Stepbrother's Rules: A 1950's Ageplay Romance Page 6

  “I have a date with a Battleton boy,” Beth said, “but not for another hour. Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “I’d love to, thanks.”

  The women walked to the student union and poured coffee from the urn, mixing it with cream and sugar. They sat down by a window and sipped the hot liquid.

  “I don’t know why Sarah Wharton and Battleton don’t combine. All the other colleges are coed these days,” Beth complained.

  “I know, but my father would not have let me go to college at all except to a women’s college.”

  “What did he say about your trouble with the dorms?”

  She nibbled her lip. “He doesn’t know yet. My parents are in Europe at the moment.”

  “Well, we’re so close to graduation now, he can hardly pull you. I mean, he’s paid for two years’ worth of tuition, he’d be a fool not to let you get your teacher’s certificate.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” She ignored the stab of guilt from her deceit. The thought of her time with Brad ending brought on a fresh twist of anxiety. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to make the most of the experience while she had it.

  They finished their coffee and she accompanied Beth to the front of the Student Union, where she planned to meet her date.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Tom McGuire.”

  She choked on the breath she’d been drawing, the memory of being mauled by him still fresh in her mind. Her hand drifted to her bruised breast. “Be careful, Beth. He’s the type who doesn’t stop when a girl says no. Where is he taking you?”

  A red convertible pulled up, the offending Battleton boy behind the wheel. A jolt went through LuAnn when she realized he wore a piece of tape over his nose, as if it had been recently broken. Had Brad done that?

  She shouldn’t be so thrilled. She really shouldn’t.

  “I don’t plan to say no,” Beth said with a naughty smirk. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for the chat.”

  Tom glowered at her from the window and touched his broken nose. “Are you two friends?” he called out through the open window.

  Was he not even going to get out and open the door for Beth? What a cad. She lifted her chin. “Yes, we are. I hope you’re on your best behavior with her.”

  “You shouldn’t have invited me to your room if you had a boyfriend,” he said, causing Beth to turn and gape at her.

  She gave a quick shake of her head, her mind reeling. Had Brad pretended to be her boyfriend and not her brother? Her heart skipped a beat. She gave the bewildered Beth a quick embrace. “Call me if you need me to pick you up or anything,” she said, scribbling Brad’s phone number on a piece of notebook paper and pressing it into her friend’s hand. “And be careful.”

  “I’ll be fine. But, thanks,” Beth said.

  She turned away before she had to talk more to Tom.

  Brad had defended her. The memory of his daddy game returned to her. She loved being the subject of his protection and tender care and if he wanted to call himself daddy, it was fine with her.

  Her own father loved her, she knew that, but he hadn’t had much time for her growing up. Her mom had died when she was six, so he’d hired Mrs. Appleton as their housekeeper, and she’d been the one who really raised her. Brad’s mom had entered their lives when she was thirteen, and she’d offered LuAnn love as well, but she’d also taken what little of her father’s attention she’d had.

  Having a male who lavished her with the attention and affectionate regard she’d always longed for came as an intense pleasure. The fact that it came in the package of Brad Stanford, her sexy stepbrother, made it all the better. And worse. Because even though she’d never felt so safe and cared for in her life, she wasn’t sure why he was doing it. Was he really just filling in until their parents returned? Or did he have romantic feelings for her too?

  * * *

  Brad fingered Mr. Washburn’s card in his pocket. He’d told LuAnn he planned to start his own firm someday. It was the first time he’d voiced his ambition, and now it seemed the act of voicing it had set wheels in motion. He had an opportunity—did he risk his job and run with it?

  The rebel in him wanted to. Ironically, it would effectively put an end to all his devil may care activities. It was long past time to buy a car and sell the Ducati, but he’d been clinging to his bad boy image for the past few years, despite his professional job. He’d been refusing to look for a wife, refusing to grow up.

