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"Change quickly, Zack! Your beloved's parents must recognize you as punctual!"

"I'll be ready in a minute, Dad!" It was - precisely because it was too special a day today - that my fingers were shaking, and whenever I thought of Sarah, other parts of my body stopped listening to me. I was also nervously struggling with my pants so that everyone wouldn't immediately see what I looked forward to most in marriage. It seemed to me like another hypocrisy. I'm twenty-two, and I hide things from my parents, even though most of the time, it's just that I watch vulgar cartoons in the evenings. At the same time, the Lord said that man is polluted by what comes out of him.

When my restless body calmed down - and I tucked my shirt in - I went down to my parents, who were cheering unhealthily. My father, a thick-armed white guy, and mother, a tall black lady in a red evening dress, weren't praising me mostly. Today, however, their eyes shone with gratitude and appreciation, for I would soon bring them a daughter and a mother of grandchildren to the family hearth. Grandchildren freed of the inheritance baptized slaves. It took us just over half an hour by car to get to the house of Chuckworths, which until recently hosted the insectologist Dr. Danesh. His trip to see disease carriers turned from a professional expedition into a medical indisposition. The family was a newcomer to our church, and we won the race to see who could be their first official friends. I won the absolute race between the young men to see who could become the best friends with their daughter.

The head of the family, Martin, led us to a wide table, his cheerful face watching us from behind round clerical glasses. But as I have already emphasized, I am not concerned with banal body parts. By then, I was more interested in his wife Sandra because her long legs, slender waist, and round, provocative buttocks were all passed to her very desirable daughter, who nevertheless did not show up for dinner yet.

"Runaway bride run away too early?" I joked, trying to sound apologetic in advance.

"I'm sure she'll be coming soon," said Mr. Chuckworth, scratching himself between his blond hair. "We're just trying not to let her get lazy in her homeschooling program, and today, I gave her a math problem that seems to be causing her more trouble than it should be."

Lord, I almost forgot that they are homeschooling her. I doubted it made sense. I found it funny when parents try to give their children lessons that read you from the Gospel from beginning to end and ensure they don't get acquainted with evolution too quickly.

Sarah came in a few seconds after our conversation. Her green dress couldn't hide anything that haunted me in both night-dreaming and day-dreaming. Long, slender calves and cute thighs, which I wanted to climb up to her tiny but fertile garden of pleasures. Distinctive, firm rear, which, after being revealed, a man could consider a beautiful moon, even more perfect than the one God placed in the heavens. Thanks to her glasses, much larger than her father's, and braids made of her golden hair, she looked like a schoolgirl even at her age, as her parents probably wanted. But I wanted to be her teacher now and teach her what it means to be a full-fledged adult woman. Creature hor from every angle, innocent but with a spirit that commanded man's blood.

She gave us and her parents a big smile.

"I hope you enjoy my pancakes," she said, looking mainly at me. I nodded my head and stroked my stomach, though my hand itched to slide a little lower, especially when Sarah landed her butt on the chair. I enjoyed the dough, the whipped cream, and the cranberries, but I had to push myself to the table as much as possible to cover my hard, fidgety dick, to which I was sending images of Sarah. So far, I imagined her in her underwear. She could have had a white bra, but maybe with a pattern. On the other hand, the panties could match the dress, like a jungle hiding a beast.

"Congratulations to the chef!" I exclaimed after eating the last bit. "You have to make me pancakes again right after our wedding. And then on each of our anniversaries!" I tried to sound both joyfully serious. I exaggerated a bit because I couldn't mention a more monumental desire.

"I'd like to show you my mother's cookbook. I love to cook and could show you the dishes I could make for you on our first married week." She lowered her eyes slightly to the table, but pride sounded in her voice.

"Feel free to go to the kitchen, but be back in two weeks," Mr. Chuckworth ordered. I went to see my future bride on an expedition, and out of pure politeness, I lagged a few steps behind her.

We stopped as soon as we climbed the stairs. Sarah spun in place and grabbed my hand. "No, I left it in my room!" She took my hand and quickly pulled me behind a nearby half-open door.

There was everything usual in her room, but then some more. She had a cozy-looking crib with a checkered blanket and a small side table beside it. I didn't have to examine the lying book to find out which one, so I looked at the wall instead. Contrary to common expectations, there was no large mirror but a school blackboard with a washing sponge. The smaller table probably fulfilled the role of a teacher's desk and was accompanied by one chair on each side.

"Do your parents teach you in your room?"

