As He Likes It

She had been eyeing his suit since 59th Street. When the train emptied at 14th she took the sudden exodus as an excuse to sit next to him.

“I’ve never seen working sleeve buttons up close. It’s such a beautiful detail,” she said, her fingers hovering over his light gray glen plaid.

The button holes on his sleeve were stitched in orange, a delicate but striking accent that implied bespoke.

“May I?” she requested, looking into his dark eyes.

He nodded, trying to suppress a grin.

She felt the fabric, examined it more closely. Her leg pressed against his as she leaned in.

“Gaberdine. So soft,” she whispered.

He took a greedy gaze of her curly hair and her naked shoulders and the cleavage exposed by the deep dip of her summer dress.

“I’m Carl, by the way,” he said, extracting his sleeve from her intense examination.

“Sorry, I’m Lisbeth, I’m really into fabrics.”


Two nights later they met for drinks.

She had never been to a bar that was so fancy and secret. She rang a doorbell in front of what looked like a brownstone apartment in midtown. A man in a three piece suit answered and asked for her name. He then closed the door for a full minute before letting her in and guiding her through dark halls of red and black damask wallpaper to a small booth hidden by a thick red curtain.

Carl sat with his leg crossed sipping some amber liquid from an old fashioned champaign coupe.

The maître d’ showed her to the seat next to Carl and then closed the curtain on them.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” he said coolly, then he pulled a small brass chain that hung against the wall.

A waitress popped her head in.

“Lisbeth, do you enjoy gin?” Carl asked.

She liked the occasional martini so she nodded.

“Would you like to see a menu, or may I order for us?”

She shrugged.

“Your words, Lisbeth. You should use them,” he said, his eyes darkening.

His look made her back straighten and her heart pick up its pace. It was odd that a strangers small disapproval should have such an effect. She demurred, wondering if he could tell her nipples were hardening.

“Yes, please order for me,” then rather instinctively she added “sir.”

He smiled. The waitress smiled.

“The lady will have an Aviation. I’ll have another Monkey’s Gland.”

And so it was.


She watched, cat like from the doorway, as he hung his suit up carefully. In the closet was a row of suits, brown and black and blue, pinstriped, windowpaned, chalk striped.

He laid his tie on a neat metal rack that hung from the wall.

She walked into the room and folded her short dress under her as she started to sit down on his bed, the only place available in his bedroom besides his rather futuristic desk chair, which seemed impolite to move to.

“No no. You have been on the train, running around town in the heat, it just won’t do. Will you be a good girl and go to the bathroom and wash up for me?”

She was conflicted. She didn’t like the insinuation that she was unclean, but when he said “good girl” a little spark blazed in her heart. She did want to be a good girl. She wanted that more than anything. If that meant a little soap and water that was easy enough.

“If you don’t mind, of course,” he added.

“Yes sir. I’ll go clean up.”

She walked down his long hall and closed the door behind her when she entered the old Manhattan bathroom. A thick porcelain sink with a fine pattern of tiny veined cracks, crooked tiles that were probably once perfect but were now a different kind of beautiful in their chipped lived in elegance.

She glanced at the claw food bathtub and wondered if he meant for her to take a bath. The thought was tempting.

What did clean up mean?

She saw a neat pile of folded washcloths on the windowsill. She picked one up and and soaked it in water. She washed her hands and arms. She dabbed at her face, not messing up her make up. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Where are you dirty?


Back in the bedroom he was busy putting his things away. She sat on the bed and saw there was now a large glass of ice water and a small glass of whiskey waiting for her on the bedside table.

He was at his desk, opening a dark wood box. She sat up to see into it. Looking around the room she noticed that he had many cases and boxes and containers. A place for everything.

Inside the box on his desk was a collection of cufflinks, collar stays, tie bars, pins, a pocket watch, a cigarette case, and other items she couldn’t place. He hung his watch on a little oval stand in the box and placed his cufflinks neatly with the others.

Then he unbuttoned his lovely shirt. There was something significantly arousing about watching his fingers undo buttons, pull at sleeves, expose skin.

He wore a simple but perfectly white a-shirt underneath.

