You have been warned.

The whine was a little girl noise: a pouting, stubborn groan of frustration. I heard it when I opened the door and let the light from the hall break the spell of darkness in her room.

On the pink bed, the girl was covered in blankets, pillows, comforters, even stuffed animals. She sniffled somewhere under there and in a voice that sounded much more adolescent than what a college student should sound like, she whined, “go away.”

I had to laugh. I left the door open a little, enough to see at least. I crept over to the bed, looking around at the bowl of half eaten soup and cups of tea.

I took off my pants as she pulled the blanket down enough to watch me with furled eyebrows and pursed frowning lips. I took my shirt off next and placed it with my pants on the chair next to her bed.

It was actually somewhat cold in her room, college kids in cheap apartments with shitty heating. I shivered and took off my boxers and socks, then I slipped under the blanket with her.

“I’m sick. I called you to take care of me,” she whined.

I pulled the blanked back to see that she wore a very old pink shirt. It was the same shirt she had worn to bed back when we briefly lived together. She wore long striped pink and white socks that came up to her thighs.

“You texted me ‘come over’ and then sent me a picture of your tits,” I corrected.

She shrugged and looked away.

I slipped my arms around her thin waist. She relaxed into my chest. She was hot, feverishly hot. I pulled the covers over us and kissed her neck.

“You can’t kiss me, you’ll get sick,” she whispered, but she was already under my control. Kissing her neck was like putting on a collar for her. She was already moaning by the time I got to her ear.

Pulling up her shirt I found miles of almost too hot skin. Her smooth back, the little curves of her love handles, the roundness of her small tummy. I stopped just below her breasts, my obsession. They were like that favorite part of dinner you saved to eat last.

“You’re supposed to take care of me, not fuck me.”

She tried to sound mad, but it wasn’t convincing when she gasped and moaned through the sentence.

“Nope. You are a big girl, you can take care of yourself. I’m just here to use you.”

She pressed her face to my neck gasping at the thought. I pulled her face up, looking into her green eyes.

“Maybe I don’t want to be a big girl,” her lip quivered.

I kissed her cheek, then her forehead. Her hair smelled like shampoo. She showered just before I got there. She knew exactly what was going to happen when she sent me the message she sent me.

“Ok, you don’t have to be a big girl. You can be a little girl and I can use you.”

My hand moved down, into the depth of the blankets. The heat radiating from between her legs was boiling, moist, molten.

“You’re mean,” she said, voice changing, that bratty little girl affect I’d come to know slipping in.

“You’re wet.”

She shook her head and clamped her legs shut as I tried to slip my hungry fingers between them.

“You’re not supposed to,” she whined.

The light stubble brushed my fingers and then her slick silk skin. The thick harness of her clit, the chubby folds that made me wince with desire.

My fingers moved but my mind remembered what it felt like to fuck her. The tip of my finger pressed past merely moist skin to the wetness of her. She grabbed at my arm and lot out little wounded bird sounds, tiny begging chirps.

“You’re sick, I should stop.”

She mumbled “please,” but I was pulling my hand away. She held on to it, trying to push it back, then when she couldn’t she pulled my hand to her mouth and licked it clean, looking in my eyes.

I pushed her down, pinned her down, kissing her deeply. She tasted like tooth paste and cough syrup. Then I moved down taking each eager nipple into my mouth, relishing them.

There was no other girl like this for me. For all her little girl charms and bright mind, it was her body I came back for. She was perfect, my ideal, my clumsy sweet little girl with the thin waist, but the little belly that stuck out, with the bubble of an ass that was designed for my hand and the cunt that was so tight, so neverendingly wet, so ludicrously tasty.

I sank down between her legs and she cooed and pulled at my hair. I traced up one lip and down the other. I let my breath wake up every molecule of skin. I slipped my tongue out just enough for her to push her pelvis forward, pushing the pink button on her clit against my mouth. Holding my hair as she lifted her ass and moved her body so that little knot brushed against my tongue over and over.

I let her play, looking up at her closed eyes and bitten lip. I let it go on until she started climbing, the wall in need. I pulled away.

“So- close,” she whispered sadly.

I moved up and kissed her. She sucked my lips, hungry for her own taste, just like she always was. Then she twisted and turned and crawled out of my grip. She fumbled on the side of the bed, then came back with a condom package and pushed it into my hand.

Her hands moved to my waist and she pulled me back on to her.

“We shouldn’t,” I whispered.

“We used to. You used to be my bad daddy. You weren’t supposed to. You were a bad daddy.” She purred this into my ear while she wrapped her legs around me, my cock just barely brushing the stubble on her sex.

“That was before. We were together and we still shouldn’t have,” my voice cracked. I remembered the unmercifully wet and tight feel of her when my naked cock slipped in, inch by inch. I remembered her tightening as she came and the how the pleasure of my own orgasm was so intense I would sometimes punch the wall or rip sheets.

“Remember I used to say, please daddy, you can just put it in for a minute. I won’t tell, I promise. Just for a minute, just to see how it feels. Please daddy, just for a little tiny minute.”

I slapped her before I what I was doing.

Her eyes glazed and a slow smile arose over her red mouth.

The games we were playing were old games.

I disengaged, slipped from the tangle of her legs and claws and dangers. Stood unsteady in her floor, with its dirty socks and pink panties. She pulled off her shirt. This wasn’t going to end well. The game was on; who could tease who into breaking the rules.

She kneeled, leaning back with her legs half open and her face drawn down and her eyes flashing at me.

“I bet I can make you,” she said, not sounding like a little girl at all.

“Your not supposed to call me that anymore,” the spell was a little broken, but not all the way. I was just worried.

She let out a loud huff and pounced on her bed.

“No fun!” she said into her pillow, beating on it and kicking her legs.

“You know it’s not a good idea,” I started, my voice turning serious.

She sighed and laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t do it. I knew you would come over and then you would get all depressed and dumb instead of just fucking me like I want.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. She deflated. She laid back down and sighed.

“Just fucking hold me then.”

We were spoons again. My face in her hair and my lips on her neck and she pulled my arms around her, holding my hands. Then she moved my hand on top of her breasts and suddenly my cock was hard and nestled right between her thighs, rubbing.

“Tell me no,” I whispered into her ear.

She whined and tried to turn to look at me. I rubbed and rubbed, the head just missing her wetness which threatened to pull me into her.

“Say it.”

She whimpered and tried to pull away.

“Don’t,” the word was just a breath, but her hands came behind her and she pushed at me.

I pulled back, I opened the packet, pulled the condom over my cock. The familiarity of it all was strange. I slipped back behind her and she tried to squirm away. I slipped between her thighs. My cock found source of her heat and I push in a millimeter. Half her body fought to get away and half pushed back against me.

“No no no,” she said punching back at me me until I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. Her other hand was pinned under her.

I slipped further in and she shook her head furiously.

“No! It’s bad, stop, please! You’re not supposed to!” She was crying a little, her face hot and red, her nose running from the cold and her tears.

I pushed hard into her, wanting friction, but she was so wet it was like rubbing oiled hands together. I put my leg over hers, pushing her thighs together tighter. I fucked her like that, growling into her neck as I held her arm and kept my hand in her hair.

I fucked her harder and she forgot to fight, she pushed her ass back at me with every thrust, she moved so her hips were at the perfect angle.

“Tell me you want me to come inside of you.” My voice didn’t even sound like me, it was hoarse and dark.

She shook her head and squeaked out a “no.”

“You fucking say it right now!” and I smacked her ass hard, then her hip, then her breasts. I slapped her breasts as I fucked her and she screamed and cried.

“Do it!” she said in frustration and desire and submission.

“Say it right.”

I fucked her and she turned her head and looked me in the eyes.

“Come in my pussy. Come in me. Shoot your come in me,” eyes bold and rebellious.

I grabbed her by the throat.

“Say please,” I stared right back.

She was scared of my hand on her throat; she tried to turn but I held her there.

“P-please. Please come in me. Please please come in me. Use me like a dirty little whore. Please-” the next word hung in the air, the most forbidden.

“Please what?” I slowed, not wanting to come but feeling it charging me.

“Please- come inside my little cunt,” she said and smiled a little.

I slapped her in the face. It was hard from the angle, but I got her firm on the cheek. I slapped her once more and she lost it. She came hard, the way I remembered. I felt her tighten so hard she pushed my cock out of her. I pushed it back in and fucked her harder.

“I’m not supposed to say it anymore, you said.” She laughed her bratty little laugh. I slapped her harder across the face and her eyes rolled back.

I turned her around, laying her on her belly, legs together tightly. I pushed her down on the bed, pulling her arms behind her back. I slipped my cock between the softness of her ass and found her cunt again. I fucked her hardest this way. It was impossibly tight.

She howled and pushed her ass back.

“You want me to call you daddy, like before?” she sobbed, tears and bratty laugh and moans almost choking her.

“Yes.” It was a long hiss from my lips.

“Fuck me daddy. Please daddy. Daddy, daddy, daddy,” she said low, like a mantra with every thrust.

“Daddy don’t come in my pussy, please. Don’t daddy, it’s bad, you promised you wouldn’t. Please don’t daddy don’t,” she got louder and louder until she was begging.

The orgasm was like lightning. I came so hard I yelled nonsense, I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room, punched the mattress hard just to stop myself from screaming. I came with every molecule of my body.

When it was over I found myself on my back, unsure of how I got there. She was cuddled next to me smiling like she’d won.

I fell asleep with her. The next day I had a fucking cold.

She is a candy stranger. Perfect in the way someone you don’t know at all can be perfect. Her small breasts and her large hips and soft swell of an ass that seems nearly impossible on her tiny frame. Her thin waist and her wild hair. That exoticness that is so difficult for people to get right.

She is new to this, but she’ll do just fine. In fact, it’s hard to find regulars with an attitude so perfect for these games. Right for me, that is. Everyone wants something different from places like this. The Venn Diagrams of our emotional, physical and sexual wants. Cross-indexed by our needs.

She is smart, very smart, enthusiastic, very aware of her own desires. She isn’t in this to see, she is in this to get what she has needed for a while but didn’t have a name for. She wants to play, but not for keeps. Those words would be what a doctor would write on my prescription, if there were doctors for such things.

Her thighs just barely fit into her thigh high socks. A little roll of chubby skin escapes the tops. She is not a big girl though. She is just on the edge of thick. She is a bee stung lip. She is one of those body types that makes my hands fist in my pockets because I just want to bite her and make her squirm.

We had met in the flashing lights and dull moans of a different kind of party. My sweet girl and I were there and somehow our attentions trapped this exotic girl in our sights. We both danced with her. Pressed our bodies all together. Made plans to all three of us to meet up sometime for a very suggestive “something.”

This time, though, it was just the stranger and me. My girlfriend at home, told about this and jealous of both parties, but excited to hear the details.

Our negotiation was simple; we weren’t going very far. While I enjoy a complex meal with courses and a layered palette, sometimes all you want are the basics. A perfect meal of bread and meat.

My hand on her side, warmth of her skin through the thin shirt I backed her into a wall and pushed my nose into her hair. My lips brushed her ear. My body pushed into hers. I wanted to revel in my most basic kinks. My hand on her ass, rope coiled around her, her thigh high socks. These are the fetishes that sucked me into this world.

I pull up her skirt and I am again treated to the softness of her bottom. The slightly frilly panties of a slightly girly girl.

She fidgets when I undress her in public. Of all the things we did last time, this was the most out of her comfort zone. That is fuel for embarrassment and that is a gift. I pull the pleated skirt up and tuck it into its own waistband. I tug at the bits of her panties that try in vain to cover that ass and I pull them to the center so that they are nothing but a g-string and all can see that lovely callipygian prize.

I am very close to her, never leaving her body alone. My legs against hers, my hand on her thigh or bottom.

“Did you take off your bra?” I whisper in her ear. I am playful, conversational.

She nods.

This is only the second time we have played together; really the first in earnest. I move my hands up her thin waist and I cup her breasts. As I said  they are small, which almost seems wrong for a girl like her with her thick thighs and big ass, but I like it. She is not my usual, she’s lovely and different.

I massage and grope them. This is edging around a line. The line between playing, the cold spanking or dominating that can go on, and something softly intimate; dangerously so. We are prepared to play with hitting and tying, but the rest is murky.

Plus, there is the rule. The rule is there like a door in the distance. To put it crudely; I can’t touch her pussy. This isn’t my rule or her rule, it’s my girl’s rule. We haven’t even started and already that rule is throbbing in my memory. As well the sweet image of my girl’s thin fingers trying to beat mine to slip into the wet secrets of this girl was making me anxious.

I focus on the rope. The rope will always slow me down and make me concentrate.

The rope goes like this:

I take it out of my bag, black and hemp and a little rough. I pull a little bit and it unfurls. Then my arms are around her, my mouth a centimeter from her ear. I pull her arms behind her back and wrap the rope, which is doubled, around her forearms twice. I twist and wrap the rope around itself and tie and tie.

Then the rope goes across her back and around her left arm. I smooth the doubled rope under her breasts, my thumbs tracing the outline of the bottoms of them. She is pushing back into me.

The rope goes around her and then loops around the part tied to her forearms. This forms a sort of bight and I pull and pull and there is the first wrap around her. Then again my arms slip around her, my lip brushing her neck which she exposes to me, a simple weak moan for more. Around the back to slip the rope around the bight again, then around her body once more, this time over her breasts.

Already her shirt is pulled taught, her breasts more prominent. Again to the bight, then up over her shoulder, some slight intricacy going in and out of what is already there and then the pull that cinches and those breast and trapped between all that lovely rope. Then back and put on the sides of each breast to further capture them and then she is turned around abruptly so I can see my neat little trick.

Those little breasts standing as far at attention as they can. Her mouth a little slack and breath a little ragged.

Through the thin t-shirt her nipples are straining now. I tug on them through weak and frustrating cotton.

She is closing her eyes to the mingling little potion of pain and pleasure dripping into her veins. She is a good girl.

I spin her around and bend her over the high leather bench. It’s sort of like a pommel horse without the handles. My hand feels hot on the cool skin of her ass. It is soft, as I’ve said again and again, soft well-lotioned skin. As I almost lazily spank her once, then twice, I picture her coming out of hot showers every morning and anointing her body with rich perfumed lotions and oils.