Sarah nodded. "Everything except domestic chores. Both parents are teachers, so they thought it best for their daughter to wake up right in class."

I shrugged. "As you can see, you even read from the cookbook here," I reminded Sarah why we were there and lightly poked her on the elbow.

"I'm not such a sworn cook." She opened the drawer and pulled out a book with a faded housewife picture on the cover. I saw that the book wasn't completely closed, but I didn't understand what served as a bookmark between its pages until Sarah dramatically opened it up on the pages with the marble cake recipe.

There lay a dark wooden spoon, and Sarah as she rolled her eyes cutely. I didn't understand what he was doing. I tried to make our eyes meet, although I tended to examine her titties, which she practically put on the pages of the cookbook.

"Patrně víš, že tohle není jenom k samotnému vaření."

She sounded playful, so I imitated her tone. "I suppose your mom hit your ass a few times, but I don't think it could have been very often because you're too well-behaved young lady for that. Or is that why you're like that?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Most of the time, it didn't happen, but in our case, it was true that any week, I get a few blows with a wooden spoon for the first sin and, for the second, a long beating with a hairbrush. However, the latter happened only once during my homeschooling. However..." Suddenly, she became frighteningly quiet. "However, I found out that my Daddy spanks Mommy."

Although the first thing that came to my mind was something else, I controlled myself before I spoke because I realized that Sarah was probably not talking about an ageplay scenario.

"You mean he's punishing her like that?"

Sarah nodded. "They don't know, I know, but I've heard them twice. The first time was when the neighbor's wife came to us. My mom and her had gone too high with wine, but my dad couldn't believe his own or his ears when he came home and heard my mom agree to the suggestions they got on the derby. I wish you could see the dance. The neighbor had to leave the house, while mom had to stay at home, and the dad dragged her into the bedroom. They forgot to close themselves properly, and I heard the belt slapping and my mom screaming. First came the complaints, then the pure screams of pain, and finally, it was clear that she would do anything and not even think about the horse anymore in order the horrible thing would stop touching her ass.

At the time, I thought my dad would never have done it otherwise, but two weeks later, my mom did something again. She borrowed Dad's car and came back with a horrible scratch. I saw my dad over her shoulder putting a hairbrush in his coat pocket, and my mom turned pale with fear. I think that in another place, it has taken on color. I could tell because, for a few days, she almost didn't sit down and took thick pillows at lunch and dinner. When she worked in the garden or taught me, she was rubbing her ass for a long time. That's how I knew I'd discovered the secret to their marital harmony."

She approached me. "And now I would like to know. Are you a man enough to treat me the same way, and are you ready to show it?“

"Now?"

"Now!"

I had to make a decision quickly. On the one hand, my previous ideas about the gal revolved around something other than beating that ass, this could have allowed me to take off at least one layer of clothing, and at the same time, I was fond of the idea that Sarah would defer to me.

"You heard your dad. We have only less than a quarter of an hour." So?" Sarah gave me a dull look, but I knew it was an act.

Jesus Christ, her panties were pink and so cute. I wished to see through them, but it was also amazing how beautifully they hugged the shape of the round, challenging buttocks. I couldn't see their skin, but underneath, the bare thighs attracted me, marked only by a few freckles that made Sarah look a little more like a work of art, except that she was a creation of God the Father.

At first, I used a wooden spoon as a naughty finger. I ran it through each asscheek and a little in between. I touched places with it that I didn't have the right to yet, so I stroked Sarah from the front as well.

She wasn't complaining.

I enjoyed a fraction of my husbandly rights. I finally raised the wooden rod of justice. The first movement of my arms was just a practice, but when my hand returned, I took care the spoon smacked properly on the panties!

"Owww Hooah!" Sarah's scream surpassed the slap on her spanked behind. I tried to surprise her, so I hit her with even more force on her unprotected thigh. The girl squeaked like a bag of mice when you pulled their tails at the same time. From that moment on, her waist began to twist in all directions.

I knew it was necessary to arrange an order. Otherwise, this moment could never come again. "Hold still!" I admonished her, supplementing my words with three burning blows on her bottom. She stopped fidgeting, but she cried incessantly. I clung to the hem of her panties. I was sorry that it hurt her, but I started to enjoy it, and I regretted that I couldn't pull them off and show her how it hurts on bare.

"You'll get more - Seven," I decided.

"I must confess," Sarah moaned. "Ouch!"

"That was for mentioning the Catholic concept!" I tapped her tortured muscle with a wooden spoon.

