The Morning Ritual Begins

The kitchen had become my battleground. Every morning for the past week, I’d woken up with my heart hammering, my dick already half-hard, knowing I was about to play a dangerous game. That first spank—the one where I’d mistaken Jane for Emily—had lit something in me, a spark of reckless hunger I didn’t know I had. Emily’s teasing, her calling it “hot,” only fanned the flames. And Jane… Jane hadn’t stopped me. Hadn’t told John. Hadn’t done anything but blush and avoid my eyes. So I pushed.

It started the morning after the incident. I’d crept downstairs at dawn, the glass walls of the Smith house glowing with the first light, the marble floors cold under my bare feet. Jane was there, like I’d hoped, bent over the counter, fiddling with the coffee maker. Those black yoga pants hugged her ass, the same ones she’d worn that first day, and my mouth went dry. She didn’t hear me coming, not until I was right behind her.

“Morning, babe,” I said, low and deliberate, and brought my hand down with a sharp crack. Her ass jiggled under the impact, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen, and she gasped, just like before, a high-pitched sound that sent a jolt straight to my groin. She spun around, her blue eyes wide, her cheeks already pink.

“Alex!” she hissed, clutching the counter. “You cannot keep doing that. I’m not Emily.”

I backed up, hands raised, playing the part. “Shit, Jane, I’m so sorry. I thought—I mean, you were wearing—” I gestured at her yoga pants, letting my eyes linger just long enough to make her squirm. “It won’t happen again.”

She smoothed her hands over her pants, her lips pursed, but she didn’t yell, didn’t call for John. Just turned back to the coffee maker, muttering, “Be more careful.” But I saw it—the way her hands trembled, the way her ass clenched like she could still feel my palm. She wasn’t mad. She was something else.

Emily caught me in the hall later, her grin wicked. “You did it again, didn’t you?” she whispered, pressing herself against me, her big boobs soft against my chest. “You’re so bad, Alex. I love it.”

“You’re not helping,” I groaned, but my dick was already stirring, trapped in my sweats. Thirteen inches and thick as a baseball bat—it didn’t exactly stay subtle. Emily’s hand brushed over it, teasing, and I had to pull away before I lost control right there.

The next morning, I did it again. And the morning after that. Each time, I’d sneak into the kitchen, find Jane there—always Jane, like she was waiting—and spank her ass with a quick, hard crack. Each time, she’d gasp, spin around, scold me in that flustered, half-hearted way. “Alex, this has to stop,” she’d say, but her eyes didn’t match her words. They were bright, dilated, like she was chasing the same rush I was. And every time, I’d apologize, play dumb, and walk away with my heart pounding and my dick straining.

By the fifth morning, things shifted. Jane wasn’t just wearing those yoga pants anymore. She’d switched to a tighter pair, dark gray, so thin I could see the outline of her thong underneath. Her top was cropped, showing a sliver of toned midriff, and she was bending over the counter more than necessary, arranging fruit or wiping down already-spotless marble. She knew I was coming. She was inviting it.

I didn’t hesitate. “Morning, babe,” I said, and my hand came down harder than before, the crack loud enough to make me wince. Her ass rippled, the gray fabric stretching, and she let out a sound that wasn’t just a gasp—it was a moan, soft and unmistakable. She froze, her hands gripping the counter, her ponytail swaying. I stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.

“Alex,” she said, her voice shaky, “you have to stop this. It’s not… appropriate.”

“Sorry, Jane,” I said, but I didn’t back away. “Thought it was Emily again.” A lie, and we both knew it. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven, and for a second, I thought she might turn around and slap me. Instead, she just stood there, her ass still tingling from my hand, and said nothing.

Emily’s voice broke the moment. “Oh my God, again?” She was at the kitchen island, sipping orange juice, her eyes dancing with amusement. She was wearing her own yoga pants, black and tight, and the sight of her and Jane together—two perfect asses, two sets of curves—made my dick throb so hard it hurt. “Alex, you’re gonna get in so much trouble,” she teased, but she hopped off her stool and sauntered over, her hips swaying. “Jane, you okay? He’s got a heavy hand, huh?”

Jane straightened, forcing a smile. “It’s fine, Emily. Just a mistake.” But her voice was too tight, her hands too fidgety. Emily smirked, and before I could process what was happening, she reached out and gave Jane’s ass a playful smack. The sound was lighter, softer, but Jane yelped, her eyes widening.

“Emily!” Jane snapped, but Emily just laughed, grabbing my arm.