I am spanking her, but my other hand is all over her. I tug on the ropes, my hand around the thick knots in the back. I tug at her mass of curly black hair. I even snake my hand between leather and shirt and take hungry handfuls of her imprisoned breasts.

I spank and spank and then trail nails down her inner thighs. I spank her inner thighs, picturing how the vibrations work their way into intimate spots. I spank her ass, low and in the center, knowing I am almost spanking her sex at this angle.

She is more than moaning. This isn’t the soft caught breath of someone simply being spanked, this girl is taking the hits like thrusts right into her. I wonder if I could make her come this way. The next time I hit her my fingers trail onto her inner thigh and I feel some wayward heat and wetness. My fingers claw at her leg. I want to just slip one finger up and under that inch of cotton. She is pushing her body back at my hand, begging to let me.

Spanking becomes sublimation for the driving need to penetrate her. She pushes her body towards me and the hardness under my thin pants rubs against the softness of her thigh.

I step back.

I step away, twist my neck this way and that to get the tightness out.

We are both panting and I pull her up and push her against a wall. This is a good moment to rest. We take a break. We breathe. This is far more intense than I thought I would be. We are watching each other’s reactions.

“I have a rule, I mean- my girlfriend and I do.”

She nods, moving into me, lips on my cheek. She is half listening, but mostly drunk on the spanking.

“I can’t- touch you-” I move my hand down her stomach, stopping on the top of her panties, just above where I can start to feel warmth radiate. “Here.”

“Okay.” she says simply.

“But next time, when she is with us-”

Our mouths brush against each other’s. I’m really not sure if kissing is alright. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes in a place like this a spanking is a spanking. It was not discussed, but perhaps this is off limits for other reasons, for other people.

“That will be-” she smiles, “very interesting.”

I’m thinking too much. Her lips are painfully fat and sweet, gloss nearly all licked off. We are almost fighting not to kiss. Brushing closer and closer and then some minute barrier is passed and the world is the taste of new lips.

Then swirling and whirling down against her. Her hands naturally coming up and over her head so my hands can instinctually pin them there. Suddenly our acts seeming almost comically rote. Top, bottom, bend, spank, moan, grunt, repeat; but this kiss is different and separate from that.

I stop.

Something inside of me taps me on the shoulder. She stands there, where I left her, looking dazed, her lips glazed, her legs unsteady. I picture my girl kneeling in front of her. I picture the two of them, my girl’s full lips on this girl’s. My girl is thinner still than this one, yet more buxom. How would they match up? Who would take the lead?

I realize that I summoned up a phantom of my love to save me from the fact that I was heartbeats away from devouring this girl, curly hair and all.

Perhaps it was something about this place. People lose their individual grace in the somewhat dim light. Bodies become bodies and acts become acts and sex is free and all around. Limitations of the world are left at the door, so the simple rules of lovers also seem to waver.

I step in and kiss her again. It was that tender kiss that said it was over, at least for now. I turn her slowly and sink into the familiarity of untying someone. I hug her and kiss her once more and we speak in hushed tones for a bit and then we part, off to find other trouble to get in.

Ménage à Text

Truth be told, Elise didn’t even really like him. That’s not to say she wasn’t already wet when she got off at his subway stop and climbed the familiar stairs into the lingering evening sun. She hadn’t been to his apartment in weeks. She hadn’t walked through the dirty streets of his neighborhood, next to the big school with the high metal fence and the little stores with the weird religious candles and the exotic smells.

All right, maybe she liked him in some weird way. He could be a good friend, in his own fashion, if he wanted to, but he was so very full of himself sometimes, so very Mark. They had dated for a while around two years ago, and maybe they were even in love for a couple of minutes, but Mark was an ass and that all disintegrated quickly. He was a much better fuck than he ever was a boyfriend.

Mark could be a good listener too, when he was in the mood. If he got interested in what you were saying and thought your little problem was entertaining he could set his mind to solving it. He was an egomaniac but sometimes that gave him the detachment to give you really insightful advice. Also he was really good in bed.

Sometimes you want to fuck someone you’re not in love with. It’s good to have someone like that who you can trust. And then there was the fact that Mark always had a way of making things dirty. Elise craved that sometimes. More than craved it, she needed it. As she walked down his block she knew that this was one of those times.

It was hard to ask someone new for those things. When you are falling for someone and you want everything to be perfect and so you can’t have the awkward conversations about how you needed to be held down or spanked or called a slut or more.

Mark knew all her boundaries, though. He read her like a book and said out loud all the dirty things that were in her head and made her blush. He made her blush! Elise was always the bold one, the brash one, but Mark could make her feel like a veritable prude sometimes. And as much of an asshole as he was, he never crossed her lines. He knew just from looking in her eyes what she needed and what was too much. That kind of connection could take years to create and there was no reason to waste it just because they couldn’t make a relationship work.

The truth was, she had met someone the day before. The truth was, every time she thought about this new guy she melted a little and her knees almost gave and her heart started pounding. This guy was serious, though, no one night stand. This guy was amazing.

Elise swooned as she pictured him. He was tall and yhandsome and so very gentlemanly. He worked for some kind of not-for-profit organization. He recycled. He was a genuinely nice person. He had good skin and a crooked smile and used big words and had a nice ass.

Her stomach dropped. There were things she needed though and she wasn’t sure someone so “nice” could give them to her. She thought about Mark, who certainly wasn’t a bad person. Mark who drank too much and make crude jokes about horrible tragedies. Mark who admitted to a somewhat criminal youth. There was also Mark with the bookshelf full of interesting things and his world-traveling past and there was the fact that his cockiness was all bullshit and he was actually very humble about how smart he really was.

She thought about the last time she saw Mark, his hand in her hair, his body on hers. There was something that pushed the moments in his apartment to hyperreality. The way he half-closed his red curtains which made the light from the street glow crimson on his white walls.

Half way to Mark’s apartment Elise’s phone vibrated. Pulling it out of her bag, her heart was beating hard. It was like being in high school again.

“It was cool meeting you. I’m kind of really excited about our date.” said the text message.

Elise stopped walking and let out a happy little noise. Then she looked around quickly to make sure no one heard her. Swooning she looked up to see Mark’s building, an old brownstone with a sort of ominous array of little angels and demons carved into the staircase and windowsills.

She texted back from Mark’s hallway. “I’m pretty excited too. Can’t wait. See you soon.”

She rang his bell twice without an answer. She knew he was home because he had buzzed her up. When he opened the door she saw his familiar face a bit stubbly, his graying hair a bit messy, the piercing blue eyes never focusing on her completely. He nodded hello to her, “give me like five minutes, okay?”

Elise stood confused at the door as he quickly walked back into the apartment and picked up a book on his big leather chair and started reading something intensely. She came in, looking around a little confused. The apartment was cool, with a fan in the window and the evening air flowing in. It was tidy, but cramped with stuff. Books, computer parts, a couple of leather floggers peeking out from under the Sunday Times.

Walking around the room she saw things she remembered. There had been three months when she was sleeping over every night. The salad days when she learned how badly he snored and how decadent his breakfasts were. She smiled at the little box of Peruvian Worry Dolls he’d told her the secrets of one summer night.

She jumped when she heard the thump of a book closing. Turning around she saw Mark get up from the couch and stretch.

“Okay. Sorry, I was in the middle of this… intense chapter.”

She shrugged, he was already smiling at her with that predatory smile.

He used to play this game where he made her admit why she came. He made her tell him that she needed to be beat up and fucked. That got old a while ago, but sometimes he just watched her. He watched her until she squirmed.

She fingered her phone, wondering if he would text her back, wanting to check, wanting to know more and tell him more. Mark eyed her, she was extra nervous and she knew he could tell.

Mark walked over and she backed up until she was against his bookshelf. He laughed, “I’m just saying hello.” She looked up with her big eyes. He had good lips, soft and expressive. He kissed her on the cheek and she tensed, unsure of what he was doing. Mark always changed the game, never wanted her the same way twice.

“I like it when you’re nervous,” he whispered, already husky-voiced.

“You’re an asshole.” But she couldn’t look up at him.

“You should take off your pants.”

She shook her head, “no.”

He pushed and pulled her, like a child getting out of her winter jacket. He pulled off her shoes and socks. He roughly unzipped her pants and pulled them down, bending her over and pulling each leg off.

When he was done she steadied herself on his bookshelf, her hair in her eyes and her legs looking extra naked with her only in a shirt. She didn’t wear underwear with jeans, Mark was never really sure why. Her cunt was bare, Mark could tell it was freshly shorn from the slight redness and complete smoothness.

He grabbed her arms and just moved her around. Shaking her a little and pushing her here and there like a rag doll. He liked how docile she got when she was like this; when she wanted to be hurt and controlled. So different than the Elise on the street. He pushed her over to his bed and slapped her ass once.

She growled, feminine but feral, when hit. The first time Mark hit her he had been a little surprised. It was lovely though, the way her bright eyes and smart mouth just vanished. This brilliant girl rendered dumb by nothing more than pulled hair and a spanked bottom.

She crawled up onto the bed and got on her knees in his sheets, her butt in the air, her chest against the bed, face buried in the blanket, trying to hide her red face and open mouth. The red lips of her cunt peeked out from between her closed legs in the way that made him aggressive. In the silence between smacks, the room was suddenly filled with the dull echo of a phone vibrating.

Mark watched as Elise’s head shot up. She was breathing hard and fast. She looked back at him and then to her handbag.

“Oh, I get why you are so nervous. It’s a boy, isn’t it? Is that him?”

She whined and buried her head in the blanket.

“What’s his name? Is he dreamy?” he mockingly fainted.

“I hate you so much. You’re such an asshole,” she said as she crawled away from him, trying to reach her phone.

Mark let her get up, then stood and looked down on her as she laid on the floor pulling out the Blackberry and reading the new message.

“What’sit say?”

“Fuck off.” She rolled her eyes and bit her lip as the little device blinked to life.

The first blow came to her ass, then it was followed by five more. He was on her, straddling her legs as he grabbed her hair and pushed her face against the floor.

“Tell me what it says.”

Her heart was pounding against her chest and against the hardwood floor. His weight on her legs and ass made her pubic bone press into the floor and she could feel the grain of the wood on her bare mound.

“It’s private.” She wanted to yell it but it came out a choked little whisper.

She wanted to tell him this was too personal, this wasn’t part of their game, but her sex throbbed at the intrusion and she knew he loved it.

His fingers snaked into her hair, closed on it and pulled. Elise let out a high whine as she pulled up the text.

“Ow! Wait, okay!” She paused — this was something different, there was a weird line that she couldn’t put her finger on. Mark’s hand tightened in her hair.

“I really…” She swallowed, her throat felt like it was closing — “enjoyed kissing you that night. Hopefully I…” His hand tensed in her hair, she felt individual strands being pulled out. “Hopefully we’ll get to do more of that next time.”

Mark’s laugh was a slow rumble. She could feel it on the back of his legs, the slight vibration of his body as he chuckled. Her face was hot and her hands were sweaty.

“Is he a nice boy? Is he going to bring you flowers?”

Elise tried to squirm away. “Shut up.”

Mark took her wrists and pulled her arms behind her back. In his struggle, his hardening cock pushed between her legs, not inside of her but rubbing, poised. She tensed.

“Is he gunna be your boyfriend?” Mark stretched out the word like a playground chiding.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Are you gunna wait until the third date to put out? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk free, right? Are you going to marry him?”

“Shut up, shut up.”

It was stupid. He was making little kid jokes. It was such ridiculous teasing, but she felt cold in her chest. Her eyes were itching, maybe even wet. She whined, she shook her head but he kept talking.

“Maybe you’ll get drunk one night and ask him to spank you. What if he knew the girl I knew? What if he saw the little slut suck three boys off in a bathroom?”

The images flashed into her head. It had been a year ago. Mark had taken her to some event of some kind. Some kinky club, hidden entrance, secret password. They’d watched bodies writhe, they’d seen a boy hung up with rope. Mark had eyed two friends of his and when he’d pulled her into the bathroom, they had followed.

It was the most embarrassing memory in her head, and it was also the one her mind went to every time she couldn’t come and needed that little push. The dirtiness swirled in her belly, like their come had. Her tongue was thick.

“What if he knew even more? What if he knew about the parties? Will you tell him or should I?”

“No. Stop it. Shut up.” Her throat closed and the words came out as squeaks.

“What’s his name, Elise?”

“I… I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

Mark laughed loud and let go of one of her arms. She felt him shift on her, reach for something, then the sharp pain of a leather crop on her ass. Then his hand because he couldn’t get the right angle with the crop.

“Okay! Okay. It’s…” she struggled, thinking maybe she should lie, but that was no use. “It’s Todd.”

The spanking stopped. The pressure on her wrist loosened.

“Todd?” he said with a much lighter voice. “Toooodd,” the chuckle was different, not dark and angry but silly. “Fucking Toooodd,” he laughed.

Elise squirmed from under him and pouted, folding her arms over her naked breasts.

“Fucking asshole, just stop,” she mumbled, getting up and going to his bed.

Then there was the look. She glared at him and he glared back with his wicked sarcastic gaze, but then it shifted. The questioning look. “Is this okay? Should I really stop?”

She swallowed. Was it okay? She shifted on the bed, a dark spot on the gray sheets where her dripping sex had rested. His eyes were light, gray and blue, but they seemed to change depending on the light.

Was it silly to see so many things in a look? How much of it was wishful thinking? She could have sworn she saw something else, behind the sadistic grin and the questions, some little hurt, some primordial jealousy.

He got off her and his grin wavered but didn’t fade.

She panted as she laid back on the bed looking up at him. He walked over to the window and looked out. He picked up the book he was reading when she came in and he licked his finger and then turned the page.

She waited. She knew this game even if it did have all sorts of new dimensions.

“Why do you have to make this so fucking hard?” she whined, her voice gone sad little girl.

