Triple Chance #4 (Three erotic short stories) (Luke Chance Triples)

  Triple Chance #4

  Triple Chance #4

  Includes the following Luke Chance Quickies:

  Chance 10 - Spanking Chance

  Chance 11 - Lucky Chance

  Chance 12 - Twin Chance

  About Luke Chance

  Imagine compressing an entire relationship into a few intense hours. From meeting someone new, to caring intensely about them, to enjoying hot passionate sex with them ...

  Welcome to Luke Chance's life.

  These stories feature explicit sex between consenting adults, and are intended for readers aged 18+

  Warning, Australian spelling!

  ... and I don't mean it was typed upside-down. I'm an Australian author, and this work conforms to Australian spelling conventions. For example, along with several other differences you'll see colour, not 'color', neighbour, not 'neighbor', and organise, not 'organize'. These are not mis-spellings or typos.

  Spanking Chance

  Luke Chance Quickies #10

  © Lucy Tucker 2012

  Cover Design (c) Lucy Tucker

  Image from 123RF Stock Photo

  All Rights Reserved

  About Spanking Chance ...

  Desmond Harrow is a wealthy 80-year-old struggling to keep up with the bedroom antics of his pretty young wife, Lottie. So, in typical no-nonsense fashion, the elderly man brings in Luke Chance to ... lend a hand. There's just one condition ... no intercourse.

  Lottie soon realises Chance is going to need a little tension-reliever of his own, so she brings in a substitute to take care of his needs. Meanwhile, Harrow has come to the same conclusion, and he's organised another substitute as well.

  Not only is Chance beset with beautiful women, it seems each has her own particular quirk ...

  Spanking Chance is an 7500-word Luke Chance story. Suitable for adults only (18+)

  Chance #10 - Spanking Chance

  Chance swirled the vintage brandy, breathing the heady aroma with appreciation. "Very nice, sir."

  "Only the best, eh Chance? Wine, women and song, may they all be of the highest class."

  The speaker was an old man, well into his eighties, but his gaze was steady and he held his brandy glass in a firm grip. Desmond Harrow was an old friend of the family, getting on now but still razor sharp. "Tell me, Chance. How's your father these days?"

  "I haven't seen him for years," confessed Chance. "We fell out."

  "Ha-hmm. Over a woman, wasn't it? Didn't I read something in the papers?"

  "They usually get the facts wrong," said Chance lightly. The scars ran deep, and he didn't want to spoil the pleasant evening with unhappy memories.

  "Ha-hmm. None of my business, anyway." Harrow sipped his brandy, firelight reflected in his glass. "Did you hear I got married again?"

  "I didn't, sir. Congratulations."

  "Ha-hmm."

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Clearly everything wasn't going to plan in the Harrow household. Chance took another sip from his glass, letting the excellent brandy tickle his buds.

  "Younger than me, of course." Harrow wheezed. "Nearly everyone is, these days. Phillips, Morton … even good old Stout, they're all gone now."

  Chance wasn't sure whether the roll call was school friends, army buddies or employees.

  "Stout, now there was a man. Do you know, I saw him put down a whole blinking advance with one grenade? Brave, that man. Very, very brave." Harrow sighed, and he stared at the diminishing level in his glass.

  "Would you like a refill, sir?"

  "Not allowed. Blasted doctor said so."

  "Just a little?"

  "You're a good lad." Harrow held the glass out and Chance did the pouring duties, twisting the decanter with a flourish to catch the last drop. "Good hands, you have. Excellent coordination."

  "Thank you, sir." Chance glanced at the old man. He'd been terrified of Harrow as a boy, with his eagle eye and his booming voice. Now he was a pale shadow, counting down the days until his final breath.

  "Don't look at me like that," said Harrow irritably. "I'm not dead yet."

  "Sorry, sir."

  "Did I hear you're flying solo these days?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Single? Unattached?"

  "That's right."

