarks and find me quite repulsive. It made me angry to see her in that light, and I could envision her going out with some weasel like that Dave, never realizing until too late what a jerk he was. Beautiful women, even smart ones, could never pick good men.

I skipped lunch. I couldn't have kept anything down anyway. I actually managed to get some work done. Late in the afternoon I checked the employee database on the computer system and found her. Samantha Robertson, age 28, single, secretary. There was a quote from her about how excited she was to be working at Boeing and how she'd do her best to help out "the team." The databank said she'd graduated from Washington state with a pre-law major and had worked for a huge law firm in Vancouver for several years.

I spent the next hour composing an e-mail apology to her. I begged her forgiveness and understanding and informed her that under no circumstances would anything like this happen again. I wrote and rewrote the letter until everything seemed perfect, just the right amount of formality and informality, friendly and honest, but not too personal. I didn't really like doing this over e-mail but I couldn't face her directly. I looked at my watch. It was close to five, I needed to send it soon or she wouldn't get it before she left. I looked out of my office and saw many of the engineers were already leaving. It was a Friday and people usually took off early if they could. I loaded up the message and was just about to press "send" when I heard a knock at my door.

(Trust me--someone _does_ get spanked sooner or later!)

* * * * *

Part 2

(*****, M/F, Intense, some spanking, sex)

A lonely, middle-aged bachelor tells the bittersweet story of how he fell in love with the woman of his dreams. (Approximately 8,069 words. Originally published 1996-02.)

A little grumpy at being interrupted but somewhat relieved, I opened the door. I froze in terror, for there in front of me stood Samantha Robertson, purse in hand and dark coat on her arm. Her beauty stunned me as before and I couldn't move or even begin to imagine what she was doing here.

She smiled at me warmly and asked if she could come in. I nodded, dumbly, and she entered and to my surprise, closed the door behind her. She appeared slightly nervous, but not at all afraid of me, someone who had practically assaulted her moments earlier.

"This is a nice office, Mr. Jefferson," she said pleasantly, looking around the room. I've had the same office for a number of years now so it's pretty customized. She stopped and admired several of the engineering awards I'd won, and noticed the framed newspaper clipping of me testifying before Congress.

"Please, call me Tom," I said, pulling a chair out for her. She did not sit but stood and smiled at me. Her smile took my breath away.

"All right, Tom. I won't stay long--I don't want to bother you, but I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier."

I stood up in astonishment. "_You_ want to apologize to _me_?"

"Yes. I didn't mean to frighten you away. I really wasn't offended by what you said. I spoke with Barbara--you know Barbara--and she told me all about you, said you were the kindest, most gentle man in the building. 'Never harm a flea,' she said. 'Probably locked in his office racked with guilt over insulting you,' she said. Was she right? Have you been in here all day, worried about how offended I'd be?"

I stared at the floor and blushed furiously, unable to conceal my shame. "I-I'm terribly sorry," I said. "I wrote you this apology." I pointed to the screen. She frowned slightly and stepped up close to me and bent forward to read the text. She laid her purse and coat on the chair I'd offered her. It was a long note and she had to reach forward to use the mouse to scroll through it. I lay in my chair, her warm body bent close to me, almost across me, her perfume dizzying. I didn't move an inch.

"Hmmmm," she said when she finished. "Not bad. A little too formal perhaps, and it's obvious you were very worried about being sued. Though you are trying to apologize there are all sorts of little defenses you put in there to protect yourself. It kind of negates the apology I'd say." She stared at me for a long time without saying anything, my eyes drinking in hers like it was a bottomless spring. I have no idea how long she knelt there and stared at me. It seemed like an eternity, later, but at the time it was just seconds.

She stood up. "I understand you are single. The girls tell me you've never even winked at any of them, and even reprimanded several employees who did. So what you did today was not your normal behavior at all. Perhaps you are ill?" She took her delightfully limber fingers and pressed them against my forehead. "No fever," she said shaking her head, almost sadly. Her eyes twinkled and I saw she was almost smiling. "How can we explain you behavior of this morning?"

"We can't!" I exclaimed. "I've never done anything like that in my life. I told you I am terribly, irrevocably sorry. It will never happen again, I swear it!"

"But I want it to happen again."

"What!"

Her smile was devilish and she leaned close to me, her hands resting deep on the armrests of my chair, her arms on each side of me effectively locking me in my seat.

"Think about what you are apologizing for, Tom. A girl _likes_ to be told she is beautiful. But you are sorry that you called me a goddess!"

"Oh, no!" I stammered,. confused. "I didn't mean that. You _are_ a goddess, a supreme being, certainly!"