He looked over the top of the book at her, his eyebrows raised. The tiny hurt hiding somewhere in those cool blue eyes was all she could see now. His big ego bruised because this was supposed to be their time, this was supposed to be their game, even if it was just a game it was all they had and she didn’t realize that was important.

The sadness of it made her feel small. She pulled her knees up to her chin and cradled her legs and gave Mark her puppy dog eyes.

“I’ll put my phone away,” she said meekly. “Can you come over here and cuddle with me?”

Mark put down his book and glared at her appraisingly.

“No. You brought your phone here and wanted to read the message, so now it’s fair game. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

She bit her lip. This wasn’t turning out how she wanted, not at all. She liked it when he was mean, but not like this. She sighed, laughing at herself. She thought, “you can’t want someone to be an asshole to you and then complain that they aren’t being the right kind of asshole.”

On top of all of that, she was curious. What was he going to do? What could he do?

He walked over to her while she was thinking and picked up her phone on the way. He pulled her and pushed her around, pushing her face into the bed right next to the phone, pulling her legs so that she was up on her hand and knees, ass high and head low.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this but all day I’ve been thinking about doing a lot more than kissing you.” His voice was flat and rough.

She looked back at him. He was taking off his shirt and then unbuckling his belt. He looked down at her and smiled.

“Type it,” he said sternly in that voice that made her reach for the phone before she knew what she was doing.

She stopped, though, and looked back at him.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this but all day I’ve been thinking about doing a lot more than kissing you,” he said it slowly, enunciating each word.

Her fingers lingered on the little keyboard, her thumbs at the ready. She typed the first two words and then stopped, feeling him shift behind her, then his fingers, wet with his saliva, grazing her clit. He knew how to barely touch her so that her body whimpered and begged for more. He did it again so softly that she could swear she could feel his fingerprints like rough little ribs tormenting her most sensitive spot.

She typed a few more words. Her head was buzzing, her eyes were stinging, her cunt was itching with need.

He slipped two fingers into her, the way he always did. Fingers bending and finding the spots that made her stupid, made her make silly noises and do what ever he said. She pushed her ass back, wanting more of his fingers, more of his attention.

“Keep typing,” he growled, and then she felt the wet warmth of his tongue circling her asshole.

She should have been over the shame. After all, in all the time she’d been a sexual being, people had done all sorts of things to her ass, but there was something instinctually naughty about this little intimate act. As he rimmed her, his tongue pushing slightly into her, she blushed and hid her face in his sheets and groaned with pleasure. His fingers inside of her, his tongue playing with that secret, dirty place.

When she looked up, she saw the sentence he had told her to type. The nervousness and embarrassment and need and lust were all swirling in her stomach, crawling through her veins. She hit “send” and heard Mark chuckle low and quiet.

His fingers worked her harder now. She was so wet she took three of his thick fingers, she felt them press down, she felt filled up and overpowered. The orgasm was building, but she wasn’t sure she could get there because of all those damn emotions.

The phone buzzed and he slipped his fingers out of her. They both waited. She felt him leaning over her, looking over her shoulder at the little screen.

“To tell the truth, I’ve sort of been thinking the same thing for most of the day,” the tiny letters read.

She bit her lip. His cock rubbed against her ass, hard and hot.

She continued to stare at the screen as he slipped off of her and walked into his little office. Her body shuddered as she heard the familiar sounds of him opening his little toy drawer.

When he came back, she didn’t look at him. She knew she should have stopped this little scene of his, but somehow her hands were on her phone, thumbs waiting.

He slipped something under her, then positioned her. Her breath was coming faster. When the vibrator started he pushed and pulled it under her until the head was pressed on her clit. Elise let out something between a gasp and a wail. Then she heard the rip of plastic; she knew he was putting on the condom, and soon he would be fucking her. She knew the vibrator and his cock would be almost too much.

“What have you been thinking, exactly? I shouldn’t tell you this, but I have some particular tastes.” He dictated in that commanding tone that told her she should type it word for word.

Worry flooded her again. Was this going too far? Would she scare Todd away? She should tell him these things about herself eventually, but like this?

Her eyes unfocused as the vibrator pounded her nerves and pleasure rang through her, spreading out from her clit and making every part of her body tingle.

As she typed his words she felt him pressing against her, the thickness of his cock meeting the wetness of her sex. He was just waiting, slipping the head in and out a little, holding her hips and pressing her down against the vibrator’s unrelenting buzzing.

“You sound like you’re in a frisky mood. I’m no prude, tell me about your intriguing particulars, please.”

Half of her brain was filled with elation about the text, imagining Todd, the boy she was so smitten with, also being potentially kinky. At the same time she was about to be fucked by Mark. Then there was the vibrator. Then there was the shame — she realized what a slut she was being. Then the embarrassment turning into that white-hot emotional pleasure in her head. At the same time, Mark slipped his cock into her with a smooth slow push.

Mark voice was straining to stay steady. “I like to be spanked.”

“Hard,” he added.

She started typing when the first orgasm came. She screamed into the mattress and balled her fists in the sheets.

“Type the fucking message!” he said, slowing down as she bucked and writhed under him, the vibrator suddenly far too much for her sensitive parts.

“I like to be spanked. Hard.” He repeated the massage and she typed it, her finger lingering over the “send” button.

He started fucking her seriously then, his legs on either side of her, pushing her legs closed so that her sex was almost painfully tight around him. As he fucked her he pressed his chest against her back , his mouth on her neck, biting the pale skin.

The phone buzzed as his thrusts started getting spastic and his grunts loud and animal.

“I think our next date is going to be very interesting.”

He let out a chuckle just before he came, grunting hard and punching the mattress and then throwing a pillow across the room. He always got like that, violent when he came.

He turned off the vibrator, dropping it on his night table. Elise was still trying to settle her body enough so that she could think. She felt a huge wet spot under her and her face flashed red. She hadn’t even felt herself squirt, but when she was forced to come like that it usually happened.

She looked at the phone, scrolling through the messages. She hadn’t really said anything that crazy. She could tell him she had too much wine with lunch.

When she looked up Mark was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers.

It always seemed to end up like this, him clothed, her naked. She pulled the sheets up to cover herself and then felt silly. He always seemed to do that, keep her dangling on the edge of aroused and ashamed.

“Hope that wasn’t out of line,” he said, pulling on a pair of jeans.

She didn’t know if it was or wasn’t, but she did know that she hadn’t come so hard in a long time.

“Let’s get something to eat. That was fun, but quick. Round two should take a while and I need food. We can talk about your boyfriend.”

She winced, but it faded into a smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend. We only went out once,” she complained as she pulled her jeans back on.

“We’ll talk about it at lunch. You know I don’t like you going out with boys I haven’t fucked first.”

Elise sighed, trying to make herself presentable.

“You can’t fuck him, Mark!” But the thought made her knees weak.

“We’ll see. We’ll see.”

Elise smiled to herself, remembering at once why she loved him and why she could never stay with him. She was happy to have these moments, though. She was happy to have a friend who could make her feel so deliciously dirty.

A young man enamored with his librarian follows her one night and finds that the mousy girl is full of secrets.

This images is used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license, it was originally created by sunshinecity.

Following a Mouse
Part One

She seemed like a little mouse. That’s how I thought of her, what I called her in my head. My little mouse. Oh, how I was wrong.

That’s the way it is being a man sometimes. You see a woman and she can’t look you in the eyes. She is sweet and pretty and her cheeks go red when you joke with her and you think you know her. You imagine her small and innocent and you are tall and strong and can show her the world. In a way it is comforting. It makes you powerful. All the secrets of desire are yours to show her.

Real life is far more complex, and far more interesting.

Penelope sat at the front desk of the library every morning. I was thirty, then, mostly broke and obsessed with literature. I would stop at the library before work and pick things up or drop things off; often, both. One of the best things about that library was that if they didn’t have the book you wanted in stock they would order it from another branch. This made one’s reading list virtually endless as long as one was patient. And I could be a very patient man.

Just like waiting for books it seemed like I was waiting for Penelope. She was barely twenty and so very fresh faced. In a city full of slick women dressed to the nines, here was this mousy girl with long brown hair that was a bit messy and button up blouses and cardigans. Metal framed glasses with thick lenses. Long skirts and nervous blushing.

It was a game for me. I would have to go to the front desk and ask for the special books I ordered, so sometimes I would order the most shocking titles I could just to see her reaction. The Story of O, Venus in Furs, The Kama Sutra, Masters and Johnson Sex Studies, Best Erotica of 1992. These were certainly not merely to shock her because these were the things I enjoyed reading, but part of the pleasure was saying the title and watching her lower her eyes and shuffle off to get my dirty little books.

I thought about her a lot, actually, my little librarian. My little brown haired mouse. I thought about how shy and bashful she was and I wondered how I could get her alone somewhere. I thought about taking her on a date and seeing how red those cheeks would get if I put a hand on her knee. I wondered if I could figure out her secrets, the way I can sometimes. Kissing her with those testing kisses, see how much pressure she likes. Brush a lip against her neck. A little tug on her hair. Try and find the thing that makes her eyes roll back in her head. Hunt for those little buttons I could press to make her mine.

*

The first time I saw Penelope outside of the library was a night like many others. I was out on the town with the boys. Darts and pints and dirty jokes. The pub wasn’t much fun and by a quarter to ten I was already thinking about leaving. I followed a friend out when he went to have a smoke and stood in the cold with my hands in the pockets of my jacket. From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of frizzy brown hair.

I saw my little mouse waiting at the corner, her eyes bright and a bit confused. She looked at a paper in her hand and then at the street sign. She hurried off, west. I waited there for a minute, watching her walk away into the night. I’m not sure why, but I followed.

My friend asked me where I was going, but I didn’t answer, I didn’t think, I just followed.

It was cold, even for autumn. She was dressed in a pea coat, gloves, a scarf. I saw one of the long skirts she always wore peeking out from under her coat. Her Mary Janes seemed out of place on the cold ground.

Suddenly I realized that I was following her like a stalker. I laughed to myself and slowed down. I should have just gone back to the bar. I was a little drunk. Then I saw her stop in front of a house.

It was one of those ancient brownstones. As old as American residential buildings got. A complex wrought iron gate in front. Gargoyles at the corners of the bay window. Old New York money. She stopped at the bottom of the thick stone steps and looked up at the huge red door, then down at the little paper.

As I watched her nervously standing in front of the door my mind tried to fill in all the missing pieces to this story. Was she on a date? Was she going to meet an old friend she hadn’t seen in years? Was it a dying family member? My brain grasped at what this tame librarian was doing out at a quarter to eleven on a Friday going to some random building in Chelsea.

As I watched from across the street she shook her head, coming to some kind of decision and then she ascended the stairs. She rang the bell and said something into the little intercom, then opened the door and disappeared into the building.

I was consumed with the mystery. Why was she so nervous? Was she meeting a man?

I imagined this young slip of a girl melting into the broad arms of some gray haired man. A lover. Perhaps even a married man.

Without realizing it I was across the street, staring up at the very same stairs and doorway. I wasn’t sure what to do next, because I couldn’t exactly just walk up and ring the bell.

Looking around I saw an alley, or maybe even an old servant’s entrance, to the left of the building. This was blocked by a larger wrought iron gate which was closed by a thick chain and a pad lock. The lock was the size of a child’s fist, but I saw that the chain was so long that the gate could be opened a bit. I held the chain so that it wouldn’t rattle and squeezed myself through the opening, and then I was in.

What exactly did I think I would accomplish? I have no idea, but this was a glimpse into the life of someone I knew nothing about and yet saw four or five times a week for the past year. I had to find out more.

I saw a dumpster and a few empty milk crates under a large window which light poured from. I looked around to see nothing but darkness and a few rats. I carefully climbed the milk crates and then stepped on the closed cover of the dumpster. It put me chest level to the window’s edge.

The apartment was large and this seemed to be the living room. There was a huge opulent Indian rug on the floor and the walls were lined with bookshelves. There were two couches and some chairs, but they all seemed to be pushed away from their normal places because the center of the room was empty, save for four people.

As Penelope walked into the room it made five.

There were pillows on the floor, large ones that gave the place the feel of a spa. A man and a woman lounged on a few of the pillows, nude, and kissed. Another woman knelt on a pillow very energetically sucking off a man.

The man being pleasured looked about fifty. He was average height and weight, balding and well groomed. He had a hungry grin and intense eyes and as Penelope came upon this wild scene he called to her and seemed to give her orders. I couldn’t hear what he said, but Penelope lowered her head and then took off her jacket.

None of the other’s stopped their activities, though they all turned and watched as Penelope walked over to the group with her head down and seemingly presented herself to them.

I was watching, silent, completely in shock about what I was seeing. Nothing in my deepest imagination came even close to guessing this scene was what this little mouse of a librarian was going to trounce into as I followed her into the dark streets minutes before.

I watched as the two men and two women moved to her and circled her, smiling and examining her. They were the ones who were nude but she was the one who was blushing. One woman leaned down and took off Penelope’s shoes while the other undid her skirt, slipping it down her legs and then folding it, placing it next to her coat. When the younger man took off her blouse I realized her body was far more luscious than I expected. All those layers of shirts and sweaters hid lovely pert breasts, hips that were wide and inviting, a bottom that was beautifully plump. She even had a decadent little belly that looked like soft touchable baby fat. She was breathtaking.

All of the guests at this strange party seemed to think so as well. They spoke to each other as they pulled off her panties and bra, laughing and pointing at her hardening nipples and the light patch of brown hair between her legs. All the while Penelope’s face grew redder, the color spreading from the apples of her cheeks down her neck and making a bright vermillion “v” just above her breasts.

Now that she was out of her bra I saw that her breasts were even bigger than I imagined, large and heavy and luscious. She was obviously very self conscious about their size. The two men cradled and cupped them, feeling their weight and pinching the nipples. While they did this, one of the women dipped her finger between Penelope’s legs and the young girl’s eyes fluttered.

I wished I could hear them, because they were speaking the whole time. I wondered if they were telling her dirty things. Calling her a whore for letting them ravage her.

The older man walked to one wall where there was a cabinet. From dark wood he pulled a long stick. He bent the stick, testing it and examining it as if he were going to purchase it. He swung it in a firm downward motion and smiled. It pleased him.