  "Good, have a seat. I have something to ask you, and it's damned embarrassing." Harrow took a generous mouthful of brandy, gulping it down as though it were mineral water. "This is top secret, for your ears only. Is that clear?"

  Chance nodded. He'd always suspected Harrow was more than a military man, and from the sound of it he was about to be let into a few choice secrets.

  "It's about my wife," said Harrow.

  Chance was completely thrown. Then his face cleared. Was this woman a secret agent, trying to pump Harrow for info? The old man was long since retired, but he'd be well informed, and probably an easy touch for a determined woman. "How can I help, sir?"

  "Lottie's a hearty lass," said Harrow. "Fit. Know what I mean?"

  Chance wasn't surprised. He assumed secret agents needed to keep themselves in shape.

  "There's a photo on the table. Take a look, go on."

  Chance picked up the ornate frame, and he did a double-take at the beautiful woman in the portrait. She was about thirty-five, curvaceous, with blonde hair and a happy, smiling face. There was a hint of mischief in her eyes, and her plunging neckline revealed ample cleavage. "She's very pretty."

  "She's a handful," said Harrow fervently. "Dash it all, man, I don't know how to say this. I—I need help. She's got … appetites, and I don't know how to …" Harrow turned red, and he studied his glass miserably.

  "Out with it, sir. It's best to just say it."

  Harrow sighed. "Spanking, Chance. What do you know about spanking?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Lottie has this thing about it. Goes on and on, and … well, you know, the old arm isn't what it used to be."

  Chance took a sip of his brandy, struggling to hide his surprise. He was too well-mannered to laugh, but his lips were trying to betray him. "You want my advice, is that it?"

  "No, what I need is your right arm," said Harrow.

  Chance choked on the brandy, coughing and spluttering as the fiery liquid went up his nose, down into his lungs, and snuck in just about everywhere else it wasn't supposed to.

  "You don't judge anyone, ha-hmm?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. It was unexpected."

  "Yes, I did spring it on you. So what do you say?"

  "I'm not exactly sure what you're asking, sir."

  "You're single, and Lottie's a healthy young woman with a powerful appetite. Do I have to connect the dots?"

  Chance frowned. "What does Lottie think about this?"

  "She doesn't know yet. I'm asking you first." Harrow sipped his brandy. "If you agree, I'll raise the subject with her. If she says no …" He sighed. "Well, I'll have done my best to make her happy."

  "I'm afraid you won't need to ask her, sir." Chance finished the brandy and set his glass on the table. "I don't sleep with married women."

  He went to get up, but Harrow leaned forward and gripped his arm. "Hold your horses, Chance. I only want you to … to take care of her, er, particular needs. There's no question of intercourse. She is my wife, after all, and I won't be cuckolded under my own roof."

  "So you just want me to …"

  "Spank her, Chance. I want you to spank my wife."

  Dinner was a surreal experience. Harrow obviously hadn't mentioned his plans to Lottie yet, or if he had, she was the finest actor Chance had ever met. She smiled polite
ly, passed him dishes, and made small talk with ease, all the while taking the time to ensure her elderly husband got plenty of attention. Her hair was shorter than in her photo, cut shoulder length and teased into elaborate waves. She had a pretty white flower in her hair, and a low-cut white dress to match, accentuating her curvy figure. Her eyes were blue, her oval face skilfully made up, and she was very attractive, with a nice, genuine laugh. Chance warmed to her, and under other circumstances - if she'd been single, for example - he would have turned on the charm. As it was, he remained polite but distant, avoiding her hands when she passed him platters of food, and breaking off eye contact rather than letting it linger.

  "Harry says he has a surprise for me after dinner," Lottie whispered at one stage, showing off her deep cleavage as she leaned towards him. "He won't tell me what it is, though. Do you like surprises?"

  Chance smiled and nodded, looking away quickly. The sight of her soft, rounded breasts had prompted a vivid mental image. He'd imagined her bent over a chair, her white buttocks quivering as he brought the flat of his hand down again and again, while she cried out loud with desire and passion.

