Stepbrother's Rules: A 1950's Ageplay Romance

by Rose, Renee

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said in a small voice.

  She seemed so diminished, he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and make her forget her rough night. But if he was going to let her stay with him, he needed to play stern.

  She’d been right. He couldn’t very well drop her off in Connecticut and leave her unattended for several weeks until her parents returned. His brother Brian would make a far better chaperone than he, but Brian was so wrapped up in his big case, he might not see the outside of his office for weeks. Besides, after what had happened with the Battleton boys, Brad needed to know she was safe.

  “Just because I’m not telling our parents doesn’t mean you’re getting off scot-free.” He brought her suitcases to his bedroom. He would sleep on the couch—it was the gentlemanly thing to do. He walked back out to where she was standing, looking rumpled and contrite. “Mrs. McCormick said this wasn’t the first time you’ve broken the dormitory rules.”

  “No.” Her face flushed and she lowered her eyes. “That’s true.”

  “So you love college because it’s one big party, right? Boys and cigarettes and liquor?”

  “I like my classes.”

  He almost laughed. “You’re lying.” He watched as fresh color bloomed across her cheeks. Before he could stop himself, he said, “I will punish you for lies, little girl.”

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed, but something made him think his words excited her. The quickened breath perhaps, or the way her plump lips parted.

  “Do you have a brush in your purse?”

  “Yes, why—?” She rummaged in her handbag for it. Before he could answer, understanding dawned on LuAnn’s face and she drew the hairbrush she’d retrieved tight against her ribs.

  “Because I intend to spank you for breaking the dorm rules.” He pried the brush from her fingers and led her by the elbow to the couch, where he sat down and pulled her over his thighs.

  “You can’t spank me,” she insisted, struggling to get up.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her in place. “No? Would you rather I let your father do the job when he gets home?”

  She went still. “No. Does this mean you won’t tell him?”

  “I won’t tell him, mouse. Just like you never told on me all those times you watched me climbing in and out my bedroom window late nights in high school.”

  “Doesn’t that mean you should skip this spanking now? Because you owe me?”

  He chuckled. “Probably. But I’m not going to.” His cock gave a surge of interest at the enticing sight she made. Spanking naughty girls was a pleasure he’d been indulging in since high school, when he’d given his first spanking to Angela Jamison, who had literally thrown herself at him afterward. But he shouldn’t think about those kinds of spankings now. This was LuAnn, his little sister, and this was real discipline, not something sexual. Or at least he’d keep telling himself that.

  He pulled her skirt up and let it drape over her back, exposing her white lace-trimmed panties. She froze, lifting her head as if to listen for what he would do next. He picked up the wooden hairbrush and aimed it for the lower part of her right cheek, smacking her sit spot.

  She jerked, tightening her buttocks. She had a lush bottom, he realized, as he smacked the other sit spot. Curvy but muscular, her twin globes had a perkiness that made his blood heat. He’d bet she did wonders for a swimsuit. He picked up his pace, spanking one side then the other in a steady rhythm, wondering idly whether her breasts were as magnificent as her ass.

  But it was wrong to think of little LuAnn that way. She was his stepsister, not a girl he intended to put the moves on. Except the lovely young woman did not resemble the skinny thirteen-year-old he’d lived with for a year and called mouse. And the way his body reacted to spanking her was definitely not brotherly.

  LuAnn cried out, writhing over his knees. He yanked her waist in close, pinning her down as he continued to paddle her bottom.

  “Ouch, stop!” She reached back to cover up.

  “Remove your hand or I will pull down your panties and spank you on your bare bottom, little girl.” He wasn’t sure where that came from—it certainly wasn’t appropriate.

  She tucked her arm back under her chest, but a few minutes later it came flying back again, her hips rolling and listing to dodge his punishing blows.

  He grabbed her wrist and pinned it behind her back. “I warned you.” He peeled her panties down to her thighs.

  LuAnn gasped, squeezing her legs together.

  He went a little dizzy at the sight of her perfect, round and reddened cheeks. Even with her legs pressed together he could see a glimpse of her pink sex below, dewy with moisture. He stared at her pussy as he began to spank again, lust kicking through him. The display of her arousal leaking between her thighs made his cock turn rock hard. He bounced his knees to shift her away, hoping she hadn’t noticed his erection jutting into her hip.

  “Please,” she cried.

  He continued mercilessly, wanting to be sure he established his position of authority with her so she would follow his rules while living in his apartment. Or maybe it was just that he liked the sound of her little cries.

  “Ow, please stop.”

  He wanted her tears. This was a real, disciplinary spanking, and if he wasn’t going to tell her father, he needed to do a thorough job of it.

  She kicked her heels, forcing him to clamp one leg over hers to pin her in place. She fought even harder, but he had her locked in position, her upturned bottom perfectly angled for punishment.

  He continued spanking and she continued struggling, until at last he heard a sob and she collapsed over his knees, defeated.

  Relieved at her submission, he lightened the spanks, but still paddled on, not wanting to teach her that a spanking ended as soon as she cried. He gave her twenty-five more, knowing he would leave her sore enough to remember the spanking the next day.