"I was going to say I'm starting to enjoy it!" Sarah held out her hand helplessly.

"Me too. I must compensate it for you and make it more painful!"

The wooden spoon had only a small area to hit with, but I tried to make up for it with a vigorous swing, followed by a stretched sobbing, as at a concert.

I dealt the promised seven blows and dealt all over the surface of her panties. I loved the new spot on her thighs, but I didn't want anyone to notice them when there were more of them. Sarah symbolically moved her buttocks after each blow, and in addition to moaning, she also exhaled delightfully. The exhalations were getting longer and longer, and I was proud of the opportunity to give her pleasure and pain at the same time. I put more force into each punch and aimed three of them at the same place so I could smack it with the sharpest, the most stinging smack of them all afterward.

"Aaa-aahh! Sarah made a sound like a mare in heat. I grabbed her shoulders, helped her straighten up, and turned her toward me. Our faces came closer, our eyes stared into each other for a long time, and finally, we started kissing. We tasted our lips for a while and then our tongues. I thought I'd reach her above the place where her legs begin to catch the heat radiating through her panties. In the end, I scared the kissed girl, stroking her gently on the small of her back.

We drowned in our senses so much that we forgot about common sense.

Mrs. Chuckworth slammed on the door. Ironically, since she was already half in the room. She came to us with her lips from ear to ear. She could afford to look condescending, unlike my mom, who walked into the room, taking small steps without asking, sitting on one of the chairs for Sarah's education.

The Chuckworth daughter was also shocked and breathed loudly until her breasts were swinging. I made myself turn around and turn to her mother.

"So you saw us kissing?"

"I've seen a spanking, too," said Mrs. Chuckworth. "At least the conclusion. I went to the kitchen to hear about your favorite dishes but quickly realized I wouldn't find you there."

"It's the cartoons he watches in secret. They made him a pervert!" my mom complained.

"Why a pervert?" asked a male voice from the hallway. The dads followed the moms, and Mrs. Chuckworth was happy to explain what we were doing here.

"Now he's got to marry her!" said Mr. Chuckworth, and I hoped he would insist. My dad came up to me and started shaking my shoulders. "How could you make her do that? In a few months, you could be doing -"

"It was my idea," Sarah confessed, walking toward her parents with a shuffling step. "I wanted to try it because that's how it goes in our family."

Mrs. Chuckworth lost her smile and her detached view. "And I thought I'd give it to you as marriage advice."

"What do you mean?" asked Mom. "Your husband is spanking you?"

"We found that if we just talked and argued, we solved very little," said Mrs. Chuckworth. "Of course, if we agree that I deserve smack on my ass for what I've done, most of the problems will soon disappear. And I have to say that a grown woman learns to do that and processes more than a naughty kid."

"And you want it to happen to your daughter too?" Mom turned to her in her chair, but she couldn't get up yet.

"If it suits her, it can strengthen her marriage. Of course, and this is a big mistake tonight, marital discipline falls into things that are only supposed to exist in marriage." She looked at me. "You touched my daughter inappropriately. It doesn't matter that she wanted it herself."

I looked at Sarah, but I couldn't look into that helpless, depressed face. "It's a pity you can't punish me in the same way as Mr. Cuckworth does." It probably wasn't entirely appropriate, but suddenly I couldn't get rid of the idea of a woman's ass displayed and serving to demonstrate husband's authority.

"On the other hand, why not?" Mrs. Chuckworth turned to my dad. "Has your son ever received corporal punishment?"

"I had to go to him twice with a belt," admitted my dad.

I bit my lip. The second time, he chased me around the apartment, and the punishment was even longer.

"This is our house. Therefore, we have the right to punish him. Even me, if I'm supposed to be his mother-in-law. What do you think about it?"

"Your house, your rules," Dad answered unoriginally, and Mom didn't dare to contradict him.

"And you, young man?"

I had to answer truthfully. "I'll do anything to get your daughter."

"Martin, fetch me a hairbrush," Mrs. Chuckworth asked her husband. "And you, Sarah, go away. You can't see him like that."

Sarah did walk away, looking at me apologetically the whole time. Mrs. Chuckworth had something much less kind in her eyes. She straightened up in her chair and crossed her legs. I had to remind myself that this was how I would get to the happiest day of my life.

She didn't have to give me any more orders. I stood next to her, feeling like a criminal the whole time, which felt better than feeling like a little boy.