  "More cauliflower cheese?" she asked, passing him a tureen brimming with creamy white sauce.

  Chance took a polite serving, and placed the dish in the middle of the table, obscuring her cleavage.

  "Harry?" she said, moving the tureen again.

  "Not for me, dear. Too rich."

  "You must keep your strength up, Harry."

  Harrow shot Chance a meaningful look, and Chance began to understand the old man's position. Instead of enjoying a restful life of books and study, he was being trained up for stud duties. He obviously cared for Lottie, and she for him, but they were vastly different ages and had very different needs. At that moment, Chance finally decided he would help them both, assuming Lottie was agreeable.

  "More potatoes, Mr Chance?"

  "That would be wonderful," he said, meeting her eyes and giving her a warm smile. "And please, call me Luke."

  After dinner Chance retired to his room, part of a guest suite on the second floor. There was an old four-poster bed, complete with canopy, and the walls were hung with valuable paintings. He decided to read for a while, and had just settled down when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he said.

  The door opened and Lottie looked around the edge. Her eyes were bright, and there was a flush to her cheeks. "Harry just told me. He's such a dear."

  Chance sat up in bed, revealing his bare chest. "He's an old friend. I've known him all my life."

  "I'm sure you think I'm a gold-digger, Mr Chance, but I really do love him."

  "I believe you do. I saw you both together at dinner."

  Lottie shivered. "Do you mind if I join you? It's chilly out here."

  "Please do."

  She came in, wearing a pale blue dressing gown, the silky fabric shimmering in the light. The gown was short, barely reaching halfway down her thighs, and her bare legs were soft and rounded. Her breasts strained the fabric as she leaned over the bed to draw the covers back, and her erect nipples were clearly defined. She slipped into bed beside him, and gave him a smile. "Harry's asleep already. He had an extra brandy after dinner, the old goat."

  Her voice was affectionate, and Chance smiled at her. It was an odd situation, but there was more than one way to make the world go around.

  "Did he tell you what I like?" asked Lottie.

  "Not exactly. It was embarrassing for both of us."

  "Spanking, Mr Chance. A good, old fashioned spanking. Over the chair, nightdress up, slap slap." She spread her hands. "I'm lucky, really. Some people go through life without discovering that special something which gets their juices flowing. Me, I've always liked a good smack on the behind. The sound of it, the feel of it …" She shivered, making her breasts quiver. "It does me good and proper."

  Something occurred to Chance, but he wasn't sure how to tackle the subject. "Afterwards, when your, er, juices are flowing …" He left the sentence hanging. He could imagine the carnage if he brought this woman to the peak of sexual ecstasy, before packing her off to her sleeping octegenarian husband. Before she went back to Harrow, she'd have to be unwound again.

  Lottie put her hand on his arm. "I won't jump you, if that's what you're worried about. I promised Harry that, and I'm the faithful sort. No, I'll take matters in hand, so to speak."

  Chance nodded, relieved that had been settled.

  "Of course, if your fingers happened to slip at the wrong moment …" continued Lottie, looking straight ahead. "Well, accidents happen, don't they? I certainly wouldn't count that against you. And I might reach out in the dark and, well, it's sometimes hard to tell your arse from your elbow, as my old dad used to say. The other day I went to blow out a candle and it was halfway inside my mouth before I knew what I was doing!"

  Chance got the picture. Intercourse was off the menu, but everything else was up for grabs. He wasn't sure whether those were quite the rules Harrow had in mind, but what did the old boy expect? It would be hard enough obeying the one rule, let alone grey areas.

  Lottie's hand moved on his arm, and then she took his hand in hers. Her fingers were soft, warm, and when he felt them trembling he gave them a gentle squeeze. "Would you put the light out?" she whispered.

  It was dark in the bedroom, with the overhead lights off and the door to the hall firmly shut. Chance could barely see his hand in front of his face, and how he was going to find Lottie, let alone spank her properly, was up for debate.