The younger man stood behind Penelope, slipping his arms around her and holding them behind her. Everyone was smiling brightly and laughing. Everyone but poor Penelope.

The two women went to the closet and procured tools of some kind. A long riding crop and something else that looked like a handle with many leather whips attached to it. They met back at Penelope just as the older man started caressing her breasts again.

As I watched the caressing changed suddenly as the older man slapped Penelope’s breasts hard and one of the women slapped her across the face. Penelope didn’t struggle, just too the punishment. Then she was lifted up by the two men and brought to the couch, where she was bent over.

One of the women started, hitting Penelope’s bottom with the crop. The younger man followed, spanking her with his bare hand. Her face was as red as her ass as they took turns on her. The paddle, the cane, the switch, thier hands. Mouths on her neck, on her nipples, on her sex. The whole time her body grew more and more scarlet, from her forehead to her ears to between her breasts. Her ass soon matched her face’s color and then surpassed it into purple. Her thighs were whipped to the same shade, as were her perfect tender breasts.

I was hard as I watched, my hand feeling the outline of my erection through my pants. I thought I was a fairly kinky, open minded man, but they were doing things I’d only read about.

I was rapt, panting and leaving gray circles with my breath on the window. When the yell came from the down the alley I was so startled that I fell off the dumpster onto a pile of garbage bags.

“Hey, what are you doing back here? This is private property!”

I didn’t even see who spoke these words. I just ran. I squeezed through the chained gate and didn’t look back until I was home

A story influenced by Alice in Wonderland. A young girl slips into a daydream world and is thrown into a frightening adventure. WARNING! Don’t read this if you are offended by fairy tale type characters of indeterminate age, very questionable consent, attempted cannibalism(?!), obscene cutlery, mammoth root vegetables and/or the misuse of butter.

A Meal of You
An Erotic Fairytale

It was another day in a long chain of hot summer days spent inside helping her mother cook. Alice was a very good daughter, or so she continually told herself. Although she didn’t particularly help with the preparation of meals, per se, she did keep her mother company in the kitchen and offered helpful advice as much as possible. Being that Alice herself didn’t do much cooking the advice was mostly theoretical, but Alice thought it was helpful nonetheless.

Sitting at the large kitchen table with her head in her hands, Alice watched as her mother busied herself with various chopping and seasoning and folding and so on that people do when they cook. Alice wasn’t sure what her mother was making, but it did smell very nice and the kitchen was very warm and the chair she was sitting on was so very comfortable. So comfortable in fact that Alice thought it would be a good idea to take a very short nap. A nap is a lovely thing to have just before dinner because you would be woken up right when it was time to eat!

*

Alice awoke with a sneeze and was startled by the cloud of white dust that she stirred up.

“Oh my!” she said, waving away the dust and sitting up.

She found that she was no longer sitting in a chair, but rather she was laying on a large table. Alice was wearing her robin’s egg blue dress with the white apron over it, which was silly because she hadn’t worn that in years. She looked around and found that the dust was actually flour from a huge sack that she has disturbed when she sneezed.

As she rubbed her eyes she noticed that she was nothing like her kitchen at all. This new kitchen was a very strange one indeed, though Alice was getting a bit used to strange places. It seemed like the kitchen was one size, that is it was sized for a normal person with a plain white oven and a plain sink and even a plain ice box, but all the food in it was massively oversized.

In the corner next to the table she was sitting on was a burlap sack full of flower that was almost six feet high. She also saw a pile of blueberries in the other corner, each one roughly the size of her head! There were also a few sugar cubes that could have been used a stepping stools and by the front door was one humongous brown egg, so large it almost blocked the door.

Alice eyed the egg with astonishment as it started to rock and move and then suddenly it rolled forward towards her, crushing a small bench in its way. At first she thought it might be hatching into some monstrous chicken, but it turned out it was only upturned because someone had opened the door it was leaning on.

As the door opened the room was suddenly filled with noise and commotion. Three people entered, a tall man with a huge white chef’s hat, a younger man and girl both dressed all in white with long aprons.

“We must get to work immediately!” said the chef, who Alice now saw was pulling a red wagon with what looked like a huge mound of butter.

Alice gasped at the sight of them and all three of them looked at her, sitting on their table her hair speckled with flour.

“Excellent! The main ingredient is here!” the chef exclaimed and proceeded to park his butter and go to the sink to wash his hands.

“Why… I’m not the main ingredient! Am I? I don’t even know how I got here!” Alice said in a worried voice.

The young man and girl walked over to her and smiled.

“Maybe it’s a dream?” the boy said and the girl nodded in agreement.

“I’m Millicent and this is by brother Horatio. I’m afraid you are indeed the main ingredient.” said the girl who was apparently named Millicent. Millicent then took a pair of costume bunny ears out of the pocket of her apron and placed them on Alice’s head.

“We’re making Hasenpfeffer and popovers!” said the chef with delight.

Horatio leaned over to Alice and whispered, “Hasenpfeffer is rabbit stew.”

“But, but I’m not a rabbit!” she wailed, though politely as not to disturb her hosts too much.

Horatio, who was tall and lean with dull black hair, sparkling blue eyes and a smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks, came up to the side of the table and deftly started untying Alice’s apron. Millicent, who had the same coloring and completion as her brother but was much shorter and had an ample swell under the chest of her cooking uniform, pulled off poor Alice’s shoes and gingerly started making her way up the younger girls legs, pulling at her knee high white socks.

“What are you doing?” Alice cried!

“Well we need to clean and prepare the rabbit, silly! We can’t cook clothing, can we? What would our dinner guests think of that?” Horatio explained with a polite smile.

Alice lifted her bottom as Horatio and his sister unbuttoned Alice’s dress and pulled it off. She knew she shouldn’t help them, but she did agree that serving clothes to one’s dinner guests would be dreadfully impolite.

Alice felt very odd now, sitting on the flour speckled table wearing nothing but a ribbon in her hair and her cotton knickers. Her eye met Millicent’s and the older girl smiled.

“We need to take those off as well.” the dark haired Millicent said, slipping a finger around the edge of the underclothes and pulling them down Alice’s young firm legs.

The chef came over and looked at the nude girl appraisingly as if he were looking over someone’s homework.

“Very good, but she’ll have to be washed up, trussed and ready by the time I get the vegetables prepared. I’ll be out back chopping down the carrots.” the chef said walking over and patting Alice on the thigh. “She’ll be perfect. You can check the cookbook over there for the details. I’ll be back in a half an hour.”

With that the chef made his way out of the kitchen, sidestepping the giant egg and slamming the door, leaving the eager sous chef siblings to work on their tender morsel.

“Listen, my name is Alice. I’m not a rabbit at all, I’m just a little girl. You can’t be serious about cooking me!” Alice said in a worried but even voice, trying to talk sense into these strange people.

“Of course you’re a rabbit, look at your ears.” Millicent said with her hands on her hips, her brother nodding in agreement.

“Why, you… you just put them on me!” Alice said, not believing her ears, so to speak.

“A likely story. Millicent go and fetch a bucket and washcloth.” Horatio said, giving Alice a stern look.

“That won’t be necessary, I just had my bath last night.” Alice explained, but the siblings both let out a laugh.

Alice pouted and sighed deeply. There seemed to be no way out of this strange culinary predicament.

Horatio stepped closer to her and took her soft blond hair in his hand. He then pulled from his pocket a length of twine and proceeded to pull her hair back and tie it into two neat pigtails so that not one hair fell into her face or onto her shoulders. As he did this Alice noticed his gaze falling onto the slope of her shoulder and down to her bare chest.

For some reason the clinical manner and otherworldly nonchalance in which everyone was treating her had made feeling shame about her nudity seem silly, but now with a boy a few years older than her ogling her naked form Alice’s cheeks grew red at once and her arms came up to cover her breasts.

Horatio smiled knowingly and looked up from her body just in time to take the sopping wet washcloth from his sister.

“Horatio, make sure you wash her well. I’ll look in the cookbook to see what else we should do.” Millicent said, her eyes catching Alice’s for a moment and a smile flashing over Millicent’s lips, which Alice now noticed were neatly painted red.

Alice still sat in roughly the same position that she had woken up in this strange place, but now she sat up a little straighter and covered her chest with her crossed arms and clenched her legs tightly together. She had never been bathed in this manner and it was quite disconcerting.

Horatio slid the wet slightly soapy cloth across Alice’s back. Her skin was much paler than his. She shivered beneath his touch. He finished washing off her back and started on her shoulders and arms.

“You’re going to have to uncross your arms. I have to clean your whole body.” Horatio said, pulling Alice’s arms away from her chest.

Her breasts were lovely, pert and the size of ripe apples. The nipples were large and puffy all around and as pink as her lips, which were as pink as something out of a crayon box. Horatio’s smile faded as he smoothed the washcloth over her collar bones and then lower, across the swell of her breasts. One single pinky slipped off the washcloth and ran across the softness of her skin, the finger slick with water and soap. Alice felt his skin against her sensitive nipple and let out a little yelp.

Millicent looked up from the cookbook and grinned knowingly.

“Now, lay back Miss Rabbit.” he said, pushing her back until she was laying on the table.

“My, my name is Alice!” she whined, but he hushed her.

“Yes, yes, I suppose even rabbits have names.” he said absently as he washed her flat stomach and paused right above her pubis.

“You, you mustn’t wash.. there!” she pleaded, but before she could do a thing about it the washcloth was dipping down between her thighs, the water now cold after being in the air for so long and it made her whole body shiver as that secret little place was rubbed wet with the cloth. And there was that bad little pinky again, just catching the tinniest feel of the soft light hairs of her sex and then the soft little folds of her secret.

“Oh my!” she whispered, her eyebrows furled in shame and fear.

But before she could say anything more he was on to her legs, then her knees. After her feet Millicent came over with a fresh washcloth.

“Flip, I’ll need to do the back of your legs and your bum.” he said gleefully.

“There too?!” she protested, but for some reasons she found herself flipping over on to her back and then she felt the dow warm washcloth on the back of her legs, then her thighs and then her bottom. Horatio’s hands squeezing her bottom and pulling the cheeks apart to clean every inch of her, something that made her whole body jump.

Millicent’s voice broke the silence of the room just before Horatio’s wicked little pinky made another appearance.

“It says here we are supposed to tenderize the rabbit, then truss it, then rub it with butter and sprinkle it with rosemary.” all three of them looked into the corner at a huge bush that Alice realized it was a huge sprig of rosemary.

Alice sat up and faced the sibling, determined to say something. She was going to put an end to this.

Horatio looked at Alice and put his hand on his chin, biting his lip and wondering. “How do we tenderize a rabbit?” he asked his sister.

Millicent looked at the naked girl in front of her, Alice’s cheeks were fiery red, her blond hair up in two pigtails that looked ridiculous next to the two large white slightly crooked bunny ears. Millicent liked how adorably vulnerable the girl looked and how her face was contorted in some complex mix of confusion, frustration and fear. Not that Millicent was a mean girl, it was just a point of fact that any range of emotion expressed by this particular blond girl when naked and wearing bunny ears had the effect of looking cute and pathetic.

“Well, I suppose we just massage her and rub her down, loosed her up. Then when she is all tender we tie her up, butter her up and we’re done.” Millicent said with a smile.

Horatio agreed, sharing a little smile with his sister, then the sibling each walked to a different end of the erzarts rabbit. Millicent started massaging Alice’s back while her brother moved own and massaged her legs. Alice was frozen, unsure of what to do next. She could just make out the shape of the chef outside with a huge axe cutting down a carrot the size of an oak tree. She knew she should be trying to talk her way out of this, reason with these people in some way, but the pressure on her back and on her calves felt wonderful. It wasn’t until Horatio got to her knees that the shame came flooding back. Alice thought that perhaps after the massage would be the best time to tell them that they should let her go.

Millicent liked the way Alice’s skin felt under her fingers. She smoothed the younger girls skin and moved from her back to her shoulders and then down to her collar bone. Alice tightened again, unsure of where she could wiggle out of the grasp. The farther she moved from Millicent who was inching towards her breasts the closer she got to Horatio whose hands were moving closer to her… but he wouldn’t touch her there again, would he?

Before she could protest, Millecent’s hands were cupping young Alice’s breasts, just as Horatio started parting her legs. Alice tried to close her legs, but Horatio was very strong and the rubbing was very thorough. Horatio rubbed the girl’s inner thigh as Millicent squeezed Alice’s breasts softly and then let her fingers pull and slightly twist the puffy nipples.

Horatio let out a low growl as his fingers came to the very tippy top of Alice’s thighs. His fingers brushed the little crease between thigh and crotch. He looked at his sister, who was now biting her lip as she pulled and played with Alice’s nipples. All the while Alice closed her eyes and gently shook her head, not knowing what to do and now suddenly very dizzy and very warm and feeling like she was being tickled from all sides only she wasn’t laughing at all.

“Her nipples are nothing like mine, Horatio. Look how puffy and pink they are.” Millicent said, squeezing Alice’s breasts so that only the nipples peaked out between her fingers.

Horatio took his eyes off the young girl’s sex and looked up at the display his sister was asking him about.

“Yes, very interesting. Her sex looks different as well. The rabbit anatomy is truly intriguing.” he said, his voice now lower and a bit huskier. His fingers moved up and traced the outer lips of the girl’s sex. He moved a little closer, leaning against Alice’s now open legs and feeling the young girl’s trembling limbs press absently against the hardness of his arousal.

“Indeed, we should explore a little more before continuing. I mean, it’s always good to know the wonders of the animal kingdom.” Millicent said with a wicked grin that was then mirrored by her brother.

Millicent took off her apron, folded it neatly and then tossed it in the corner. She repeated the process with her shirt and then smiled as she saw Alice watching her disrobe.

Millicent was much more buxom than Alice. Alice wore plain white brassieres because who would see them but her? Alice watched jealously at Millicent’s lovely candy apple red garment which cradle her large breasts. Alice watched with curiosity as the older girl reached back and unhooked the catch. Alice was almost unaware of Horatio’s gentle strokes of her sex until she felt his finger slip past the lips of her sex and brushed the most secretest of secret places.