  Something about having LuAnn in his apartment changed his outlook on everything. She trusted and admired him, and that made him want to be worthy of her sweet esteem. He hated that she’d tried to emulate his bad habits—smoking and running with fast girls.

  He knew he’d crossed a line with her when he’d taken things beyond the point of propriety the night before and the guilt at defiling her innocence weighed on him, but it also made him consider a future he’d never dreamed of before for himself. One with LuAnn at the center of his life.

  Suddenly, his entire existence had shifted. The meaninglessness of plodding through work, the need to act like a teenager standing up against authority outside of his office job, all fell away. Things seemed brighter now. He could imagine a life with purpose—with a little wife to care for and keep. A naughty little housewife who required his protection and punishment.

  He pulled out Mr. Washburn’s card and stared at it. He would need to make a decision soon. And not just about the job...

  * * *

  LuAnn had seen little of Brad since the night he shaved her private parts and put her to bed naked. She had a feeling he was avoiding her. Things had gone too far, and now he’d pulled back. Just like her friend Jenny Hill and her boyfriend Mark back in high school, They’d made it to third base and then he’d immediately dumped her. He’d been afraid, they’d decided. Because he was a good Catholic boy and they both had been so close to going all the way and losing their respective virginities. Poor Jenny had been devastated.

  Not that Brad was a virgin—she was one hundred percent sure of that. But he probably felt guilty about sullying her. Or maybe because he still thought of her as just “mouse,” his bratty little sister. That thought depressed her.

  She had dinner ready for him when he came home that night—meatloaf and steamed carrots with butter. She’d set the table and had the food covered to stay warm while she waited, studying.

  He came in, looking as dapper as ever in his button-down shirt and tie. She had a hard time deciding which look she liked better—the James Dean bad boy in jeans and the leather jacket or this one—the handsome young professional.

  She stood up and smoothed the fluffy skirt of her gingham halter dress. If she was his wife, she’d greet him at the door with his favorite drink and a kiss. The idea thrilled her. To be Brad Stanford’s wife… But he didn’t seem the marrying type. Playboys didn’t marry, did they?

  He carried a thin paper bag under his arm and he handed it to her. “Here, mouse. I bought you a present.”

  “For me? Really?” She snatched the flat package from his hands, tearing into it. “Oh, Brad, thank you!” she exclaimed when she saw the new Debbie Reynolds album. “How did you know I wanted this?”

  He grinned. “You’re always singing that “Tammy” song. I figured you might like to play it, too.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, forgetting to be sophisticated. “You’re the best.”

  He took the album from her and walked to the record player, putting it on.

  She watched him, her chest filled with warmth. “I made you...um, us, some dinner,” she said.

  “Thank you, mouse.” His easygoing smile made her knees go weak.

  “I could make you a drink. I mean, I could have a drink waiting for you when you got home, if I knew what you liked.”

  When he gave her a strange look, she knew she’d gone too far. She wasn’t his wife. She was a stepsister whose presence he had to endure for a few weeks, no more. H
er face grew warm.

  “I’m starved, kiddo. What’s for dinner?”

  “Meatloaf and carrots,” she said. “It’s your mom’s recipe.” Okay, now that just underlined the fact that she was family, not a love interest. They shared parents, for God’s sake.

  She shoved all her fantasies about Brad Stanford out of her mind and sat down at the worn wooden table to eat. She ran her fingers over one of the scratches in the wood. If he’d let her decorate his place, she’d beg him to buy one of the fancy new Formica tables. She’d seen one she absolutely loved—white with red chairs. So chic.

  “Brad?”

  “Yes, mouse?”

  “Did you pay a visit to Tom McGuire?”

  Brad’s expression darkened and he stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Why?” His voice was as hard as steel.

  She smiled and dropped her eyes to her plate. “You did that to his nose, didn’t you?”

  His shoulders relaxed. “He didn’t speak to you, did he?”

  “No, I just saw him driving by.”