It wasn't until Mr. Chuckworth handed over the wooden hairbrush to his wife that she instructed me: "Pants down!" but I was already unbuttoning them anyway. I kept the undies because I believed that Mrs. Chuckworth would not go any further. I was right, but this caring mother encircled my waist with her arm and forced me to lie on her lap. I looked at the floor, not wanting to look my mother in the eye. Among other things, I realized that I had brushed my elbow against the breast of Mrs. Chuckworth, and I thought that maybe this was also arousing, also due to the contact with her thighs.

Whack, Whack WhaCK!

At first, I thought it wouldn't be so bad, but Mrs. Chuckworth was only practicing the movement of her wrist. Too early, she invested her motherly energy in her hand and turned it into the agony of my behind. It wasn't just about the speed and power of the strokes, although those alone drove me crazy. The strokes of the hairbrush landed not very far from each other, so the pain was building up, and I was screaming so much that people must have heard me in the street. I didn't care about marrying Sarah. I was hoping someone would come to save me from the punishment and shame that came with it.

Of course, it was a ridiculous idea, and no help came. I couldn't count every smack, but there must have been tenths of them. Mrs. Chuckworth was a beautiful but strict woman who could not deny her inner teacher. She didn't forgive sin just like that, and it took a long time before she got tired of my whining and spoke again.

"Whose house is this?"

"Yours and your husband's!"

WHACK!

"Is Sarah your wife?"

"Not yet!" I shot out an answer because I wanted the consequences to be behind me.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"Are you sorry for what happened?" "Yes, honestly, ma'am!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The incredible pain finally stopped, and Mrs. Chuckworth helped me up. Initially, I wanted to run away from that cruel matriarch named Sandra quickly. But it was still clear to me that you must negotiate with the family you marry into, which in many cases means submitting to it.

"Thank you," I said timidly, but I wasn't humble enough to kiss the lady's hand. I wanted to step back, and suddenly, an unexpected reaction of hers stopped me. She stood up to me, and her lips touched my forehead. Speechless, I pulled my trousers on, fighting the heat under my skin, which didn't diminish. Truthfully, I would be grateful if I could walk around naked here. Maybe it's true that scorching one's bottom is more effective on adults than on children.

effective on adults than on children.

"I hope he learned his lesson eventually," my dad said, and I did what could nod if a dull one. Dad looked at me. He might have wanted me to say something, but I was too worried not to start crying. It took a few seconds, but then his face changed. The expression "Okay, I'll help you, you idiot" appeared in it.

"Now that you've taught my son," Dad looked thoughtfully at Chuckworths. "Maybe you could help me with what to do if I want to bend my wife over my knee."

Mom jumped out of her chair. "The only one who deserved it here was Zack! I never behave like a little girl or a fool!"

"Darling, we need to bring our families closer together." Dad looked at her and blinked a few times. "Maybe we could try a less orthodox approach if that's what young ones will be practicing."

I expected Sarah not to be far, and I was not wrong. She was standing by the stairs, rubbing her ass, and unlike me, she let her tears flow down her face red with shame freely. When we looked at each other, we came together with a faster step despite the mutual pain. We hugged and immediately started whispering.

"Did Mom hurt you too much?"

No, don't worry, nothing terrible happened. Now even my dad is trying to spank mom, so it's going to be for a long time."

"Then I have to compensate you for what happened to you because of me!"

She began to unbutton and pull down my pants. It was clear what she was up to, and after today's experience, I was thinking about stopping her. However, it's also true that from the moment I got up from her mother's lap, I started to have a hard-on and wanted to replace the experience of suffering with a moment of pleasure.

It wasn't long before Sarah was on her knees, and to my satisfaction, she looked impressed with my liberated and strong dick. You know, I had African genes on my mother's side, and as far as I know, my dad wasn't underdeveloped either.

Sarah took me into her mouth so that she lovingly pushed the foreskin aside on the most masculine part of my body and involved her whole head in the subsequent caresses. She masterfully applied enough pressure and slightly turned from side to side. It was a penetrating experience, comparable to a visit to different woman's hole. On my part, lovemaking consisted of scratching between her hair, sometimes kind, sometimes animalistic. I think that even the burning on my butt helped me to enjoy it a little more. Sarah used everything she had and knew. She alternated the romantic care of her lips with the slow, sensual work of her tongue. She topped it off at the moment when my pleasure reached a satisfying peak, and I felt how she guaranteed with a circular movement that everything from my body ended up in her throat.

I swore that my mouth would pay the same attention to her on our wedding night.