  She lay over his lap, her body limp.

  He pulled her panties back up and smoothed down her skirt. When he lifted her to sit beside him, she immediately jumped up, heading for the bathroom.

  As he heard the click of the lock, a wedge of guilt tweaked him. He’d humiliated her. He’d been her childhood idol—the epitome of “cool” in her eyes, and he’d just bared her bottom and spanked her like a naughty child. How stupid of him. Without the kissing, cuddling or sex that usually followed spanking a girlfriend, she’d be left with nothing but tatters of her pride.

  He walked to the bathroom door and put his ear against it. All he heard was the soft sound of crying. He tapped on the door. “LuAnn?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Cursing, he stuck his thumbnail in the keyhole and turned it, hoping he wouldn’t find her on the toilet. She wasn’t. She was standing, looking in the mirror at her tear-streaked face. She whirled around and he caught her wrist, pulling her up against his body.

  “LuAnn.” He wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened at first, but he held her close until she softened against him. She smelled sweet, like freshly baked bread and banana splits with a touch of brandy on the edges. Her brown hair spilled out of her ponytail like strands of silk. He liked the sensation of her body melting into his, the soft curves of her breasts meeting his ribs, her wet cheek pressing against his chest.

  He felt compelled to reassure her, to reward her for her submission to his punishment, yet he didn’t know how. He’d planned to be very stern and lecture her about his expectations, but now he found himself only wanting to soothe away the embarrassment he’d caused.

  He kissed the top of her head.

  She lifted her face, looking surprised and before his better sense stopped him, he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him back, moving her impossibly soft lips against his. Electricity tingled every place he came in contact with her, his cock surging against his trousers, his hand moving to cup her nape.

  Oh, hell, what am I doing?

  With effort, he p
ulled away and released her. Propelling her into his bedroom, he hefted the suitcases on their sides. “Which of these has your nightgown in it?” he asked.

  * * *

  Dazed, LuAnn blinked, her bottom throbbing in a steady beat with her heart. “I’m not sure. I was still tipsy when I was packing,” she admitted. Her body trembled from Brad’s kiss. What had it meant?

  To her surprise, Brad chuckled. Now, it seemed, he was back to being the cool, laidback guy she remembered. Which almost made it worse. It was one thing if he was going to pretend to be her parent and scold and spank her, but she didn’t want Brad—the hero of so many childhood fantasies—thinking of her like a little girl he needed to discipline.

  He unlatched the bags and threw them open, fishing out a wad of nightgowns, as well as her cosmetic bag. He handed them to her. “Go get ready for bed, mouse.”

  She didn’t meet his eye as she took the things and ducked back into the bathroom to change. While she brushed her teeth, the phone rang.

  Who would call at two in the morning? A girlfriend?

  Brad picked it up. “Hello?”

  She spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, opening the door to eavesdrop.

  “Well, she was caught drinking, smoking and having boys in her room, but we’ve worked it out so she can stay in school.”

  Brian. Of course—they had called him first. Now he was checking up on her. She held her breath. Brad had said, “we’ve worked it out” as if he’d negotiated for her to stay at the school. She appreciated his keeping their arrangement a secret from Brian.

  “Listen, she’s already been paddled for it. Considering her dad’s heart problems, I’d prefer we not mention this to him. He would snap his cap…. Yeah, I’ll make sure she buckles down with her studies and she is definitely grounded for the rest of the school year.” He turned a stern gaze on her.

  Her tummy flipped at the look, her bottom throbbing more insistently as if warning her not to cross him. She still wanted to crawl under a bush and hide after what he’d done. Yet something fluttery moved inside her when she thought about being face down over his knees with her panties down. Had he been able to see her sex? She feared he had. The intimacy of it sent frissons of heat to her core.

  Brad hung up and turned to her. “Did you hear that?”

  She nodded, chastised. “Yes. I’m grounded for the rest of the school year.”

  “That’s right. I want you to make me a list of your class times. You may not go anywhere, except to school and back without my express permission. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured, then flushed. He was only four years older than she. Hardly someone to call sir.

  But he seemed to like it, giving her a lazy grin, his eyes dropping to the neckline of her nightgown, then jerking back up.

  She touched her bruised breast, remembering the animal who had tried to have his way with her that night.

  “What happened?” Brad demanded.

  She’d played it off earlier, as if it had been her friend who had been in trouble, not her, but not much got past her stepbrother.

  She took a step back. “Nothing. I should go to bed now. Do I sleep on the couch?”

  “You sleep in my bed.” He came over and led her into his room. He actually pulled down the covers for her, as if she were a child and he meant to tuck her in. It would have bothered her, except she loved his nearness – the warmth from his lips still on her mouth, the heat of his body reaching her as he stood so close behind, corralling her against the bed. The muscles between her legs clenched with excitement as images of him pushing her down on the mattress and having his way with her flitted through her head.

  Funny how she screamed when the boy from Battleton tried, but the image of Brad ravishing her made her skin prickle with heat. But Brad wouldn’t have sex with her. He saw her only as a little mouse, his skinny, gangly stepsister who used to follow him around but was always too painfully timid to speak in his presence.