"So now you are called me a goddess again? You are repeating your insult of this morning?"

"Well no, I--"

"No what? No I'm not a goddess? No you are not calling me a goddess again?"

"I--"

"Well?" Her eyes were like lightening bolts, shooting into me. I shrank further back in the chair and she moved closer to me until her lips were just inches from my face. I could vaguely feel the heaviness of her breasts touching my chest. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"You _are_ a goddess but I shouldn't have spoken to you like that!" I finally blurted out, really wanting to cry I felt so bewildered.

"And how would I have known I was a goddess if you hadn't told me?"

"I--I don't know!"

"Tom, you did a good thing, this morning. I liked it. Today was my first day on my new job and here comes this handsome gentleman telling me that I'm a goddess! A goddess! I've never been a goddess before, Tom. Usually I'm just a broad with big hooters, good for a quick lay in the back of a pickup over lunch! But to you, Tom, to you I'm a goddess! A goddamned goddess! Do you know how that makes me feel?"

I shook my head frantically. I needed to pee really bad.

"It makes me feel _wonderful_, Tom! Wonderful!"

With that, the gorgeous blonde leaned back and stood up in front of me, her face slightly flushed, her arms folded across her magnificent chest. I still couldn't move. This woman was amazing to me. Strong and forceful and yet so pretty and seemingly fragile. I felt dizzy like I was falling in love.

"Do you know what we are going to do now, Tom?" I shook my head.

"We are going to leave here and you are going to take me out on the town. I'm new; I have no friends here, I don't know where to go. You will take me to a very nice restaurant and we will have a fabulous dinner. Then you will take me home to your place and I will fuck you silly. Does that sound like the plan?"

"I love you," I breathed.

"Oh? What took you so long? That's usually the _first_ line I hear."

"You don't understand," I said struggling to stand up. "I've never loved anyone. I've never met anyone like you."

"I'm just a nice girl looking for a nice man."

"That's me!"

"Well, we'll see. You seem pretty mild for me. But how about you take me to dinner now?" I grabbed her arm and practically dragged her out to my Jaguar, and we headed downtown. There's a nice French restaurant there, the Chateau Rouge. I'd never been there, but I heard one of the vice-presidents recommending it once.

The meal was fantastic. The wine alone cost me a hundred bucks but it was worth it. I didn't hesitate a second spending money on this beautiful blonde. I felt incredible. Here I was in one of the fanciest restaurants in town, dressed casual, and the woman I was with was attracting looks from everyone. The waiters practically had a fight to see who would serve our table.

"Is it always like this for you?" I asked.

"Like what?" She was casually munching on some bread and appeared rather disinterested in what was happening around her.

"People. People staring at you. Don't you feel conspicuous?"

"Naaa. I'm used to it. People always stare. I barely even notice it anymore. It's not important to me."

"What is important to you?"

She sipped her cocktail and smiled. "You. Me. Us. I value relationships. Strangers don't know me. They only see the surface. I like what's down deep."

"Is that why you are here with me instead of some handsome stud from the office?"

She frowned. "You really are too down on yourself. You pass it off as a joke but it's not. You think you're not good enough for me?"

I nodded and shrugged. "I'm not very comfortable around women," I said softly.

"You're comfortable around me."

"No, I'm not. I'm terrified. I'm afraid you'll get up at any second and tell me this is all a mistake or some cruel joke and leave me here with the bill and those waiters laughing at me."

She looked annoyed. "The waiters aren't laughing at you."

"Sure they are. They think I must be rich and you're after my money."

"Oh?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and she smiled. "Then I'll pay for the meal. No arguments." I shut my open mouth and meekly backed down. I didn't want to upset her but I really felt annoyed that she was going to pay. That wasn't fair at all!

She had the waiter charge the meal to her credit card. I didn't miss the look of surprise on his face and neither did she. "I'll pay you back later," I whispered gallantly. Her eyes burned into mine. "You will not!"

After dinner I took her on a drive around town, just to show her places. She was quiet. I kept having to look at her every few moments to convince myself that she was real. When we stopped at a crowded intersection I could feel everyone looking at me. "She's probably a figment of my perverted imagination and I'm talking to myself," I thought. "All these people think I'm nuts."

"Why don't we go back to your place," Samantha whispered suddenly, and I felt a cold fear go down my spine. I had not forgotten her promise, er, perhaps _threat_, from earlier in the evening. Was she really serious? Did she really intend to have sex with me? What would she think when she found out....

We pulled into my driveway and my heart was beating a mile a minute. I opened her door and helped her out and we walked toward the entrance of my house. She expressed delight at the beautiful landscaping.