Millicent smiled as she watched Alice’s eyes bulge with surprise at Horatio’s dexterity. The older girl removed her bra and showed that indeed her breasts and nipples were very different from Alice’s. Millicent’s nipples were a light brown, like the very fine chocolate Alice’s father had brought home from Belgium once.

Alice seemed to be hypnotized by Millicent’s breasts, her eyes unable to look away as the older girl rubbed and squeezed their grapefruit sized softness. Perhaps Horatio’s eager fingers, now a bit slick for some unknown reason, slowly circling the parts of Alice she had no name for, had something to do with her wrapped attention to the girl cook’s body.

Millicent’s nipples were not puffy all around the aureola the way Alice’s were, they were flat and about the size of a 2 pense coin with the nipple sticking out hard and thick.

Alice started feeling even warmer and even dizzier as Horatio’s fingers got more and more thorough in their exploration. His finger seemed even wetter as he slipped just the very tip of his pinky into her and then his other fingers moved up and spread her sex apart, kneading it and then coming back up to circle and tease Alice’s now erect little button.

Millicent moved forward, still caressing one of her breasts and then taking and pinching one of Alice’s nipples.

“See, completely different. Hers are all puffy and mine are hard.” she said, clearing her throat first to get her brother’s attention since he seemed very occupied with his tenderizing duties at the moment.

“Indeed, Milly, indeed.” he said, now focusing his rubbing more directly on her little button which had the effect of making Alice’s eyes roll back a bit and her breath to start a quicker more labored pace.

Millicent was a bit miffed at her brother’s lack of interest in the anatomical comparison, but she too was now watching the young rabbit.

Alice’s eyes closed and her hips started to raise up against Horatio’s fingers. Alice wasn’t sure what was happening, but it seemed like it was going to happen soon. It was like waiting for a sneeze or perhaps a train.

Just then the door opened and the burly form of the chef barreled in.

“No, no, no. That is all wrong!” he shouted. “What the devil are you doing? That’s not the proper way to prepare a rabbit at all!” the chef said, more confused than angry.

Alice let out the oddest little whine. She was glad that the sadistic siblings had stopped their malevolent ministrations, but at the same time this incessant building had been stopped, in her opinion, a few seconds too soon.

“That’s not how you tenderize a rabbit! And for heaven’s sake put your shirt on, Millicent!” the chef commanded. “You need to really work her over. None of this lollygagging and timid rubbing. The game must be beaten! Really, you’ll never become chefs at this rate.”

The chef picked up a bigger axe and examined the blade. “I fell a few carrots, but the turnips are simply gargantuan this year. I may be a while.” And with that he left the three alone again.

Alice should have been frightened or planning or something, but the only thing she felt was a strange frustration. Horatio’s hand lay on her pubis and almost unaware of herself she felt her hips moving up in hopes that he would continue his petting. Millicent put her apron on over her nude chest, which barely covered her breasts and rather provocatively let the dark circles of her nipples peak out from the sides.

Horatio, a bit miffed at being told that he wouldn’t make a good chef, lifted up the nude Alice and flipped her on her belly with no more care than one would give a bag of oats, specifically if one were a person who cared little for oats.

“Oh dear!” Alice cried.

Millicent fetched a large rolling pin as Horatio got a large branch of giant rosemary.

“I,” Horatio started as he whipped the young girl hard on her bottom with the lovely smelling but rather painful herb, “will,” again he swatted her “be,” thwap, “a chef!”

Alice cried out each time, the broad green leaves feeling like tanned leather on her bottom. She cried out even louder when Millicent, with a look of glee, hit Alice’s bottom with the heavy wooden rolling pin.

All three participants in this culinary endeavor were out of breath. The room was silent, save the far off sound of chopping and cursing from the chef and his tough parsnips.

“No, no, no, you stupid git! That’s not the way a rabbit should be hit!” a loud high shriek echoed through the kitchen.

The three looked around the room for where the strange voice came from, but couldn’t find another soul. It wasn’t until a commotion over by the pots and cutlery brought there attention to a counter that they saw the origin of the cacophony. The sound was coming from a very loud mouthed spoon.

Millicent’s eyebrow rose as she started over to the counter.

“That’s right, your little tart, I’ll show you the tenderizing art! Let me have a go at that trollop, I’ll teach you how to give her a wallop!”

Alice’s eyes grew, if possible, wider. This was indeed the bawdiest spoon she’d ever met.

Millicent pilled the large wooden stirring spoon out of the large bin it was in with a variety of spatulas and whisks, all of which had much better manners. The spoon danced in her grip and sang out, “Slap me against that tight young butt! Give a proper spanking to that dirty little slut!’

Millicent walked back to her brother with a dazed grin and then hoisted the spoon in the air and did just that. She raised the spoon up and just as Alice tried to turn her head to protest, the spoon came down on her upturned bottom.

“Oh my!” said Alice as the firm wooden spoon went “thwap” against her round pale skinned derriere.

“Don’t stop until that little whore’s ass is nice and red! Then put her on her knees and make her give you head!”

Millicent was smiling wickedly, because to be honest she was a bit of a wicked girl. She brought the big wooden spoon down on the younger girl’s bottom over and over again, each time the kitchen echoed with a satisfying smack followed by Alice’s yelp of pain and the talking spoons groan of pleasure. Millicent silently shivered at the sounds of the girls whimpers and loved the way the spoon left first a white mark on the girls bottom and then a deep red mark. She also very much enjoyed the way the girl tried to twist this way and that, trying to get away from the punishment her bottom was receiving, causing Horatio to hold her down harder and harder.

“Beat that little bitch, whip that little runt!” the spoon shouted loudly, sounding a bit hysterical. “Then you can turn me around and shove my handle in her tight little-”

“Milly,” said Horatio, grabbing his sister’s wrist before she could land another blow on Alice’s now bright red and throbbing bottom. “I think that’s quite enough.”

Millicent was breathing very hard and her eyes were sort of glazed over with pleasure. She was shaken from her exertion and the thrill she was getting from spanking the little blond captive.

“You don’t want to over tenderize the poor thing. Look, she’s crying.” Horatio said, but more with a sort of malicious curiosity than any sort of concern.

Millicent pouted and cut her eyes at her brother. He tried to contain a smile as his sister put down the talking spoon and folded her arms under her breasts.

“She’s not crying very much. Just sort of tearing up.” Millicent said, batting her eyes a bit at her brother and putting one hand on Alice’s sore bottom.

“Oh! It’s so warm! Feel it Horatio.”

Horatio smiled as his hand moved across the hot skin.

“Lovely, we’d better truss her and season her.”

Millicent fetched a ball of twine from a cupboard and brought it to Horatio who had removed his hand from atop the young girl’s hungry body.

Millicent proceeded to roughly pull the girl into a sitting position again and Horatio stood behind Alice and pulled her arms behind her back. He then wrapped the twine from one of her forearms to the other, crisscrossing the twine so it looked almost like a shoelace. He tied it at her elbows and stepped back to look at his handiwork.

Alice’s face was painted with two circles of crimson blush, not from makeup but from shame and exertion. Her pert breasts were a bit red as well and stood high and proud now that her arms were pulled back behind her.

Horatio then pushed her back in a most awkward position so that her bound arms were on the table and her legs were folded under her thighs. He tied each leg, binding calf to thigh so that she wiggled on the table looking like something between a pot roast and a coffee table.

Millicent covered her mouth as she giggled, she then picked up the cookbook the chef had left them and looked over the instructions.

“The book says we should get rid of any remaining fur.” Millicent read before retrieving a bright silver razor.

“You mean on her head?” Horatio asked, tugging on the now much less mobile Alice.

Millicent rolled her eyes, as she was often wont to do. “No, they don’t eat the head, silly. Down there.” she explained, pointing to the small patch of blond hair between the bound girl’s legs.

Millicent handed the razor to her brother and went to the sink to fetch a small brush and a bit of soap.

“You… you mustn’t shave there!” Alice pleaded. “There’s hardly any hair there anyway, I’m sure it won’t be a bother…”

Millicent twirled the wet brush in the soap and looked down at the little patch of sparse blond hair. She brushed some sudsy foam onto the patch until the whole area was coated.

“Nonesense, what would the guests think?” Millicent said, chiding the younger girl.

Alice held her breath as Horatio opened the large straight razor.

Horatio’s hand was steady and he worked quickly. A few smooth strokes of the razor and he smiled at his work. Her sex was neat and bare, though it was a little red. He got a damp cloth and washed off the remaining soap.

“I don’t think she hated it that much… oh my.” Millicent smiled slyly as she watched her brother’s fingers slip up and down the girl’s freshly shorn bits.

“She’s awfully wet… my she seemed to like that paddling quite well indeed. Dear sister, you have to feel this, it’s so amazingly soaked.”

Alice’s body was racked with shame and pleasure. The two emotions had become inseparable in the last few minutes and now she wasn’t sure where one started and the other ended. She didn’t know why her body was reacting the way it was. She should have been doing everything she could to escape, but at that moment the feeling of Horatio’s rough fingers probing her most intimate of spots was heavenly. Then when Millicent’s fingers joined her bother’s the faux rabbit gasped loudly. Two sets of digits pulled her bits open as another finger slipped into her.

Alice couldn’t move, couldn’t get away from those prying fingers and couldn’t cover up her aching breasts and wet sex. She couldn’t do anything but be examined, used, bound, beaten and seasoned.

As Horatio’s finger moved in and out of her, his thumb finding the little button that would make the girl’s other senses dull, Alice was dimply away of coolness on her shoulders. Millicent had taken handfuls of the rich butter and started spreading it on Alice’s body. Around her neck and over her chest and up the length of her bound arms.

Horatio looked down at the glistening pink and red skin of the writhing bunny. He watched as his sister spread thick oily butter over the blond’s breasts, molding and teasing the skin. Horatio watched as he let his finger slip deeper into the bound girl, his finger turning in the warm wetness of her. He felt her body tighten with every thrust of his finger and then listened to her squeal as he added another finger.

Alice’s mind was gone now. The universe was made up of thick fingers inside of her, hot hands spreading silkiness over her breasts and the taut cords restricting her every motion. Then another finger, stretching her impossibly tighter. Her hips now slick with butter as Horatio’s hand moved faster.

Alice felt something building, like rushing water inside of her, like rushing water rising against a dam, almost bursting. She let out a low moan, a long stretched note. The fingers felt like they were pushing her over a cliff.

“Excellent!” said a loud voice from behind them all.

Horatio pulled his hand away and as Alice shouted, Millicent popped a large apple sized cranberry into Alice’s mouth.

The chef came in pushing a wheelbarrow of tire sized slices of root vegetables. He walked over to the three and appraised the rabbit.

“Trussed perfectly! Soft and tender! A generous patina of fine French butter!” he checked off his mental list with glee, then he took a pepper mill the size of a vacuum cleaner and sprinkled the exasperated girl with black dust.

With that the chef commanded his staff of two to bring the young girl out back. Awkwardly Millicent and Horatio lifted the now slippery rabbit and carried her out of the kitchen and around the house to the back yard where there was an enormous cast iron caldron, twice the size of the chef and almost as tall as the house. There was a low flame under the caldron and the smell of cooking onions and spices.

The chef piled the carrots and turnips into a large basket and then the sous chefs deposited Alice on top of the vegetables. Alice was more than frightened now, she was horrified. She was finally realizing that this could very well be the end. The end of Alice! Instead of a long life full of laughter and love she would be the main ingredient in a spicy stew of death.

As she shifted back and forth, tossed about the basket with vegetables falling on her, she wondered if anyone would save her. She wondered how Millicent and Horatio could be so cruel after they had been so rapt with her body. Alice wondered a hundred things just to keep her mind off the fact that she could hear bubbling water in the cauldron.

As she got to the lip of the crockery that would be her tomb she cried out “No!” as the basket tipped and the vegetables and makeshift rabbit fell towards hot sizzling deliciously aromatic doom.

Alice fell. Alice fell and fell and fell. Alice thought, “my, this is a large pot.” Then with a sudden and entirely unceremonial thud she landed. She landed not in a hellish sea of scalding mirepoix, but on a familiar tile floor.

“Alice? Oh, you silly girl. Do get up and go wash your hands. Supper is nearly ready!”

Alice sat on the floor, her heart pounding, trying to figure out what had happened.

“It was all a dream…” she realized, panting and trying to make sense of it all.

She stood up, her legs a bit shaky, and with a dumbfounded look on her face made her way to the washroom to wash up for supper and try and figure out what in the world had happened.

As she walked away her mother, a bit upset at her lazy daydreaming daughter, shook her head at the clumsy messy girl. Why she’d even left a pair of rabbit ears on the kitchen floor.

Fin.

You can find the whole Mister McIntyre series here.

Mister McIntyre’s Secret, Part Nine

I’ve been given a notebook and a pen and I’ve been told to write down everything. Everything? If I am going to do that I guess I need to give you a little background, after all, who knows who might be reading this?

My name is Abigail. I’m twenty-two, boring and not very pretty. I don’t have fancy dresses or lots of makeup, but somehow I am in a lavish mansion sitting in a room full of interesting people watching a beautiful woman about to get–well, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m a secretary at a very powerful investment firm. I work for a man named Jacob McIntyre with whom, I suppose it is safe to say, I am a bit smitten with. Obsessed with. Intoxicated by. Whatever you want to call it.

Mister McIntyre is very tall and has a wide chest and broad shoulders and a sort of square chin. He is always impeccably dressed and I’ve never seen him anything but clean shaven. He always smells so good that it makes me cross me legs and bite my lip. His voice is deep and strong and when he tells you to do something your body just takes over and you do it.

That’s really neither here nor there because Mister McIntyre has a complicated life and a lot of very interesting friends, so I’m not really even on his radar (or so I thought.)

You see, I’ve been pining over him and getting his coffee and swooning at his slightest approval and lying to his wife and his clients when he went off to do who-knows-what with women ten years younger than him, and all the time I thought he didn’t notice. It turns out he knew and maybe liked it.