  “Good.”

  She waited, but he said nothing more, and she didn’t press. She had her answer, and she loved it.

  They finished the meal and she washed the dishes and put away the leftovers. After wiping the table clean, she spread her books and notes out on it to return to her homework

  Brad leaned over her and flipped her text book back to read the cover. “Advanced Algebra, eh? How are the studies going?”

  “Boring,” she sighed. “I don’t really see why I’d need to know this to teach in an elementary school.”

  “Well that’s true,” he said, sliding in to sit beside her. “How is your grade in this class?”

  “B minus.”

  “We’ll have to get that one up. I’ve been meaning to go over all your classes with you. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance until now.” He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. It was the list she’d made of her class times. He scanned it. “How do you like interior design?”

  She perked up. “I love it. I have a solid A minus in that class.”

  “Good girl.”

  His approval shouldn’t mean so much to her, but she loved the interest he took in her and her classes.

  “How about your English and History courses?”

  “A minus and B plus.”

  “Good. What other classes do you have?”

  “That’s all this semester,” she said, then stopped, realizing she’d tripped up.

  He glanced at the paper. “What’s this one?” he asked and pointed to the class time she’d listed every afternoon from two-thirty to four.

  She nibbled her lip. Okay, that wasn’t actually a real class, it was the one she’d written down to give herself some wiggle room. She hadn’t wanted to stay cooped up in his apartment by herself all day, every day. She’d go crazy. “Uh, that one is a hands’ on teaching lab.”

  He lifted his brows with interest, which increased her guilt over lying. “Oh yeah? Which class is it associated with?”

  “Um...it’s...”

  “Are you lying to me, mouse?”

  “Well, no, what do you mean?”

  His eyes narrowed. “It was a simple question. I get the feeling you’re lying about something. What is it?”

  She shivered. How did he know? “What makes you think that?”

  “You have three seconds to come clean, or I’m going to get a wooden spoon from the kitchen and—”

  “I don’t really have a class,” she said quickly. “I made that one up so I wouldn’t be stuck here all the time.” She winced at his darkening expression.

  “So you decided to defy my rules, little girl?” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down on it. “Your little bottom is going to be very sorry. Lift up your skirt, pull down your panties and lie across my lap. Now. One...”

  The firmness in his tone had her scrambling to her feet. Was he actually mad? “Two…”

  She wrestled her skirt up and slid down her panties.

  “Three…”

  She dived over his lap like a scared rabbit.

  He ran his hand over her bare buttocks, circling them. Shivers of anticipation shot through her. She tensed when his hand lifted away. When it returned with force, she squeaked in surprise.

  He set a brisk pace, spanking her bottom in a pattern of left, right, middle over and over again. “LuAnn Walter, I already warned you once about lying.”

  She bucked at the stinging blows. “Ouch...oh! I know—I’m sorry.”

  “Not only did you lie, but you acted in a deceitful way, tricking me to avoid part of your punishment, which was to remain in this apartment studying when you’re not in classes.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wriggled under his rapid-fire smacks, finding his hand almost as hard as the hairbrush he’d wielded that first night. “Ouch, ooh,” she cried. “Please.” Worse than the stinging pain, his displeasure with her made her want to crawl under the table. She wanted his forgiveness, needed to earn his approval again.

  And her body’s incomprehensible reaction to the spanking was to make her pussy pulse with heat. What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be thinking about Brad’s fingers shoving inside her again, nor about the way he’d rubbed baby oil all over her body a few nights before. And yet, that was all her brain conjured. Desire coiled deep in her core.

  Oh, dear—oh, heavens! A gush of liquid released from her sex, wetting her inner thighs.

  Brad stopped paddling her.

  Mortified, she rolled off his lap in a lurch, desperate to hide her face.

  Brad caught her with a strong arm around her waist and pulled her back onto his lap.

