I Did Not Know I Would Like That!
Copyright© 2026 by BaileyNicole
Chapter 2
Brian, my husband, had just gotten off the phone. I felt apprehensive, for the understandable reason that the person he had been talking to was Mr. Norton. My husband was due to set off on Sunday morning, off on his trip, and had been making arrangements.
“Why did you call Mr. Norton?” I asked him meekly.
“Oh, well, to thank him for fixing the kitchen sink for one thing,” he answered.
“And the other reason?”
“I’ve asked him to keep an eye on you and the house. If you need anything sorting out while I’m gone, just give him a shout,” Brian said.
What a statement I thought! Should I feel the need for a spanking perhaps; or if I craved a little chastisement mixed with sexual stimulation – then I should call Norton? Funny how the pictures that kept creeping back into the forefront of my mind were of how another person might have viewed the scene; how my bottom was presented to Norton, of exactly what detail was visible, my movements and gyrations – and most of all, the red lines and glowing cheeks undulating as my arse wriggled and wobbled. It seemed strange to me that another person’s perspective, and not my own, could arouse me in such a powerful way. Surely enough, my own eyes had only been able to stare at the kitchen counter.
So just what was it that aroused me, and brought me to orgasm? Was it the submissiveness, the offering up of my arse to this weird neighbour, being scared but excited, not knowing just how hard and violent the lashes would come, falling across my backside? The sensation of stinging pain that turned into a hot throbbing glow definitely produced inside me a sensuous pleasure, depraved and kinky though it was.
Had I found it arousing to be displaying my panties, showing how the tight, skimpy material creased and gathered before almost disappearing in my anal crack, then eaten totally by my damp, swollen pubes? I needed to concentrate on my husband’s words now because my mind was wandering, thinking about the ‘What if?’ - I was feeling wet and sexy. What if another man had been there, watching? Just toying with the thought, the very idea was thrilling and exciting!
“I don’t need keeping an eye on!” I snapped, “You’ve no right to do that – have someone spy on me.”
“Hey, cool down! It’s mainly for my peace of mind. If I wanted to spy on you, there would be no point asking old Norton, would there?”
I looked at my husband, sensing more than a little sarcasm but scared of what the old man might have said.
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, if you’re going to misbehave, it will be when you’re out with Brenda! Norton’s not likely to see that, is he? I saw her yesterday, and she told me that you’d both arranged a night out - or two – while I’m away. It’s me who ought to be angry; you kept it from me.”
“No! She’s being presumptuous; I never actually agreed to go out!”
“It’s fine,” said Brian, staring me in the eye, “You are no different than other wives.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That’s what wives do, isn’t it – and also we husbands!”
Brian knew how to wind me up.
“Look, I’m not going to get manic if you chat to some guys in a bar, or even have the odd dance. Hell, you must know that sometimes I’m in female company on the courses and conferences I have to attend. You know we have discos and free bars so we can bond and socialise.”
“You dance and flirt and ... fuck! What else do you do?” I was livid now.
“No, I don’t do that bit - fuck!” Brian smirked. “Don’t try to tell me that you and Brenda don’t eye up other men and enjoy male company.”
“Yes, I admire other guys occasionally. But I don’t bloody well normally go out! How can I flirt?”
Brian often came out with really stupid gags. “For all I know, you might flirt with old Norton!” he laughed.
My husband looked calmly at me and spoke slowly, “Listen, all I’m saying is that I expect you to know where to draw the line if you find yourself in a certain situation. I know! Okay, there may be a lot of joking and talking, and a bit of smooching, dancing close, and a friendly peck of a kiss. It’s all harmless stuff – but if you go out and find yourself doing the same – know where to draw the line. A friendly goodnight kiss is the limit.”
He had shocked me with this eye-opening, brutally honest divulgence.
“I think I will go out with Brenda!” I screamed mentally.
Tired from all the hard study? Fatigued after returning home from yet another conference? Right! What’s good for the gander will be fine for me when I get goosed!