One day because of various happenings Mister McIntyre saw me writing in my diary at my desk and he told me to give it to him and I did, because I do what Mister McIntyre says. I didn’t think he would, but he read it and apparently he showed it to some other people including one Miss Marcy Peterson, wealthy daughter of one of our clients and regular subject of Mister McIntyre’s lunch time attentions at a nearby hotel.

My whole body goes cold at the though of anyone reading my diary, but those two!

In my diary they must have read various descriptions of explicit dreams and day dreams I have had about Mister McIntyre and other men and spankings and sex and all manner of things that no young lady should ever think about, let alone write about.

So he read all of my dirty thoughts and decided to introduce me to his little club. Marcy was sent to my apartment take me in hand, so to speak. She brought me a fancy dress and did my make-up and other things I can’t even write about.

We went out on the island and saw Marcy perform in a horse riding competition. I met Mister McIntyre’s other friends, a young man named Chase as well as a girl my age named Gertrude.

After the competition we all went back to this mansion and we were ushered into a large room where all of us were able to relax in large comfortable chairs. Marcy stood against a wall and Mister McIntyre took her riding crop, and Chase said some very dirty things were about to happen and gave me a notebook and some paper and told me to write all about it.

The Punishment of Miss Marcy Peterson

Part of me wants to write that Mister McIntyre paced in front of Marcy like a jungle cat poised to strike, but in truth he was much more frightening than that because he just stood there, studying her.

Miss Peterson was still in her riding outfit, though her jacket and boots were off. Her pants were flared at the hips and her shirt was white and button up. Her hair was pulled back rather severely, exposing the curve of her milk white neck. She stood with her back to the wall her arms at her sides, biting her bottom lip as Mister McIntyre toyed with the riding crop.

I suppose I thought there would be some sort of act. I’m not sure what I thought they were going to do, but it seemed to me that he was going to pretend to be mad at her or tell her that she did something wrong, but it wasn’t like that at all. He was going to punish her, but because he liked it and because she needed it. That idea made me crazy for some reason.

I thought maybe someday I would do something wrong, in the office, and one day maybe he would do something to me. Someday he would punish me.

Up until recently, I didn’t know what that punishment might entail, and perhaps that was the most frightening part of it. I just knew that if I spilled something or came in late or didn’t rush to get his coffee or polish his desk or keep his secrets, something dreadful was going to happen.

I realized that if I failed at those things the punishment would be common, a reprimand, a harsh word. To get what Marcy was getting I had to do the unthinkable–admit I wanted it.

Mister McIntyre stood behind her and she turned to the side so that I could just see her profile. Her ruby lips and the clear line of her made-up eyes. He took her face in his hand and looked into her eyes. He said something, but we couldn’t hear. She looked scared, so different than the Marcy that only a few hours before had sat high and proud on her horse and certainly a world away from the Marcy that had taken me right on my bed.

The thought of that made me wince with shame. I looked to my right and then to my left, forgetting that I wasn’t the only one watching this spectacle. The idea of watching Mister McIntyre do things to Marcy was startling enough, but to be part of this little audience made things even stranger. My clothes, the clothes that Marcy had brought for me and had put on me, felt confining. The bra tight on my breasts and the material of the dress rough against my skin. I couldn’t even think about the sticky wet heat between my legs. I didn’t dare move or I would feel it and then it would be real.

When I looked back at Mister McIntyre and Miss Peterson she had already slipped off her pants and was standing there in her frilly black underthings, her hands on the wall. Her legs were so remarkably smooth it looked as though she were wearing silk stockings. Her calves were strong from riding and she stood on her toes, her feet arched, waiting.

Mister McIntyre seemed to be very impressed by the riding crop. He tested its weight in his hand and moving his wrist around to feel its balance. The thing had a leather bound handle and long rod that looked like it was about a foot long, then it ended in a thick folded square of worn leather. He experimentally whipped it in front of us and it made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air. Then he slapped his hand with the thick leather tongue and it made a satisfyingly sharp crack.

Marcy jumped at the sound. We all did actually. I looked to see Chase with a tiny sort of cruel smile. Chase was breathing deeply and watching with intense concentration. Gertrude was biting her lip and she had her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

Mister McIntyre didn’t acknowledge us at all. He had that same look he had before a big meeting, when he loaded his briefcase with a determined grimace and set his jaw and focused on one thing and one thing only.

The jealousy came like poison, flooding my veins. It made me hot and cold all at once. Oh to be the focus of all that determined attention. To be the center of that man’s inescapable scrutiny. The thought made me stop breathing for a moment. I could feel my pulse right between my legs like a little traitor giving away my position.

When Mister McIntyre held the crop in his left and and then brought back his right hand all four of us watching tensed. I felt Chase’s knee brush mine and my breath caught. Mister McIntyre’s hand looked huge and strong. It hung there in the air and then it was gone and the smack echoed.

It was six or seven in a row and she took them all. I doubt I could, but every inch of me was willing to try. One side of her bottom was bright red and she was leaning on the wall a little more than before. That’s when he started with the crop. Sharp, mean little swats.

I’d never been hit with anything. I wondered what it felt like. Marcy was tough, I’m sure, but I saw her wince one or twice. Would I buckle under his tools? Would I melt into a pool if his hand connected with my bottom? Would he smooth over the spot where he hit me? Would his hand moved down. Would his fingers figure out that I was dripping wet?

I came back to the room from my daydreams and found reality even more fantastic. Mister McIntyre had unclasped Marcy’s bra and slipped it off. He went over to a bed and fetched a long length of black rope. Thick rope. My breath caught so audibly that Chase and Gertrude looked at me. I turned purple with shame. My eyes locked with Gertrude and she had this tiny little smile. Her eyes were huge and hungry and I took a minute before I looked down to see her hand pressed down deep between her crossed legs. She was blushing too, but from exertion, not shame. She didn’t pull up her dress, but was rubbing herself through it and clamping her legs around her hand.

I’d done the very same thing once or twice. In an empty train, in Mister McIntyre’s office. I felt dizzy watching her. She bit her lips and watched me watch her hand move. Her eyes were telling me things but I wasn’t sure what. Was I supposed to do something. If she told me what, I would have done it. A loud slap brought my attention back to Marcy and her red bottom.

Mister McIntyre was expertly tying Marcy’s hands together. He made thick cuffs around her wrists and forearms, then with an expert flick of his wrist, threw the end up the rope up into the air. I watched as it arced over a wooden beam on the ceiling. The rope fell and he caught it, pulling it slowly so that Marcy’s arms rose into the air until she was on the tips of her toes.

He pulled down her panties and for the first time she struggled. She was making little sounds, little frightened sounds. He pulled the ribbon and the pins out of her hair and roughly messed it up. With her hair wild and her face flush and no fancy clothes she looked young and scared and vulnerable. I knew she was still the Marcy who’d done all those things to me, that’s why what Mister McIntyre was doing was so impressive.

She caught my eye for a second. Something flashed. I realized I was part of his plan. I was this mousy girl, this little inexperienced secretary that he had in his control and that she had played with and here I was watching her get broken down. I was an element of her humiliation. I liked that.

I like being useful.

I came home to find the apartment in disarray. A lamp, which was still on, lay on the floor, shining a spotlight on a half empty bookshelf. The books were strewn around the floor and one was soaking up the remnants of vase of water that held the violets that were now trampled.

My Betty was a bruiser, a broad shouldered girl, too tall to ever be comfortable in her own skin. She was a tough one, beaten into shape as a kid by a step- father for a good 12 years until she was old enough to kick his ass.

Betty sat on the floor in the kitchen with the last of my bourbon. Unlaced rollerskates, a black skirt and an old wife beater. Tattoos turned shadows under the white cotton, thick black and red lines peeking out, bold and unapologetic. Symbols of permanence. Scars given validation with ink.

“We lost,” she said with slight slur and a particular assessing glare.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned on the counter of the small kitchen, looking down at her as she rocked the bottle of amber liquid on the black and white tiled floor.

I looked over to the living room and then back at her.

“I couldn’t find a book,” she shrugged.

She took one rollerskate and tried to push off the other with it, failing miserably.

“I couldn’t find a book and I can’t get these stupid things off.” She pathetically kicked at the floor with her skate.

At 20, with a messy bob of black hair and a cut lip and the beginnings of a black eye, she did her best to pout like a little girl. Roller derby was good for her, because she seemed to always be in-between healing black eyes, though before they were from fights.

“Help me get ‘em off?”

Kneeling, I took one of the black leathery boots by the thick back wheels and pulled. She winced as the skate slipped off her sore foot. Her shin looked purple and yellow, she had a scrape on her knee. My eyes lingered up higher to the edge of her skirt, then abruptly back to her other skate. I pulled the second one off and I stood up, holding out my hand to help her up.

She groaned as her sore and swollen joints creaked and then she was holding on to me with both her hands on my shoulders, her cheeks red, her eyes slightly glazed by the bourbon, but still shining. Then there was one of those moments, when our eyes meet and she is hanging on me, smelling like bourbon and a little like sweat and somewhere under all that some kind of perfume. We were going to kiss, but her knees gave out a little and she almost passed out.

“I’ll put you in bed.”

“Tuck me in, too?” she teased, smiling and limping with one arm around my shoulder.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Bet.”

“Pshh, I bet you ten bucks you’ll be in bed in ten minutes. And don’t fucking call me Bet, you know I hate that.”

I sighed. I was too old for this.

I was sleeping on the couch because this whole thing just wasn’t working and we knew it. She was all rough and tumble, late night at rock clubs and drunk five nights a week. I was in a PhD program, I had a full time job. My punk youth was over, though not forgotten. That’s not to say I grew up and became boring, but I just wasn’t in the same world she was in.

That’s one of the many things that can happen when you date a girl who’s ten years younger than you. Even if she is taller than you.

It was more than that, though, and we knew it. We just didn’t click anymore. I was a city boy, through and through and deep down she was a Midwest girl.

She put her weight on my shoulder as I led her to the bedroom. The only light was street lamps coming in from the window. It illuminated tangled sheets and books all over the floor and nightstand.

I sat her down on the bed and she put her arms around my neck.

“I miss you,” she whispered. It made my throat hurt and my heart ache.

“Just get some sleep, Bet, we can talk tomorrow.”

She kissed my chin.

“Don’t you think I’m pretty anymore?” She kissed my cheek, catching just the edge of my lip.

“I think you’re drunk and sweaty and you have a black eye and probably a sprained ankle,” but she was already pulling me in for another kiss.

“You used to give me black and blues, remember?” Her voice was rough, she chuckled throaty, sad and dirty.

“You always end up getting bruised, one way or another,” I started, but she kissed me.

It had been a while, probably a month. She was depressed and her sex drive disappeared. The roller derby brought it back a little, but this was something else. This was goodbye.

I eased her back onto the bed. I hovered over her. I kissed her bruised face. I kissed her chapped lips. She rubbed her cheek against my stubble. Her hands were on my belt.

It’s superficial, but I’d miss her tattoos. It’s the main physical trait that would define her in my mind forever. As I kissed her shoulders, thick black letters and all the little symbols and secrets of her I remember every story, every detail. I still remember the why and where of all of them.

Her kisses grew wilder and so I held her down. Given time every action turns cliche, but just then it seemed more like nostalgia. That was until she started to fight. This wasn’t a little wilting flower, this was a tough girl who could take most people I know in  fight. This wasn’t submissive, this was earning it. I held her down by the wrists with all my strength and all my weight. She had opened my pants, but there was still a lot to do.

I pushed her legs open with mine and pressed against her. She bucked and writhed, she bit my lip. I let go of one of her wrists and she immediately pushed at my chest with her free hand. I pulled her shirt up. I pulled the cups of her bra down and sucked at her thick brown nipples, I bit down just enough to make her let out a little yelp. Her hand in my hair, pulling me away.

Suddenly the haze of a day at work and the sadness of this whole situation was gone for a moment. I was strong and she was hungry. I reached down, pushing away her skirt. I found her panties and pulled hard, ripping them, but not enough. She raised her ass, trying to push me away. I pulled again and came away with most of the fabric.

She was gasping and moaning. This wasn’t playful roughness, this was gut wrenching. This was the only thing keeping us from crying. I pulled out my cock. I had to concentrate on her, I had to bury my face in her tits and grind against her cunt and kiss her copper tasting lips just to get hard. I had to do anything but think.

There is an intimacy in this that is sort of rare in these dangerous times. My bare skin on hers. It still felt forbidden, even after living together for this long. I’d been trained for so long, but we had trust. That trust would be gone soon, any minute. My cock pressed against the coarse hairs of her sex.

She was wet, I could smell her, strong and tart. She was still fighting, but her hips were rising up, her legs open, her moans turning into needy whimpers.  I rubbed against her, I slipped against her and then I was pushing into her.

Sex with Betty was always a quick affair for some reason. Maybe that was one of reasons it was going to end. I liked to draw things out. I liked to tease and play. She was impatient and deep down very ashamed of it all. All that wanting went to waste with her.

She needed to be hit and be needed to be held down, but she could never talk about it. Those secret moments of violence, when she pulled my hands to her neck. Electric and forbidden and lost once they ended.

All I ever wanted to do was talk about it, but that was me. I overthought it, or so she said. If I tried to make her beg she would grow cold, and really, for me, the begging is the best part.

All this fluttered through my mind as I fucked her. Looking down her eyes were closed and she bit her lip. She was wet to the point that I could feel it on my thighs. The muscles of her sex were tight around me; her powerful legs, now wrapping around me and pulling me in.

In bed she didn’t like her clit played with. It bored her, she would brush my fingers away. Going down on her was occasional and for my benefit. Even when she played with herself she only fucked herself with her fingers.

As I fucked her I remembered that first time in a motel. She was strong and wild, so different from other women I’d been with. It was sort of awkward, because I didn’t know how to top her, and really I didn’t know any other way. At least not in that moment, in a motel room, both of us drunk and high from a concert.

Fucking her that last time, I felt almost detached.  She was lost in it, though, and I watched as her body went through the motions and cycles. Her blush, her breath getting faster. When she came she came hard and punched me in the shoulder, needed more of me to hold on to as I fucked her through it.