  She twisted her neck to bury her face in his shirt. She would have preferred he tossed her back over his knees for more spanking than to have to face him now.

  “Hey,” he said softly, his hand at her face gentle. “Look at me.”

  She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, refusing to obey.

  “Are you embarrassed?”

  She whimpered.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  She gave her head a subtle shake. Did he know? It sort of seemed like she’d peed on him, except she hadn’t released her bladder.

  “Baby, that was hot. The guys I hang around with—they like to brag that they can get a girl to squirt, but I thought it was a myth. I’ve never seen it before. You’re my first.” He nudged her head until she faced him.

  She opened first one eye and then the other. “That—that was a good thing?”

  “Heck, yeah. That was every man’s fantasy. And I wasn’t even touching you there.” He pressed his lips to hers with soft exploration. “Very hot, mouse,” he murmured.

  A liquid warmth filled her chest, snaking down her core and pooling between her legs. She kissed him back, parting her lips and extending the tip of her tongue to tease him.

  He pulled away and smiled at her, stroking her cheek.

  “It wasn’t pee,” she said, needing to make sure he knew.

  Brad’s lips twitched. “You know what, mouse? Even if it had been pee, there’d be no reason for you to be ashamed. You’re my baby girl and I’m your daddy. I would simply put you in the bath to clean you up.”

  A fresh bloom of heat licked through her as she remembered the last time he’d given her a bath. He must have remembered, too, because his hand moved up her thigh, under her skirt. Her panties were still tangled around her thighs, so his palm reached her bare buttock, hot from his punishment. He squeezed.

  “And afterward, I would rub you down with baby oil,” he said. “But since your spanking wasn’t finished, I wouldn’t be able to give you any pleasure. I’d have to spank your bottom again, and the oil would make it sting even worse.” He was dirty-talking, she realized. And it worked, because more moisture leaked between her legs. He gripped her buttock more firmly, his fingers pressing into her smarting flesh. “What did I tell you would happen if you lied to Daddy again
?”

  Distracted by thoughts of Brad rubbing her naked body with oil she simply blinked at him.

  “Do you remember?”

  Her tummy clenched when she recalled his threat. She nodded.

  “Say it.”

  “You said I’d have to stand in the corner with my spanked bottom on display.”

  “That’s right, baby girl.” He picked her up and stood her on her feet between his knees. Pointing to the corner, he lifted his chin.

  She hesitated, but he raised one eyebrow, looking displeased again. She leaped into action, spinning around and heading for the corner.

  “Hold your skirts up so I can see those rosy red cheeks.”

  Her pussy clenched. Why on earth would he want to see her punished bottom? She wrapped her fingers in her skirt and hiked it up, inch by inch until it reached her waist. Imagining what her bottom must look like from his perspective, she squeezed her cheeks together reflexively, then forced them to relax. This couldn’t be more mortifying.

  Or maybe it could. A few minutes later a knock sounded at the door and she whirled, dropping her skirts and giving Brad a panicked look.

  “Go into my bedroom and shut the door.”

  She didn’t wait to be told twice, scurrying for the safety of the bedroom, her face hot with shame at the idea of her humiliating punishment being witnessed. She heard the sound of a female voice, but it didn’t sound like Mrs. V. She paced the room, twisting her fingers. Who could it be?

  * * *

  Brad’s raging erection thankfully eased at the interruption, but the sight of Dottie, one of the girls he’d been casually dating before LuAnn moved in, did not come as a pleasant surprise. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking the door. “Hi, Dottie, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I just was in the neighborhood. I thought I’d stop in and say hello.” She unzipped her pink jacket a little, calling attention to her ample cleavage.

  He groaned inwardly. “I’m sorry, now is not a good time for me, okay, sugar?”

  She stepped closer and grasped his shirt, batting her eyelashes. “Are you sure? I thought we could go dancing. You’re the best jitterbug partner around, you know. Or we could stay in…” She tried to move past him into the apartment.