He turned on her with a grin.

“Well now, let’s see how well you’ve cleaned.”

She was taken aback by the sentence.


“I want you to get on you hands and knees on the bed and pull off you panties for me. Will you do that for me, Lisbeth?” he asked with a calm voice as if he were asking her to fill out a form in an office.

She really wasn’t sure. Things were not going how she expected them to go, but she did want to be a good girl.

“Wh-what are you going to do then, sir?”

He clenched his jaw for a moment then relaxed.

“I’m going to inspect you. In fact in the next few minutes, if you agree, I’m going to look over every inch of your pretty body and see exactly how I want to use it,” he explained both coolly and concisely.

She swallowed. The thought of doing what he said instantly made some kind of strange sense to her. It made her squirm. It made her heart beat so fast and hard it sort of hurt.

He stood with his hands behind his back, somehow still looking very fancy even tough he was just in an a-shirt and his lovely gray pinstriped trousers. His suspenders hang at his sides, a detail that made her even more aroused.

“We can talk a bit and relax instead, but I thought you might like this kinky game, perhaps as much as I do. To use you like a little doll or a toy. You see I very much enjoy collecting pretty things. You see all my ties and cufflinks and etchings and bobbles,” he said waving his hand at the various objet de art on his wall and bookshelves.

“But before finding the perfect use for something I have to examine it. I have to see how it works. Sometimes I even have to be rough with it, see how durable it is. Do you understand?”

She wanted to say yes, but the word got stuck in her throat.

So he waited.

She took a sip of water. It was very cold and very refreshing.

“Alright, sir. That all sounds very nice,” she said, her voice like a little mouse.

He smiled wide and then clapped his hands once, which made her jump.

“Excellent. I’m very glad you are up for that. Now do you remember what I wanted you to do?”

She took another sip of water and then got up on her hands and knees on the bed, feeling a little foolish, but also a little dizzy from the knowledge of what he was planning.

“On my hands and knees, sir?

“Yes, and?”

She blushed.

“And, um, pulling down my panties, sir,” she said, pulling up her dress a bit, trying to pull down her panties without exposing herself too much, then chiding herself because he was going to see everything soon enough.

The thought made her face get even hotter. Then the thought of how wet she was getting and how he would soon know!

She got the panties down her legs and slipped them off, putting them neatly on the table next to her water.

He moved forward, standing next to the bed, and put his hand on her back. His touch, even so simple a touch, made her stomach tighten and her hips roll a little involuntarily.

He leaned down, pushing her hair away from her ear.

“That was excellent. You are being a very good girl so far. I want you to make sure to let me know if you want me to stop doing anything I’m doing. We won’t need any fancy safewords, a simple ‘no’ will do. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, hyper aware of the subtle smell of his cologne.

He had said it. He has called her a good girl. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Um, sir? Before you examine me, could you, um, kiss me first? Sir?

He reached up and brushed her cheek with his manicured nails. He smiled warmly.



Sometimes time slows until it is cool honey dripping off the end of a spoon. In those moments my mind opens and I look around with new eyes, taking everything in, relishing every detail, and recording every nuance in my memory.

Perhaps there was an element of mourning there, in the detachment, but it is only when I became the outsider, the onlooker, that I am truly content.

It happened on subway cars, in midnight diners, in libraries, and on dense city streets. It happened at bars, in clubs and most certainly at parties.

Of all the parties I had been to or been part of, there were some that made me question if my life was reality. At some point had I truly broken off? Was I sitting somewhere in a padded room dreaming it all up?

The big square loft had one wall that was just windows from the floor to the luxuriously high ceiling. The ceiling was a web of pipes and girders, many of which had been covered in christmas lights, hung with lanterns, or festooned with pretty ribbons and beads like a Mardi Gras float.

The cast of characters paraded in, all pretty, all scantily clad, most prompt. My eyes focused on the thighs exposed over long socks or stockings, luscious expanses of cleavage, the curve of an ass, the bow of red stained lips.

I engaged, certainly, being the charmer, the jokester, the helpful and dutiful friend, but watching was ideal.