"I've got a gardener," I explained. "I love plants and greenery but I don't have the time or skill to keep the place up. My mother always loved plants. That was always her greatest regret about our traveling so much. She always wished she could have her own greenhouse."

My home is in a secluded area, surrounded by forest on three sides. The architecture is somewhat chalet-like, a small two-story rustic cabin. The landscaping is fantastic, one of my luxuries. There's a small flower garden and a walkway through a miniature park of tall trees.

Inside, Samantha could unfortunately tell a bachelor kept house. I had had no idea that I'd be bringing home a dream date that evening, so the house was a mess. I rushed forward to clean some dirty dishes from the living room table and took them to the kitchen.

"Sorry the place is such a mess. I wasn't exactly expecting company."

"It's fine, Tom. You've got a nice place here. Cozy and warm. Do you ever use the fireplace?"

"Sure," I nodded. "During the winter I love to sit and read by the fire.

"Oh, that sounds so good!" There was a pause. "You don't have a bearskin rug, do you?"

I shook my head. "No, sorry."

Samantha looked slightly abashed, the corners of her luscious mouth drooping downward. "Oh, that's too bad. I have this fantasy, you see--of sitting nude with my lover on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, and snow piled up over the doorway. We're naked, but totally warm, if you know what I mean. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

Did it! I swallowed to rid myself of the tightness in my throat. "I've got a blanket," I ventured. "I can have a fire going in minutes."

"And the snow?" she ventured with a naughty grin.

"We could cuddle for the next six months and wait for the first snowfall..."

She slapped my arm with mock annoyance. "You are terrible!"

"I know. How about a drink?" She agreed and a few minutes later we were sitting on the sofa sipping and chatting. I couldn't believe how comfortable I felt around her. She was so bold and aggressive I felt continually astonished by her. She wasn't like anyone I had ever met.

She had told me she grew up in Indiana, and had only moved out west after college. She originally had been interested in psychology, but dropped it after a few years. Then she had studied Early Childhood Development for a year, but then switched to Communication Arts. Most recently she'd taken some pre-law courses with the idea of becoming a legal secretary. "I'm not sure what want, careerwise," she said. "I guess a family is more what I'm interested in."

"You mean you want to be a housewife?" I asked, astonished. Most of the "new women" I'd met were horrified by that term or even that a man should be the sole source of income.

"Why not?" she answered. "I love children. In the long run a stable family is much more important than a few extra dollars each month. Kids today really need full-time parents."

This pleased me greatly, though I was still suspicious. Samantha didn't seem like the stay-at-home type at all. I had a lot to learn about Samantha.

"Shall we have sex now?" she asked suddenly, interrupting my tale of college experiences. My jaw must have dropped, because she leaned forward and kissed my lower lip murmuring, "Better close that mouth before my tongue gets in there." Her breath was sweet and her touch sensuous. I completely forgot what I was speaking about and kissed her back.

In a moment we were rolling on the couch in a passionate embrace. I could not keep my hands off her. They kept caressing her body with minds of their own, squeezing her mammoth breasts and sliding up and down her slim, curvy hips and round ass. She moaned loudly and her hand went to my crotch. I swear my cock grew an extra inch at her touch. I'm certain she could feel me pulsing with energy and I knew she wanted me.

Throwing caution to the winds I rolled us off the couch and began to undress myself and her. I stopped at my underpants, realizing she was still dressed, though the buttons down the front of her dress were undone and I could see twin mounds of soft flesh tightly reined by a white brassiere.

"Take them off," she whispered, pointing to my underwear, and I was frightened. I had this irrational fear that she would laugh at me, take my clothes and run away, leaving me naked and unsatisfied.

"Trust me," she said quietly, her eyes burning into mine. I could not disobey her. I bent over and dropped my shorts, my face flushing with heat as my cock sprang free and pointed upward and outward, its tip moist with pre-come. She smiled and knelt in front of me and grasping each ankle, helped me step out of my shorts. She tossed them aside. Her face was near my cock now, and I flushed with excitement and fear. She approached it gingerly, and then breathed a hot breath on it, but did not touch it. I trembled in anticipation and frustration.

"Please," I begged. "Don't tease me." I could feel surges of power in my penis and I wanted her so badly I just knew I would come even before I could get inside her.

"Do it in my hand," she whispered. Her voice was strong and commanding, and miserably, I obeyed, helpless to defy her. She held out her hand just below the tip and I exploded, pumping spurts of white cream into her palm. Again and again I spurted until I was exhausted, my cock drained. A small puddle of white lay in her hand.