  "Why don't you open the curtains?" she said. "I think there's a moon tonight."

  Chance stumbled across the room, one hand stretched out and the other covering his tackle. If he encountered an obstacle in the dark he'd rather run into it with his fingers, not his balls.

  He found the curtains and twitched them open, and moonlight spilled into the room through the net curtains covering the bay windows. Through the gauze he could see the grounds below, the lawns expanses of silver, the trees and bushes pools of darker shadows.

  "It's beautiful at night," said Lottie.

  She'd come over to stand next to him, the top of her head level with his shoulder. Chance studied her face. "Very," he said.

  Lottie looked up at him. "Oh, hush. You don't have to play those games with me."

  "I mean it. You're very attractive, you have a lovely body, and you're good fun."

  She smiled. "You're sweet, and rather good looking."

  He put his arms out, and she came to him, holding him tight. Her body was soft against his, her curves fitting him perfectly. He moved his hands to her hips, then lower, to her buttocks, squeezing them, and she shivered with anticipation. "You have strong hands, too."

  "All the better to spank you with," he murmured.

  Her arms tightened, and he felt her chest rising and falling. Then she let go, turning to the window, hitching up her nightdress and tucking it through the belt. She leaned forwards, against the windowsill, crossing her arms and laying her head on top. Moonlight flowed over her body, emphasising every hollow, every soft curve, every enticing inch of her, but most of all it touched her buttocks, making them glow soft white in the near-darkness.

  Chance placed his hand on her thigh, running it over the smooth skin. He moved it higher, over her soft, rounded buttock, then slipped a fingertip between, brushing lightly up and down her valley.

  She shivered, and he heard her breath coming in pants.

  Chance drew his hand back, and smacked her lightly on the buttock, so gently it didn't make a sound. He left his hand there, feeling her warmth, then raised it again.

  Smack!

  This time was a little harder, her buttocks quivering gently as he brought his hand down. Lottie put her head back, the breath hissing between her teeth.

  Chance drew his hand back, hestitated, then slapped the other side.

  Smack!

  There was a sharper sound this time, and Lottie moaned softly. "Harder," she whispered. "Do
it harder."

  Chance ignored her. He switched sides again, and patted her gently once or twice, lulling her into a false sense of security. Then …

  Smack!

  He gave her short, sharp blow on the buttocks, louder this time, and she drew in a shuddering breath.

  "Aaahh!"

  Smack!

  He caught her across both cheeks, making her jump. With fumbling fingers she threw off the night gown, letting it fall around her ankles, until she was standing there naked.

  Smack!

  Chance saw her breasts heave as the flat of his hand caught her across the right buttock, and she suppressed a cry, biting her lip.

  Smack!

  "Ahh!"

  This time she let the cry out, ending on a low moan. Chance saw her reaching between her legs, but before she could feel herself he took her wrist in his hand, pinning her arm. She struggled to release herself, and as her buttocks moved in the darkness Chance brought his hand down once more.

  Smack!

  "Ahhh!"

  She struggled again, trying to release her hand, wanting to pleasure herself and bring swift release. Instead Chance held her firm, not allowing her the easy escape.

  "You're a horrible man," she groaned. "I'm on fire!"

  Smack!

  "Ahh … ahh!"

  Chance sped up, spanking her repeatedly, varying the intensity until she didn't know what was coming next. A hard slap then two soft ones, several soft ones followed by a powerful smack, a succession of hard smacks followed by a kneading of her buttocks.

  She began to dance from one leg to the other, arching her back, spreading her legs, desperate for release. Chance felt his member bulging inside his dressing down, stiff and ready, and he could have been inside her in seconds, satisfying her heightened lust with a flurry of deep thrusts. Instead, he restrained himself, gritting his teeth at the sight of her reddened buttocks, holding himself back despite the heady smell of sex and desire.