A familiar friend, a lover, a toy, entered the room. She seemed to understand where I was; where my mind had gone. She sat next to me silently, but close enough that our legs touched, her hand brushing mine.

Her thighs were exposed too, my eyes fell on them and my fingers crept over them as she joined me in my voyeurism.

A couple on a cushion on the floor across from us, crawled around each other like caged tigers and my fingers crept up her thigh as they watched.

Two girls squeezed onto one chair shyly kissed under the command of their harsh mistress.

In the corner a girl stood facing the wall, her hand between her legs, face red, ass red, a man twice her age whispering into her ear. The word “slut” the only thing audible.

As we watched all of the little tableaus played out, the girl next to me made herself deliciously useful. She pushed herself forward so that his my slid right to her crotch. She pressed herself into my fingers, quiet, just a little toy I could play with while I watched the party.

Her panties were thin and moved to the side easily. My fingers slipping into her automatically. She was hot and wet and tight and receptive to my every movement.

We watched as the girl in the corner furiously worked her hand between her legs, biting her own lip, closing her eyes for a moment until her tormenter slapped her and made her open them.

“Do you like this whole room watching you fuck yourself?” he asked.

She nodded. He slapped her again.

“Say it, you dumb little cunt,” he said.

The war was visible on her lips. Her fingers kept moving. She fumbled for the right words.

“I-I, um. I like everyone watching me fuck myself with my fingers,” she said, seemingly surprised by the sound of her own voice and shocked by what she said.

Someone laughed. Someone else moaned. The couple on the cushion were fucking, the dull rhythmic slap of their bodies echoing along with the music.

The girl I was fingering suddenly sat up, then slipped off the couch and onto the floor in front of me. She pulled at my pants, though my eyes were on the girl in the corner. I wondered if she could come that way. The girl on her knees pulled my cock out and greedily sucked on it. She was brazed, messy, hungry. She pulled my pants down lower and kissed my thigh, she pressed her cheek against my hard cock, nuzzling, purring, then finally sucking again.

The girl in the corner kept closing her eyes and then getting chided for it. She was close. She looked scared and yet her hand never stopped.

Her tormentor pulled her bra down. Her breasts were beautiful, full, with large dark nipples. He slapped her breasts as she whimpered.

The girl sucking my cock stopped for a moment. She fished something out of her bag. She came back and standing in front of my, but not blocking my view, she pulled off her panties.

She was so very skilled. The way she rolled the condom into my cock so easily. The way she turned and backed up onto me, leaned forward so that she didn’t obscure my view of anything.

The heaven of watching the couple on the cushion fucking hard, the girls on the chair making out coquettishly, the girl in the corner shamed and on the edge. All of that as my toy backed up and my cock slowly slipped into her. Tight and wet and perfect. Her ass in my lap and her hands on the floor. My hands at my sides just enjoying it all.

Then concentration became a struggle. The scenes before me became flashes of images. The man on the cushion coming on his partners breasts. The girls on the chair lost in their passion, delicate fingers on each other’s nipples. The girl in the corner’s whimpers rising an octave.

“Please sir, can I come?” she begged as her breasts were slapped again and again.

I waited for his permission too, wrapped up in their tension.

“Do you deserve it?” he laughed.

She grappled with the right answer.

My toy pushed herself back against me again and again. Her rhythm became erratic, her pussy tightening around me as let out three high cries as she came.

A little flicker of anger came to me because she hadn’t asked permission like the girl in the corner did. As well I missed the girls reply to her master’s question.

I pulled my toy’s hips back and forth, since her orgasm left her too dizzy to keep up the cadence I needed.

I waited for his words. The man making the girl finger herself. I needed his permission too. I needed to hear her come. I needed to follow their game. I needed it even though my own body was falling closer and closer to the cliff or orgasm.

“Come then you little slut. Show everyone what a wanton little bitch you are-”

Before he was done with the sentence her pretty mouth was open wide as she contorted and leaned against the wall, coming on her fingers and whining and cursing.

Then all I heard was my own blood rushing in my ears. My toy’s tight pussy ready for me. She had gathered her strength and knowing I was about to come she pushed back fast and hard sitting up on my lap, pulling my hands to her breasts.