Sunday morning was a mess. Brian overslept and went off bad-tempered. It wasn’t due to any bad feeling between us, mind you; on the contrary, we had been awake late into the night, sex was passionate, and we went at it like two rampant dogs. Maybe our thoughts were somewhere quite different. Or perhaps we both experienced a certain feeling of release and freedom, feelings that excited us, anticipating and wondering what delights and interesting encounters might be in store for us; free for us to enjoy, within certain limitations!
In the cold light of the morning, though, an annoying hassle ruled our mood. I opened the door, half asleep and caring not one jot as to who should be knocking at such an early hour.
“I wanted to catch Brian before he left – but I noticed his car’s gone.”
Well figured out, Sherlock Holmes! I thought, scratching my unkempt hair. Briefly, a thought fluttered through my foggy head, asking why, being in my nightclothes, I had stood to one side holding open the door like it was an invitation for him to come on in. Suddenly, I was conscious that he was running his eyes up and down my legs, pausing when he reached my groin. I was glad that I had put my little knickers back on under the too-big tee shirt that passed as nightwear, and was just able to hide a few inches of upper thigh.
Normally, I would never dream of answering the door in such a state of undress, but after what transpired the other day – did it matter? Old Norton would never see me misbehave - so my husband said! Now he was trying to see if his eyes were able to penetrate the thin cotton that hid my wobbling tits, my nipples teasingly formed little bumps, pressing against the cloth advertising that underneath was nakedness. Did I care? Was I secretly thrilled to notice the effect it was having on him, how he was beginning to show signs of arousal?
Norton bored me with detailed explanations of why he wanted to speak to Brian. Not even half listening, I walked over to the kettle, then rudely turning my back to the old man, waited for the water to boil. I plunged a spoon into the coffee jar and deposited it into a beaker, trying to decide if I was the one displaying bad manners or was it Norton who ought not have lingered at this early hour, knowing I wasn’t yet dressed or even fully awake. In any case, hadn’t I already told him he was too late to speak to my husband? So why was he impolitely hanging about? Well, considering the obvious reason (which, finally, I was honest enough to admit was nothing to do with bad manners) began to cause feelings of devilish recklessness, and a desire to torment the man.
“Would you like a coffee?” I asked, without turning around or even waiting until he had finished a sentence.
I didn’t wait for an answer. He took sugar; I knew that. I would have to stretch my arm high to open the cupboard to get another beaker. What would he be able to see now as my tee shirt rode up? Of course, he liked it white, so he may have liked to watch as I stretched inside the fridge. Clumsily, I accidentally pushed the small tea towel off the counter and had to bend to pick it up. What would he see now?
I more or less, to all accounts and purposes, acted as though he wasn’t really there, not facing him, not acknowledging anything he said. He grew silent, save for the sound of him sipping from the beaker. I bent and stretched and reached as I would when alone. I wondered how thin my shirt was, if it would become transparent if I stood against the light; I decided to wash the pile of crockery dumped after my husband’s hurried breakfast and last night’s supper, so stood beside the sink bathing in the warmth and bright sunshine that poured through the window. Mr. Norton drew in a deep breath.
“Are you looking forward to the week ahead?” he asked after a long silence.
“In what way do you mean?” I queried, feeling little butterflies in my tummy now because I knew this signalled the start of what the man hoped would be an opportunity to indulge his fetish.
I saved him having to explain. “Brian knows now that I intend to go out with Brenda. He even expects and, more importantly, accepts, that I may find myself in the company of, and drinking, with other men! Now what do you think of that, Mr. Norton?”
Norton didn’t mince his words. “I think you will enjoy the satisfaction of feeling you have his blessing and permission to flirt. A freedom that will leave you easily tempted to go a step further, several steps in fact. I would be willing to bet that just surmising what things you might get up to, the ways you might like to misbehave, already excite you sexually.”
“Mr. Norton, your mind works in a very weird and kinky way – you are quite a perverted man – disturbed even!”
He actually laughed, nay, guffawed, briefly but loudly. “I’m old too. Though you still enjoy teasing and displaying your body for my titillation. You should ask yourself,” he added slowly and with a mock menace usually only heard in the dialogue of cheap, scary old B-movies, “Why, here in your kitchen, with your husband having only just left, you feel the inclination, the desire, to arouse the cock of this old man you consider to be depraved and perverted?”
He waited for an answer, but none came.
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