Smiling, she stood and unhooked her bra at the front with her left hand, and then pulled open her dress to reveal two of the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen (and I've seen a _lot_ of movies). They were large and plump to be sure, but they weren't monstrous drooping things that made you wonder how the girl could stand up without falling over. Samantha's breasts were firm and jutted boldly outward, with large pert nipples. As I watched she took the cream in her right hand and began to spread it across her breasts. She covered herself with it, occasionally squeezing a breast to her face and sniffing deeply, and looking at me with an expression of pure lust. She was getting remarkably turned on! I felt my cock stiffen and come to attention again, but this time the feelings weren't quite so intense and I knew I could wait.

After creaming her breasts, Samantha began to undress. She reached inside her dress and took out her bra and tossed it aside. Then she turned her back to me, bent over, and I watched her hands through the fabric of her dress as she reached between her legs and pulled down her panties. She threw them at me, and I took them and smelled them. They were damp and smelled of a woman, and I longed to touch her.

Now Samantha began to wiggle out of her dress. It was tight and she had to wiggle a lot, but I didn't mind at all. Slowly the dress fell off her shoulder, down her sides--the "V" in the front showing just the hint of blonde pussy--and then it was around her waist. Once there, a final wiggle of those glorious hips sent it dropping to the floor around her ankles, and she gracefully kicked it away.

She stood before me, totally nude. She was unbelievable. Better than anything I'd seen in any magazine. Soft, silky, evenly tanned skin covered her everywhere, gentle curves and roundness the order of the day. A triangle of blonde hair was visible at her crotch and her thighs looked so sleek I desperately wanted to slip my hand between them and nuzzle her there. Her hair hung around her bare shoulder delightfully, arms behind her head, elbows out. Her face bore the expression of a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar and not the least bit sorry for it.

"Oh my God!" was all I could say. My cock was spurting come on the carpet, just looking at her. I couldn't help myself. I stared downward dismally at my failing and blushed deeply.

Samantha beamed at me. "That's quite a compliment," she said gently. "Coming twice before I even touch you!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Don't be. Like I said, I'm honored." She glanced down and I realized with shame that after the second coming my member had shrunk considerably.

Her expression was serious but her eyes gleamed mischievously. "Now how can we get you hard again?" she said with the serious intent a child solving the world-hunger crisis.

"I know!" said the naked goddess before me, clapping her hands together like a delighted child. "You can spank me!"

I stared at her in bewilderment. What was she talking about?

"Come on," she said dragging me to the couch. "You'll love this. Trust me. It will help build up your confidence."

She set me down in the middle of the sofa and proceeded to lay herself across my lap. It took a little doing, as she is quite tall, but eventually she was settled across my legs, her damp crotch pressed against my left thigh.

"Now spank my bottom!" she cried out happily, like a child at Christmas.

I stared at the graceful mounds before me with amazement. Her hips flared out from her narrow waist and her bottom was more expansive than I had anticipated. The cheeks were round and firm, however, and I couldn't resist sliding my hand over them, the silky smooth flesh raising goosepimples all over my legs and back.

I shivered. This had to be a dream. No girl in her right mind would just offer her bare bottom to be spanked! "You can't be serious," I said slowly, but I could feel my cock rising between my legs just at the thought.

"Come on, stop dawdling," she cried. "Spank me hard! You know I've been a naughty girl and deserve it."

Well, that was certainly true. This was our first date and she'd already made me come twice! Slowly I lifted my hand and slapped her bottom lightly. The smack had a nice ring to it and I loved the way it made her bottom jiggle.

"Harder!" she cried, so I obliged. "Come on, Tom, really give it to me. I can barely feel that!"

Suddenly I was angry. I took my hand high into the air and slapped her really hard. She squealed and wiggled her bottom wonderfully, and I felt her crotch press against my leg. "Ouch! That's much better," she said. "Give me more just like that."

I slapped her bottom again, harder, and then again. I could see a red palmprint on her skin after each slap. She would wiggle and moan slightly after each smack and I felt pressure against the tip of my cock and was surprised to see I was fully erect, my penis nuzzling her hip. I was also almost certain my left leg was wet. Could it be she was aroused by being spanked?

I spanked her harder, several more loud slaps that had her moaning loudly. Sure enough, when she pressed against me her crotch was extremely moist.

Samantha's white bottom was now a light pink, and I spanked her carefully so that I reddened her whole bottom until every part bore the color of a very rare steak. "How's that?" I said finally, pausing in my efforts.

"Wonderful, Tom," Samantha said in a low voice. "Could-could you give me a couple with your belt? Not too hard--I'm close to orgasm, but just a few good swats?"