  She climbed into bed and raised her gaze shyly. Instead of pulling up the covers, he reached for the hem of her nightgown. She froze, her breath stalling in her throat. Did he want her?

  He dragged it up, not slowly, but with a business-like intent, forcing it to slide up under her poor, raw cheeks. He brought it all the way up to her armpits and then stopped, staring down at her breasts, his brows lowering.

  She lifted her head to peer down. Angry finger marks still stood out, turning a puffy blue around the edges.

  Brad glowered. “I want his name.”

  She swallowed, pulling down her nightgown and sitting up, eager to end the examination. She had lied earlier, she did know his name, but she’d been frightened of what Brad might do. There had always been an unpredictability to him, a dominant fierceness, that made her think he just might go get himself into trouble.

  Should that bother her so much?

  “Tom McGuire.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  Grasping her thighs, he dragged her back down on the bed and flipped her on her belly. He landed three hard smacks on to her tender bottom and she shrieked. “That is for lying to me earlier. The next time you lie to me, I will make you stand in the corner with your panties down after your spanking. Understand?”

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but her sex contracted repeatedly, thrilled by his threat. What was wrong with her? Well, hadn’t his tough guy persona always been what appealed to her?

  He rolled her back over, tucked her in and gave her a brotherly kiss on the forehead, handing her Marshmallow, her teddy bear. “Goodnight, mouse.”

  “Goodnight,” she whispered as he switched off the lamp.

  She should have fallen straight to sleep, considering the hour and the adventure of the day, but she lay awake a long time, listening to Brad get settled, then imagining being punished by him. Or made to stand in the corner. She imagined all the things he might force her to do—strip off her clothes and stand naked before him, spread her legs and let him examine her charms, bend over and show him the little rosette of her bottom hole. Why did those scenarios excite her so much?

  She brought her fingers between her legs and into her panties. Her sex was damp—wetter than she’d ever been before, and it seemed huge, as if it had swelled open to welcome her fingers. She’d touched herself in the past, but only on the outside of her panties. This time her finger slid inside her feminine folds, surprising her with its moist heat. She pushed the heel of her hand against the upper part of her mons and rippled her fingers, gliding in and out.

  She replayed the scenes with Brad over and over again as she touched herself: the way he’d peeled down her panties and paddled her without mercy; the safety of standing wrapped up in his arms after he’d unlocked the bathroom door to check on her; the kiss—not passionate but sweet nonetheless; and the perfunctory way he’d lifted her nightgown—as if he owned her and had every right to inspect her body without asking. Boy, Brad really knew how to send her, as her girlfriends would say.

  She bucked in a climax, squeezing her thighs together as her inner muscles fluttered in wave after wave of intimate release.

  Chapter Two

  Brad lay on his back on the couch with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He would make the young man who’d forced himself on LuAnn pay. The strength of his desire to avenge her surprised him, almost as much as he’d shocked himself by pulling up her gown to search for bruising. Why in the hell he thought he had the right to do such a thing was a mystery.

  LuAnn brought out something in him—an unusual protectiveness and the need to nurture. It was different than when he’d turned a girlfriend over his knee or scolded her for irritating him. Those encounters had a detached quality—the need to dominate, the need to satisfy them sexually, but never the need to care for them on a personal level. He’d always been a ladies’ man—making it plain from the start that he wasn’t the boy they would marry, and if they wanted to stick with him, they’d have to follow his rule
s. He supposed it was LuAnn’s youthful innocence that made him want to take care of her. Or the fact that she was family. Or his memories of her as a vulnerable adolescent. If only she hadn’t turned into a full-grown woman, so lush and voluptuous…

  He woke to find her in her nightgown, banging pots and pans around in his kitchen. The thin satin material left little to his imagination—the curves of her ass, the outline of her panties all too apparent. The panties he had peeled down to her thighs the night before. He sat up, covering his morning wood. This would not do. He needed to stop thinking of his stepsister this way. Little Sister. Little. Sister. Not a hot young ingénue making scrambled eggs in his kitchen. Unbidden, he pictured her as his very own sweet wife, preparing his breakfast in nothing but an apron. Perhaps she’d have a freshly reddened ass for getting sassy with him. Oh God.

  He stood up and bolted for the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face. When he came back, he found LuAnn gasping over burned eggs. “Holy hell!”

  He chuckled.

  She yanked the frying pan of smoking eggs off the burner and dropped it onto the yellow laminate countertop without a hot pad.

  “No,” he yelped.

  She gasped, realizing the problem and jerked the pan from the counter, sending it flying to the floor with a crash, eggs splattering all over the linoleum.

  “Dammit all.” She bent over to give him a perfect view of her bottom, spread and lifted.

  He couldn’t resist—he landed two sharp slaps to her backside. “Young lady, that sort of language does not become you.”

  The truth was he didn’t care if she cursed, but it gave him a reason to swat her oh-so-attractive buttocks, so he went with it. Based on the way she jumped and howled, he’d bet she still smarted from her spanking the night before.

  Her face flushed a deep shade of pink and her jaw thrust forward. “I have heard you curse many times, Brad Stanford.”