After the wave of her pleasure I lost my drive. It was gone and I was growing soft. I just rolled off her and she didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t come. She rolled onto her side, our bodies no longer touching. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or crying. I crawled off the bed and pulled the blanket onto of her.

I cleaned up the mess in the livingroom and wrote through the night, knowing tomorrow she would leave, and knowing I had to get the memories down before they were tainted or gone.

After that it was all packing and crying and the long days of uncertainty. I came out better in the end. She moved back west and found another boy to hurt her, one way or another.

I wonder what she saw when she looked at me. I was dying of curiosity, actually. I wanted to see the look in her eyes, study her body language, pick her apart, but we both had roles here. I had to drive. I had to look forward and clench my jaw and go.

“This isn’t the way to my apartment.” She was pouting with every word.

I didn’t have to pretend when I scoffed.

When I got to my block I was trying to formulate something that wouldn’t seem that horrific to anyone who might see us, but at the same time let her know that I was serious. I parked across the street and turned off the engine. I looked at her dead in the eyes. She had her arms folded in front of her chest and she was frowning.

“Listen. It’s only 9 o’clock. We both got a little crazy, but I really like you. Just come up for a couple of minutes, there’s something I want to show you. Then I promise I’ll take you home.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not stupid,” she murmured.

She wasn’t going to make this easy. I should have been mad, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Fine,” I said, opening my door and quickly running around to her side of the car.

I opened her door and I grabbed her arm hard and pulled her out. She tripped, but I held her up by her arm. I locked my door and my alarm chirped. I pulled her so that our faces were an inch apart.

“This is my neighborhood. Don’t make a scene. I want to talk to you, I can’t let you leave on this note. Just come up for a second and I’ll explain. We can’t talk out here, okay?” I said this all through gritted teeth.

When she rolled her eyes I looked around because every inch of me needed to smack her again. She knew it too. The edge of her lip just barely curled into a smile.

I pulled her across the street and she didn’t really start fighting me until we got to the door.

“I’m not going into your apartment, Jack. It’s not happening,” she said, trying to pull her arm from my grip.

I pulled her arm and then twisted it around her back.

“Just move.” My voice was steady and my grip was firm.

I opened the door and pushed her forward. She fought every step, but we were moving forward, past the wall of mailboxes and the little table of orphaned magazines.

In the elevator I put my hand over her mouth and pressed her against the wall. Her eyes were wide as she tensed in my grip. I took a hungry handful of her breast as she struggled.

When the door opened, I released her quickly and stood up straight. To our surprise, two of my neighbors were standing in the hallway waiting for the elevator. I smiled and walked out of the elevator and towards my door, listening intently for Stacy’s footsteps behind me.

“Hi,” she said politely to my neighbors.

I didn’t look back, I just opened my door. When I finally turned around she was standing in the hallway with her arms crossed again.

I walked towards her and she backed up. I lunged forward and caught both of her arms in my hands. She tried to turn, but I pulled her toward my door. She tried to pull my hands off of her arms, but before she knew it she was already in my apartment and the door was closed.

“I’ll scream.”

I chuckled. “Like you did when you saw my neighbors?”

She frowned, trying to think of an answer. The game versus real life. She didn’t want to break the role, but she knew she just did. She crossed her arms again, I pushed her against my door.

“You didn’t say a thing when they were watching us.”

She averted her gaze from mine.

“I… didn’t want to make a scene,” she whispered.

I slid my hand down her side and let my fingers spread out under her shirt. Her skin was hot and deliciously smooth. My other hand moved up and slipped into her short hair. I made a fist and she winced as I pulled her hair hard and made her face me.

“Stop. You said you just wanted to talk-” she started, but I pulled my hand from her hair and slapped her hard across the face again.

“I thought you said you weren’t stupid.”

There’s a laugh that sometimes comes over me. Have you ever heard the giggle a girl gets when she is being topped? The nervous, giddy, sort of uncontrollable giggle like being tickled just a little too long? This is the exact opposite of that laugh. This is when control washes over you and you turn that corner in your head and you know that no matter how hard she squirms you can hold her down and no matter how hard she fights you will win.

It’s the cocky laugh of someone who has been given the power. It’s not like I am taking something from her, after all. She is giving something to me. Something she feels she needs to give to me. It is always awkward for me to take it, because in a way I have been careful all my life not to, but once we were there and once we trusted each other enough, the decision is made and I find I am more than capable of enjoying it.

It’s was a good thing to remind myself as I hit her again. One more smack across the face. Her eyes flash as she faces me, cheek bright red and her breath coming in hard puffs out of her nose.

I pull her hands above her head and press them against the door. She tried to knee me in the balls and I smile wide and laugh again, moving my hip to block her and then pressing my knees against her legs so that she is pressed hard against the door.

“What are you going to do?” I say, my eyes on hers so that I can see my own reflection in angry green.

“I’m gunna fucking…” she spat through clenched teeth, but then just struggled more leaving her silly threat dangling unfinished.

I let her go a little and she pushed forward, then I turned and used her little momentum to push her forward so that she hit the side of my couch with her legs. I twisted one of her armed behind her again and put my other hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down into the cushions of my couch as her body was bent over the arm.

She screamed into the cushion and flailed her her one free arm around, only hitting the couch and the wall.

I took of my belt off loudly with one hand and she froze a little, tensing her body. I grabbed her one flailing arm and pulled it behind her back, and then went to work getting the belt around her arms, just above the elbows. It wouldn’t hold her for long, but it was good for a little while.

I held her down with my hand on the belt holding her arms together behind her back. She struggled, but was already tiring herself out. All of her movement had made her skirt ride up and so I pulled it up some more so that I saw her blue pantied bottom. She tried to kick at me, but I pinned her legs to the couch with my knees.

“You’re a little pain in the ass, you know that?” I grunted as I pulled her back up standing, put my arms around her and picked her up.

I carried her squirming kicking body around the couch and threw her down on it face first so that she was laying on it, then I reached over to the other side of the couch and got the little box I’d set up just for this.

She wiggled back and forth and my belt was coming off, but I got some rope out of the box and was able to make a quick little tie around her wrists. She was furious, and actually kicked me once in the stomach as I went to grab her legs and tie them together with another bit of rope. It didn’t really hurt and I laughed as she looked back at me.

Every time she broke the little game, even with the smallest inauthentic look in her eyes it made me oddly giddy. I guess I needed the little reminders that it was all a game, or maybe the reminder of how much she wanted it to seem real but was unable to. It all just made me want to do all of these dirty things to her harder.

When she was tied, I looked down at the blue panties again. Her white skin was like a canvas. My heart was racing and my face was flushed. I took her hair in one hand and slapped her ass for the first time. She yelled into the couch, making muffled and pretty sounds. I spanked her again and again, her skin cold from being outside in the car for so long. Each time my hand landed the skin was warmer. My hand marks were bright red, each finger visible.

When I stopped she was panting loud and fast against the cushions. I put my hand on her now hot ass and lifted it quickly. She braced for the blow and I just laughed. I stopped laughing and took a breath and she tensed again, sure that this would be another volley, but I just laughed more. Then, finally I spanked her when she seemed the least expecting.

She finally lifted her ass up, making pleading yelps and arching her back trying to escape my hand. I let up and stroked her warm red skin.

“You hate this, hm?” I whispered down at her ear.

“I mean, there’s no way you’re enjoying this,” I continued, my fingers moving down her ass to her thighs. As my fingers crept towards her cunt she clenched her legs.

“Nooo!” she whined, but it was too late.

The baby blue panties were navy at the crotch with her wetness. I laughed as I rubbed the fabric against her sex. She sobbed “no” again and again, but I kept rubbing. She was moving her bottom away from my hand, but it was no use, I slipped a finger under the cotton and found very short, but soft hair that was deliciously wet.

Suddenly she let out a yell and bucked her hips away from me and started struggling hard and fast, falling off the couch for a moment. I pulled her back on the couch and got on top of her, kneeling on each side of her legs.

I grabbed her hair again with one hand and this anger filled me. I spanked her once hard and then grabbed those panties and pulled as hard as I could with one quick rush of energy. The cotton ripped instantly, though they didn’t come off. She cried out and tried to get away, but I was sitting on her legs. I pulled more of her panties off, finally getting the crotch to rip so that her sex was exposed.

I unzipped my pants and she started squealing and trying to pull herself away by her elbows. I took out my cock, which was sore from being achingly hard for so long in my pants. I pulled a condom from my pocket and opened it, pulling the slippery thing out and rolling it onto my cock.

“Don’t, Jack, don’t,” she said, her eye catching mine as she turned her head.

Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. She looked me in the eyes for only the tiniest of second and then looked away and said “no” again. She couldn’t look at me, I knew it. She couldn’t see me, she wanted me to be the attacker. She wanted me to be the rapist.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking cunt,” I said in a low hard voice.

I slapped her in the back of the head and grabbed her hair. I leaned down and whispered into her ear. “You better fucking shut up.”

I pressed down against her, her back arching and her ass pushing up. I felt the heat of her cunt against me and I moved against her, I held my cock in one hand and her hair in the other and I pushed it forward, finding the slickness of her wetness and then I pushed into her.

I was inside of her and she was bucking against me.

“No, no, no!” it wasn’t cry of alarm anymore, it was her mantra.

The angle wasn’t working, I got up roughly, slipping out of her. I looked down at her panting mostly clothed body. I pulled off my shoes and pants and reached down and picked her up. I carried her in my arms the short distance and deposited her on my bed. She struggled, but was too tired and overwhelmed to do more than wiggle around. I pushed up her shirt and pulled down the cups of her bra enough to get her breasts out a bit. I sucked on her nipples which were smallish and pink.

I laughed as I sucked them because she couldn’t hold in a loud moan as I sucked them and twirled my tongue around them. I felt her tits roughly and then spanked each on a few times. She winced and her eyes rolled back. I slapped them more and then slapped her across the face.

“Come on you fucking slut. Where’d the fight go?” I goaded.

She glared at me with the fire I saw before and she let out a animal like growl.

I laughed more, right in her face. Then I pushed her bound legs up so that her knees almost touched her face and I moved my cock back to her cunt and it slipped in like there were magnets connecting our sexes. She was soaked to the middle of her thighs. I pushed in hard and grabbed her hips and fucked her that way. Both of her ankles resting on one of my shoulders as I slammed into her hard and fast, the whole bed moving.

She was moaning and grunting with every thrust and mumbling little things I couldn’t make out and then everything was going faster and my heart was pounding in my ears.

She came first, hard. So hard her muscles clenched tight. I kept fucking her. I felt my orgasm starting somewhere inside of my stomach. I felt it coming. Then she tensed again and let out a “fuck” and her muscles clutched so tight she pushed me right out of her cunt.

I quickly repositioned myself, grabbing my cock, which was soaked, and pushing it back just in time for me to start coming. I pushed in hard and tried to hold on to her hips. My body was failing, the intensity was taking over and all I could do was push into her and scream as I came and came.

Then there was only panting.

She was limp like a rag doll as I untied her. Her whole demeanor had changed completely. She was quiet, docile, almost sad looking. I started to worry. She looked up and gave me a crooked little smile.

“Wow,” she said blinking.

I broke into a different laugh, my real laugh, I fell into her arms and she curled up against me and we kissed softly. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. We communicated a lot in a few seconds of stairing. Then I pulled off her clothes and she pulled of the rest of mine and we slipped under the blankets and didn’t say a word. We just kissed and I soothed her and we just enjoyed the lingering electricity of our second date.

The Date, Part One

The crickets chirped as I pulled the car up to the clearing. Nothing but trees around us and stars above us. I turned off the motor but left the lights and the radio on. Out here the station was a little static-y, but the smooth sounds of an old Motown song came through.

Stacy was twenty. We met online, talked a lot, hit it off. I wasn’t sure she would go for me. I was ten years older, a little awkward. Turns out she was just as awkward. Two book nerds who found we hit it off pretty well over coffee.

She was pretty; sort of fair skinned, green eyed, very short reddish brown hair parted neatly with bangs that were swept to the side and held back with a barrette. She was that perfect (at least for me) edge of just a little chubby. The slightest little belly and a plump bottom and chubby cheeks and cupid bow lips. She wore a light blue shirt with some band name on it I’ve never heard of and a smart little denim skirt. Knee high socks and Chucks. Cute. Adorable even. Big bright eyes and lip-glossed lips.

This was our second date, the first being the coffee. This time it was a foreign film and some Indian food. It was sort of perfect and now we were caught in the grips of the awkward pre-first-kiss conversation.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she marveled, looking out of the windshield at the stars. Orion was visible, the full moon loomed huge and silver in the distance. The sky was dark blue, but not quite night.

“You look beautiful,” I said, marveling too.

She looked down at her knees and smiled her crooked little smile.

I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it, the first move is so hard to make organic and casual. I shifted in my seat, moving a little closer to her. She pulled her skirt to cover some of the expanse of skin between where her socks ended and it began and settled closer to me, so that our shoulders just brushed.

When our bodies touched for that second we turned and faced each other. It was the moment. I moved in and she moved in, and then everything in the world faded and it was just the taste of her vanilla lip gloss and the softness of her kiss and my hand on her side as she turned in to give herself to the kiss fully.

It was perfect, a long slow kiss. Just the slightest brush of our tongues together, the sweetness of her mouth and the lingering spice of our dinners and her cherry coke.

When we pulled apart she was beaming. I’m sure I was too. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, powdery and pale. She giggled a little, her eyes sparkling, and then closed her eyes when I moved in to kiss her again.

We kissed, my hand again resting on her side. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the cotton. As her mouth opened a little more, my hand moved up a little until my thumb touched the bottom of her bra. She giggled again, breaking our kiss. I moved my hand up a little more just barely cupping her breast. She took a deep breath and looked me in the eyes. Then she pushed my hand down.

She sat up in her seat, swallowing. I looked down and gave her an apologetic smile. She looked at me, the light blue of her eye shadow making her eyes vivid. I noticed a touch of glitter on her cheeks. That with the way her bangs were held back with a baby blue barrette made her look so young and fresh faced.

I took a breath and sat back too. She watched me, bit her lip a little, then seeming to have made up her mind, leaned over and kissed me again. We fell into a deeper kiss, mouths growing hungrier. She slipped her arms around me and sighed into my neck, then kissed my cheek, looking up into my eyes.