"Are you serious?"

"Please, Tom? Quickly, while I'm still hot!"

I set her up on her knees and fetched the belt from my discarded pants. It was a thick leather belt about an inch wide. My dad had bought it for me once when he was in Texas. Samantha later told me she had been eying that belt all evening and wondering what it would feel like across her rump.

I folded the felt in two and turned back to the goddess. She was on her knees and leaning over the back of the sofa. Her bottom was a nice pink. I struck her ass with moderate force and she clenched her teeth and muttered, "Harder, damn it! Give it to me like you mean it!"

I'd never heard of such a thing before but whatever the goddess wanted she got. I struck her really hard, the loud slap of the leather on bare flesh making me wince. A bright red welt flared across her cheeks for a few seconds. She gasped and threw her head back, her mouth open in pain. I was frightened that I had hurt her, but she finally breathed deeply and sighed, a low moan coming from deep within chest. "Oh, Tom," she croaked, "that was exquisite! You are a master! Please, give me more!"

Shaking my head in bewilderment, but realizing that my own sex was painfully enlarged and excited, I wrapped the leather belt around Samantha's bottom once again, perhaps with a touch more force. Her cry was a cross between a moan and a scream, and I let her settle down before I gave her another.

This time her body shuddered and quivered frantically, and with a sudden impulse I gave her three sharp quick licks with the belt as she knelt there. With a real gasp of pain she screamed out loud and moaned frantically, and I saw a stream of liquid dribbling down her leg. She was coming! The whipping had brought her to orgasm!

Suddenly I felt pleased. We had both come to orgasm before touching each other. I wasn't sure what that meant, but it made me feel less embarrassed and more in control.

Suddenly Samantha turned and threw herself upon me, riding me to the ground. She was like an animal, kissing me wildly, almost biting me, her tongue licking my face and chest, her thighs spread wide over my probing cock.

"You are incredible, Tom," she hissed in my ear as she nuzzled me there. "Fucking amazing! I've never had an orgasm like that before, _never_! I thought it was going to kill me!"

We coupled and rolled around on the carpet like wild dogs, our mating cries loud and uncontrolled. For a brief few hours everything was blissful blindness, white-hot and intense, and only hours later did we awake and look at each other rather foolishly and hug and kiss and make slow, normal love. Sometime during that dream I became a man, but I don't even remember the instance, since everything was so overwhelming and new.

In that morning fog I felt her hug me. I turned over and looked into her beautiful eyes. She smiled. "You didn't even notice, did you?"

"Notice what?"

"It was my first time."

My heart skipped a beat. Was she serious? "You mean--"

"Exactly," she said. "Oh, it's not that I haven't had the opportunity, but I wanted to wait until I met the right man."

"You've got to be joking," I said slowly.

"Why? It's true, and you should be honored."

"I'm more than honored. I'm flabbergasted. You see, it was my first, too."

Her soft smile told me she already knew that, or at least suspected it, but she managed to look surprised anyway. "I told you we were perfect for each other."

"You did not."

"Well, I was thinking it."

Suddenly I could hold back any longer. I sat up in the bed and pulled her across my lap. "Hey, what are you doing?" she yelped.

"I'm spanking you," I said firmly, filled with a self-confidence I had never felt before.

"What! Why?"

I gave her bare bottom a loud slap. "Because I want you to marry me, and I'm going to spank you until you say yes!" I gave her another loud slap, and then another, but all I was met with was flurry of uncontrollable giggling.

"What are you laughing about?" I said gruffly, trying to sound tough and harsh.

"You!" she laughed, "oooching" at another spank. "You silly boy, I knew yesterday that we'd be getting married!"

That made me pause. "You're kidding."

"No. I knew it the moment you walked up to me and called me a goddess."

"Wow," I said. "You really want to marry me." It was more a statement than a question. I turned her over a little so I could see her face. She was grinning like an idiot, but she was serious.

"Uh huh. But, uh, Tom?"

"Yeah?"

In a very soft voice she said, "I will marry you, but you can still spank me if you want."

Red blood pumping through my veins, I turned her back over and warmed her bottom thoroughly. With a goddess encouraging me, how could I refuse?

* * * * *

Today, Samantha and I are happily married. We make love all the time, and though the guys at work would never believe it, a couple of times a week I take her across my knee for a thorough paddling, occasionally followed my an even more thorough belting. She loves me with all her heart, I know, and I trust her with my deepest emotions and the essence of my soul. I still can't believe we are a couple, but we are more alike than most people would know. Like two sides of the same coin, we belong together and no one can separate us.

The End

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