“See? It’s fun!” Emily said, her hand sliding down to squeeze my bicep. “Right, Alex?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Uh, yeah. Fun.” My sweats were tenting, and there was no hiding it. Jane’s eyes flicked down, just for a second, and her flush deepened. She turned away, muttering something about breakfast, but I could see her thighs pressing together, like she was trying to quell something.

That was when I knew I wasn’t stopping. Not now. Not when Jane was lingering in the kitchen, wearing tighter clothes, moaning under my hand. Not when Emily was egging me on, her own hands getting bolder. I was still shy, still nervous, but that spark was a fire now, and I wanted to see how hot it could burn.

The mornings became a ritual. I’d wake up early, slip out of Emily’s bed, and head to the kitchen, my pulse racing. Jane was always there, like clockwork, her outfits getting bolder—thinner leggings, sports bras that barely contained her tits, her hair loose some days, cascading down her back. I’d spank her, harder each time, and she’d moan, scold, but never stop me. Emily started joining us, watching at first, then adding her own playful smacks, her laughter filling the kitchen. John was always nearby, reading his newspaper at the dining table, oblivious to the tension crackling ten feet away.

It was Wednesday, maybe two weeks after the first spank, when things went from risky to reckless. I’d woken up hornier than usual, Emily’s teasing from the night before still buzzing in my head. She’d been grinding against me in bed, whispering about how “naughty” I was, how she loved watching me spank Jane. My dick was a steel rod by the time I got to the kitchen, and I didn’t care about playing it safe anymore.

Jane was at the sink, washing dishes, her ass thrust out in a pair of skin-tight white leggings that were practically see-through. Her sports bra was black, her skin glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, like she’d just finished yoga. Emily was at the island, eating yogurt, her eyes locking on me as I walked in. She smirked, nodding toward Jane, like she knew what was coming.

I didn’t bother with words. I stepped up behind Jane, my hand raised, and brought it down with a crack that made the dishes rattle. Her ass jiggled, the white fabric stretching, and she moaned—loud, unmistakable, a sound that went straight to my cock. She gripped the sink, her knuckles white, and didn’t turn around.

“Alex,” she said, her voice trembling, “this has to—”

Before she could finish, Emily was there, her small hand smacking Jane’s other cheek. “Gotcha!” she giggled, pressing herself against Jane’s side. Jane yelped, trapped between us, her ass red under the thin leggings. I spanked her again, harder, and Emily matched me, our hands alternating, crack-crack-crack, the kitchen filling with the sound of flesh on flesh and Jane’s stifled moans.

“Guys, stop,” Jane gasped, but her body betrayed her. Her hips rocked back, just slightly, chasing each hit. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, and I could smell her arousal, musky and sweet, mixing with the sweat on her skin. Emily’s hands wandered, groping Jane’s ass between spanks, her fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“You like it, don’t you?” Emily whispered, her voice playful but edged with something darker. She looked at me, her eyes gleaming. “Alex, she’s so red. Feel it.”

I didn’t think. I just acted. My hand slid over Jane’s ass, the heat radiating through the leggings, the skin burning under my palm. She moaned again, louder, and I squeezed, hard, feeling the give of her flesh. My dick was throbbing, straining against my sweats, and I knew they could see it. Emily’s hand joined mine, her fingers brushing my cock through the fabric as she groped Jane, and I nearly lost it right there.

“Emily, Alex, please,” Jane whimpered, but she didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Her conservative facade was cracking, her body trembling under our hands. I spanked her again, my hand lingering, and Emily giggled, her own hands roaming up Jane’s sides, teasing the edges of her sports bra.

“Morning, everyone,” John’s voice cut through, and we froze. He was at the dining table, newspaper in hand, not even looking up. “Jane, you making eggs?”

Jane jerked upright, smoothing her leggings, her face scarlet. “Y-yes, John,” she stammered, turning to the fridge. Emily stepped back, winking at me, her hand brushing my erection one last time before she grabbed her yogurt and sauntered off. I stood there, my cock aching, my hands tingling, watching Jane’s ass as she moved, the red marks visible through her leggings.

I retreated to the living room, my head spinning. I wasn’t shy anymore, not after that. Jane’s moans, Emily’s groping, the way they’d both let it happen—it was too much. I wanted more. I wanted to push harder, to see how far I could take it. That night, in Emily’s bed, I didn’t sleep. I lay there, my dick hard, fantasizing about both of them—Jane bent over the counter, Emily on her knees, my hands spanking, controlling, dominating. I didn’t just want to spank them anymore. I wanted to own them.

Emily stirred, her hand sliding over my chest. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she murmured, her voice sleepy but sly. “About her. About us.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. She knew. And so did I.