Then my eyes flashed open. All the people in the room and their hungry lips and their bare thighs and their wild abandon filling my head. And I came and I came and went into some far away space where we were all one throbbing orgiastic creature made of shame and fear and want and lust.

Anatomy of a Spanking

The struggle ended at the couch. She whined and flailed as I dragged her across the apartment by her arm, but when I sat down and pulled her onto them lap she was suddenly still and quite.

My hand naturally went to her hair. No matter how she laid, her posture could always be improved. I moved under her and guided her by the hair until she was in the ideal position. Her waist directly over my lap, her chest and arms leaning on the couch cushion next to me, and her knees resting on the other side of me. This pushed her ass high enough for me to get a good angle and made sure that as much of our bodies were touching as possible.

In that position, with my hand in her hair, I was in control of her body, but I was also hyper aware of it. I could feel every move she made, pressing against me or shifting away from me.

She looked back at me over her shoulder, her hair covering most of her face, but her eyes still visible as she narrowed them at me and pouted. Her attitude only made me smile. I pulled her head back into position by her hair, hard enough that she said “ouch!”

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The Eyes and the Hand

Of the many strange and wonderful things I’ve seen in the past few years, few were as surprising as the tableau I glimpses as the elevator doors opened to the party in the penthouse of the fancy downtown hotel. It was amazing, beautiful, decadent, breathtaking, and also pretty fucking weird.

Actually it wasn’t just one penthouse, but three, all opened up to the others to form a sort of club, with a DJ, two different bars, and various sexy and kinky accoutrements. Massage tables, a Saint Andrew’s cross, contraptions I didn’t know the names of for tying people to or fucking people against.

I’d been to somewhat similar events, but usually they were at somewhat seedy locals with a crowd that was a mixed bag. This took everything to a new level. The whole place was opulent, clean, organized, and all of the people there were beautiful. Some were waif like model beautiful, others curved and busty beautiful, others wild hair burner beautiful. There were all kinds of beautiful. Big Chippendale dancer looking beautiful. Assess chap beautiful. Beautiful. (I know I’m teetering into that place where you repeat a word until it has no meaning, but anyway.)

Some of these people were in tuxedos, others lingerie, some in leather or latex. Hell there was a woman laying on a table wearing nothing but sushi.

I tried not to gawk and hoped my suit was up to snuff. Still as strange as it all was, it was remarkable how quickly I become acclimated to the environment. Within minutes I was touring the place, champagne flute in hand, as if it were a normal Saturday evening.

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The Princess and the Unnecessarily Elaborate Hotdog

She walked into the diner just as I was finishing my dinner. She dragged her feet and popped her gum and wore a frown perfectly.

The place was 50s chic, the counters lined with chrome and the booths with well stuffed red pleather cushions. A Lower East Side remake of a Brooklyn version of a Happy Days or David Lynch ideal of a greasy spoon.

She wore a huge puffy pink parka, pink pajama pants, rain boots, and big movie star sunglasses. She looked both miserable and determined. She was my age, but with a decidedly more youthful fashion sense, to put it mildly.

She stomped up to the counter, pushing past a family of tourists who were looking over the menu, unsure of their order. She didn’t need a menu, she knew exactly what she wanted.

“Sweet potato fries and a peanut butter cup milkshake, to go,” she dead panned to the man behind the counter. He pushed back his little paper hat and nodded.

I swooned at her order and her bratty delivery.

I tried not to stare at her as she waited for her order, but as she unzipped the ridiculously large coat I glimpsed something skin tight, low cut and pink, underneath. I looked away, but she caught my eye and glared.

I went back to my Kindle. The digital revolution making it easier to hide the fact that I mostly read smut. She eyed me and my food and swiveled her head to look at my book, which I agilely moved out of her view.

There seemed to be a bit of an internal debate going on behind her sunglasses. Deciding if I was a creep or not. Frankly I didn’t know the answer to that one myself. Looking me up and down once more I guess she thought I was at least tolerable. She moved my way to make room for the tourists.

“What did you order?” she interrogated.

I looked down at the little nub of what was left of my dinner.