I smiled back as my hand smoothed her shirt, moved up and cupped her breast again. Her eyes flashed angry as she pushed my hand away. My hand rested on her leg. I frowned at her. The atmosphere in the car grew increasingly more tense.

My fingers moved up to the edge of her shirt and then under it. She made a tiny angry huff and tried to push it away but I slipped my hand under her shirt and moved it up the hot skin of her stomach and then cupped her lacy bra-covered breast.

“No!” she cried and pulled at my hand, but I caressed and relished the soft forbidden delicacy of her body as she tried to pull me away. I pulled at her bra and then at her insanely soft skin until I freed one breast from confinement. She pulled at my hand, but I wouldn’t budge. Once my fingers felt the delicious little nub of her nipple I was lost to anything but the feel of her.

That’s when she smacked me.

*

It was some time after our first date when I had first found her blog. She left hints, she mentioned writing about this or that online. I googled her email address and it wasn’t very hard to connect the dots. A pretty blue webpage with entries that ranged from innocent to downright smutty.

I left a comment, something benign. She emailed me, telling me she didn’t mind that I read it. I asked her about fantasies. She said she had all kinds.

She was so much bolder online, but aren’t we all. I told her how I wanted to kiss her when we went out for coffee. She said I should have. It went back and forth like this.

“I’m not good at making the first move,” she admitted. “In fact I sort of need a guy to make the first move.”

She told me how she wanted it, how she wanted to be taken, how she wanted me to take her. I was dubious. It wasn’t exactly my thing… or was it? The idea germinated in the back of my mind.

She told me it didn’t matter – it was a game we could play or not. She said if I wanted some reassurance then I should stop if she said “ice cream” or if she banged three times on something.

“In case you are covering my mouth.” she wrote.

“I like to have my mouth covered.” she added.

My head was buzzing with some sexual version of cognitive dissonance. This nice pretty sweet girl having such edgy fantasies.

*

“Just stop, ok?” Stacy sighed, folding her arms over her chest and pouting.

“Maybe we should just go home.” I said, which confused her. I tried not to smile. The battle between wanting to keep up the façade and wanting to continue fooling around seemed to throw her.

I turned the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life. She put her hand on mine and looked me in the eyes.

“Just wait. We’re having a good time. You just got… carried away. I’m sorry if I over-reacted.” she was looked down now, unsure.

I turned off the engine. I sat back and looked at her, relishing the embarrassment.

“It’s just that I thought you liked me, Stacy.”

She smiled weakly. “I do!”

I smiled back and leaned in to kiss her. She pulled back for a moment and then kissed me chastely on the lips. I smiled again into her kisses and kissed her deeply. Her eyes fluttered as she melted into the kiss and I felt her trembling a little.

My hand landed on her knee, innocently. As we kissed my fingers traced little circles in her skin. She was aware of it, but it wasn’t that intrusive. We were really kissing now. The sweetness of her mouth almost made me forget what game we were playing.

When I pushed her back a little and my hand started working up her thigh she gasped into my mouth, breaking our kiss. I had to push up her skirt at the same time or my hand wouldn’t fit between her legs – Show quoted text – the night was upon us. The door swung open and before I knew it she was slipping away, tumbling to the grass outside of the car.

I got out and stood over her. She was panting, her skirt still pulled up to her waist, the light blue of her panties showing a little. I held out my hand.

“I have to go home, Jack. Take me home.” she pouted, not looking into my eyes.

This little ball of worry started in my stomach. Was this all a game? Did I break some rule or go too far? She hadn’t said the word.

“You have to take me home, please! You can’t just… just… you can’t ra-” she bit her lip. “You can’t just fuck me here.”

She was still on the floor, looking down at my shoes. Her legs opening a little, her hair slightly rustled.

We can be all different kinds of people at different times and certain people brought out different things in us. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t something I particularly wanted, but in the moment I was lost in this girl’s fantasy. It took me over and, suddenly, I was rock hard. My eyes narrowed and I was what she wanted me to be.

There is a euphoria in that, because you don’t have to be who you are and you can revel in being something someone truly wants.

And that’s when I hit her.

Just a smack across the face. One smack and you find out so much about a girl. They can call the whole thing off, though I’ve never gotten to that point with someone who would call things off for a smack in the face. There are girls who will take it and look down and blush. There are girls who will get giddy little smiles after they are smacked, delighting in the adrenaline rush. Then there are the girls like Stacy who look right into your eyes and clench their jaws. Girls who fight back.

I like them all in different ways, bratty to groveling, but a fighter is extra fun.

She glared at me as she held her cheek and awkwardly got up off the ground. One of her knees was stained green from the grass, just above her sock.

She was about to say something when headlights came from behind us. I saw two cars pull up to a clearing nearby. This was sort of a “lover’s lane” type place with a clear view of the sky and nothing else to disturb people. I had hoped we would have the place to ourselves, but it looked like we might have to find another place for our little game.

I walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat. I looked at her through the open passenger side door and, starting the engine, said “Get in the fucking car.”

She glared, took a look at the other cars, and obeyed. She sat in the seat with a huff and crossed her arms and frowned.

“Are you taking me home?” she said with a pout.

I didn’t answer her, I just stepped on the gas.

Rent

The whole idea of a female roommate was a bit odd to Mark. When his first roommate Tom moved out Mark was in a pretty tough place financially, so he took the first person who inquired about the room. Paige was quiet, neat and mostly stayed out of his way so it worked out well.

Mark had been going to business school and needed someone to pay half of his rent. Once he got a good job, though, he had more than enough money and kept Paige as his roommate just out of habit. It was nice to come home to someone sometime and Mark didn’t have the time to find a girlfriend because of the insane hours he worked, so it was fun to have someone to see a movie with and occasionally cook for.

Paige was still in school and was very broke. She certainly needed the roommate situation, though even with the low rent she could barely make ends meet.

Coming home one night Mark saw his roommate sitting on the couch studying as usual. Paige was pre-med and was working hard to get into medical school. Usually Mark tended to look at his roommate as a friend, not a close friend, but in the way a good roommate tends to be. There when you want to hang out and gone when you want to be alone. They had both honed their radar to know when the other needed their space.

Sometimes, like tonight, when Paige was busy and preoccupied and didn’t even notice Mark coming in, she dressed in a very loose tee shirt with nothing under it and some boxer shorts and Mark was acutely reminded that his roommate was very much female. Mark moved around the apartment quietly, trying not to disturb her as she studied. He put away his briefcase and groceries and tried not to stare as she leaned forward looking at a book, giving him a perfect view down her shirt.

Paige was not a very glamorous girl. She was very focused on being a doctor. She didn’t wear much makeup, she didn’t dress very fancily, but she had a lovely little body. There had been many times when Mark chided himself for letting his eyes linger on her large breasts. As he stood between the living room where she studied and his bedroom, he put a few books away in the bookshelf and found himself hypnotized by the line of her cleavage. Watching her lean forward even more, he got the slightest glimpse of the pink of her areola before she sat up and looked at him with a start.

“Mark! Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Mark smiled, hoping she didn’t catch him staring at her tits. There was some look in her eyes and maybe a little redness in her cheeks that told him that she might have.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you,” Mark said, trying to ignore the sudden weird tension he felt.

Mark walked into the living room and noticed Paige squirming to pull her shirt down to cover her exposed legs a bit.

“It’s okay. I’ve been at this for around six hours straight. I had to get all these new textbooks and I’m trying to finish these readings by tomorrow.”

Mark looked at the variety of open books and nodded empathetically.

“Paige, I know you’re busy but I kind of have to ask you about… the rent.”

She winced and looked away embarrassed.

“I’ve been cool about it, you usually pay me a week or two late, which is fine… but it’s February 20th and you still haven’t given me anything. And you are two months behind on your half of the electric.”

She put a bookmark in between the pages she was reading and closed the heavy textbook.

“Yeah. Even used, this book was like $200. I had no idea I would have all these extra expenses like lab fees and photocopies and a million other things. I guess I’m going to have to try and get… a part time job or something. You’re being really understanding Mark, really. I’m trying to get some money together, but right now I have around $100 to my name. I wish I could give you something, but I don’t have it.”

She sniffled a little and Mark felt guilty for bringing it up.

“If you need me… I mean… If you have to kick me out or what ever…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She had no money and her parents lived far away and gave her what they could. Her scholarship money only went so far.

Mark cleared his throat. He didn’t want her out, but he couldn’t exactly let her live there for free.

“I don’t want you to move out. I don’t know what to do exactly. Listen, let’s give it a couple of weeks and see what you can pull together. Maybe you can give me a little and we can work the rest out.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

*

Four days later he came home to find her asleep on the couch surrounded by books. He wondered if he should wake her, but thought better of it. As he put his things away he noticed that she was once again wearing nothing but a tee shirt and tiny shorts. The tee shirt had ridden up as she slept and exposed a bit of her stomach and the way she was sleeping her legs and thighs were exposed as well. There was something about the position that made Mark stare, though he knew he shouldn’t.

The curve of her leg, her knee, then the smoothness of her thigh leading up to her ass … also leading up to that point between her legs. As she shifted in her sleep her legs moved a little more apart and he could see up the leg of her shorts a bit, catching a glimpse at a little patch of pink underwear.

“Damn, it’s been too long since I had a girlfriend,” he thought to himself.

He didn’t notice her eyes fluttering open as he stood there, holding his open briefcase, ogling her half naked body.

“Mark?”

He nearly jumped.

“Oh, uh, hi. I…” He looked down at his briefcase and then turned around, putting things away.

“I… uh… I just came in and I was totally zoning out. I just worked like 13 hours,” he said quickly.

Looking up she gave him the strangest look. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he thought his best bet was going to his room, quietly relieving this sexual tension and going to sleep as quickly as possible.

*

A week after that Mark came home to find his roommate once again asleep on the couch. This time the sight made his jaw clench and his pants tighten. She wore a smaller shirt, not like the over sized things he’d been accustomed to seeing. This was a tank top that was very low cut in the front. What was even more provocative was the fact that she was wearing only that top and a pair of panties.

She was curled up in a ball on the couch, which gave him a perfect view of her ass. He wanted her badly. He wanted to curl up next to her and spoon her and slip his arm around her and cup her breast. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to fuck her.

He went to his room quickly this time; he didn’t want to get caught starring at her again, especially when she was nearly naked.

In his room he paced and went over and over again in his head the details of her body. He didn’t know why it had taken so long to notice how hot she was. He had been so focused on being a good roommate, staying out of her way, working hard; he never took the time to see how sexy she was.

Mark sat down on his bed and stroked the hardness under his pants. He had to forget this. He knew his best bet was jerking off and going to bed. He thought about going out to take one more peek, but he laughed at himself. He was a grown man and he was going to start playing Peeping Tom in his own house.

Just then a knock came from his door. It opened without him responding.

Paige stood there in the tank top and the panties with a sleepy look in her eyes. She walked in and closed the door behind her.

“I thought I heard you come in. I wanted to talk to you.” Her voice was low, she looked nervous.

“Oh, yeah. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

She shrugged. He could see the tips of her nipples hard under the shirt. He tried not to devour every inch of her with his eyes.

“It’s about the rent, Mark.”

Mark tried to keep his eyes on hers and not on her body.

“You’ve been really good about the rent and stuff. I’m really not doing well financially. I know you are. You could probably just pay the rent easily yourself, but we both know that’s not fair.”

She moved towards him slowly, standing in front of him and blushing a deep red.

“I’ve been thinking about some other arrangement we could come up with where I could pay you my share… maybe in a different way.”

Mark opened his mouth, but couldn’t figure out what to say. He thought he knew where she was going with this, but he knew it couldn’t be. He thought he must not have been understanding her.

“I’ve lived here for just over a year and I’ve seen that you are trustworthy and a very good person. I know you work hard. Really hard all week and on weekends too.” She knelt down in front of him and looked up with doe eyes.

“Maybe instead of rent you could use someone to help you. You know…” She bit her lip and batted her eyes. “A girl to just use and fuck. Someone to suck your cock when you get home.”

She reached up and undid his belt, unbuttoned his fly and stared into his eyes as she pulled out his hard cock.

“Do you think that would be worth rent? I could do it a lot. I could be like a live in slut for you. Would that be okay?”

She moved in and he felt her hot breath on his cock. It was so hard it was painful. It had been so long since he’d gotten a blow job. When her mouth enveloped him he groaned loudly and his eyes closed.

She sucked him perfectly. She got his cock wet and jerked him off while she sucked. The pressure was making him crazy. The whole thing was too much and he felt himself edging towards an orgasm very quickly.

“I’m… it’s…” he tried to say, but he was already coming.

She kept going, faster, sucking hard and long. She sucked him as he came, the feeling of her hot mouth on him when the orgasm his was almost too much. He loved the feel of her continuing to suck after he came. Every muscle in his body relaxed and he fell back onto the bed. Soon he felt her crawling next to him and whispering in his ear.

“So? What do you think?”

He smiled at her, thinking. There had always been something so straight forward about Paige; even now, the look in her eyes showed that she was hot, horny and probably wet, but still considering this a business arraignment. Mark, now realizing the implications of the step she just took, pondered the situation. As he did, his cock grew hard.

“Well, as nice as that was, you owe me a lot of money. If you want to start this kind of arrangement I’m going to need a lot more than a blow job.”

She climbed on to his bed and turned around and then pulled down her panties down to to the middle of her thighs. She looked back at him from her position on her hands and knees.

Mark turned and knelt in front of her waiting body. His cock hard as his mind raced with possibilities.

“I’m willing to be your live in slut,” she said matter of factly, as she arched her back and exposed everything to him.

Mark smiled, realizing this was a lot more than a useful business arrangement for her. He grabbed her ass and slid his still wet cock head against the wetness of her. She purred and whined.

“Twice a week? Anything I want. Anywhere I want.”

She nodded quickly, reaching back and squeezing her ass and looking at him, her eyes glazed over with lust.

“Yes.”

As he slipped in and groaned at the heat of her he whispered, “Then we can talk about the electric and cable bills.”