“It was hotdog wrapped in cheese, wrapped in bacon, with avocado and spicy mayonnaise on top.”

She bit her lip and groaned.

“I want that,” she said, seemingly to herself.

I laughed and smiled, but she cut her eyes at me.

“No, I mean I want one now. You should get me one.”

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The Replacement

David didn’t remember turning his alarm clock off, but as he yawned and stretched that Saturday morning he decided it was probably a good idea he hadn’t set it. After the week he had, he needed a little extra rest. Plus, it was the weekend – weren’t you supposed to sleep in?

He turned in his instinctual morning movement to check his phone and found a crisp sheet of white paper folded over it.

He opened the note and saw the neat script of his girlfriend Emily.


I hope this doesn’t come as a shock – and it shouldn’t if you have any awareness at all about our relationship over the last few months – but, I’m leaving you.

I just can’t do this anymore. I love you, but we both have grown and grown apart. Everything has gone sour and I don’t see that changing. You will always be in my heart in some way, but I am getting out before I start hating you.

I took the liberty of getting you a replacement. I know you don’t like to sleep alone and, frankly, I worry about you. You have an important job and I don’t want you to fuck it up because you are depressed about our divorce.

The replacement’s name is Claire.

I’m staying with my parents in Decatur for a while. Don’t call.

– Emily

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The Shaving Lesson

To meet the husband of you lover is a strange thing. To realize he was flirting with you was quite another. Henry, poked at his eggs and smiled nervously as Adam and Kay whispered to each other, both pairs of their pretty eyes sparkling at him as they conspired.

Henry squirmed under their eyes and attention. The whole thing wasn’t going the way he had planned at all. He had expected brunch to be something formal, like meeting your girlfriend’s parents, but he should have known any man who would have the balls to marry Kay would have to be an interesting character himself.

When they asked him back to their apartment, Henry choked on his cold brew. Still, it was put so innocently, he had to say yes.

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Putting Things Together

She promised not to smoke if I just came over. When I got there, she stank of mouthwash and she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

You could always tell the state of Amanda’s life by the state of her lips. As she moved in to kiss my cheek, I saw that that those absurdly plump lips were bitten, chapped, and raw.

“I broke up with him,” she said, walking to the window as I sat on the broken futon.

Him being Jimmy, who was an asshole. But was tall and crooked and supposedly some fascinatingly morbid musician. I shrugged and asked if she was okay. She didn’t answer.

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Watching Them

From the top of the stairs, Tom watched as they were introduced.

He always knew Katherine would meet Diane at some point. Their circles of friends were far too close for them to stay strangers forever. Diane had been in his life for years and had been his lover once. He remembered those days and nights as he watched Diane kiss Katherine’s cheek and laughed at some joke she made. Katherine had that self deprecating charm that he imagined Diane would like.

Tom was in love with Katherine in a way he had never loved anyone. She took care of him. She was his rock as well as his inspiration. She also owned his body in a way no one had before.

Diane was some dark secret he thought of when he was alone. He had told Katherine stories, but then Tom told her all of his secrets. Watching her sip whiskey and stand near Diane, Tom’s heart ached and his cock hardened. He knew both of their bodies. He knew what it was to have Katherine ride him or slap him or fuck him. He knew what it was to push three fingers into Diane and have her beg for more. He knew the taste of them both and there they were, her hand on her arm for a moment as they charmed each other.

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The first page of a story was stapled to the back of a paper on economic reform in post soviet Russia.

Jason wasn’t sure if the story was for him or the professor or simply a mistake. He assumed the students knew that Jason was the one who really marked all the papers. Hell, he gave the lectures for the majority of the semester. Big name professors don’t do very much, teaching assistants do all the real work.

Still, the single page was like nothing Jason had ever seen in the context of Russian history, or more accurately contemporary Russian economic history. This was a snippet of a dirty dream. A little fragment of someone’s fantasy.

Jason carefully opened the staple with his fingernail and pulled the single page from the rest of the paper and then closed the staple back up.

Like most of Sophia’s work, the paper was a solid B. The story on the other hand was far more difficult to quantify.

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