by R. Greco
I felt a much bigger orgasm rumbling on my dewy horizon.
“Daddy,” I blubbered with my lost and found “Little Girl” Kay voice, stuck my ass out as far as I could and began to spank myself cheek-to-cheek as high hard and furious as I could without my dimpled knees buckling.
Smat. Smat. Smat.
“Daddy, oh, Daddy,” I cried on the fifth swat.
“Daddy, it hurts me, it hurts me!” I wailed on what I think was the twelfth, I was losing count by then in the stinging assault.
I somehow managed to keep that second orgasm at bay until Jon simply said: “Stop,” what felt like ten minutes later, but I knew was more like maybe two and half.
I was crying deeply. I was heaving for breath, my feel planted, thighs parted, clit pounding, horny. I stood fully as slow as I dared, the skin on my ass alight, my nipples rock hard and my pussy about ready to explode, as I dare not look over my shoulder at my ass.
“God, you make me hard,”
“God you make me wet.”
“Is your ass on fire?”
“Yes,” I sighed as I released the brush to the bed and managed an-ever-so-light tickle behind myself. It was then I looked to my side as I rubbed my right cheek and saw the red-blotched fleshy white mounds. Since my complexion is so light, I assumed the results of my brush back swatting would show across me in these red blotches, but I felt a hell of a lot worse then I looked really. Sure I had a few rectangular raised red areas but over all I was blushed, nothing much more. I hadn’t managed the reach-around precision to deliver any true severity to myself. That would have to wait until Jon spanked me again, if he ever spanked me again.
As always when the possibility we might never see each other again sparked in my head I shook it off as I always did.
I stood again fully, took my hand off myself and concentrated on what, if anything, Jon wished me to do next.
“Is my little one sufficiently warmed-up?”
“Yes, Daddy, I am,” I said, deepening into my lilting voice.
“I want you to lie on the bed and spread your legs.”
“Yes, sir,” I said and did so.
“Open them wide. Spread your thighs as far as they will go.”
“Yes, sir,” I said and complied. My ass hurt for sure, lying on my back like I was but I couldn’t help but roil my hips and enjoy the feel of my gloppy lips cooling the air.
“You want to touch yourself, don’t you?”
“Yes. Oh, God yes,” I answered, my voice stuck between the little girl and the wanton woman I felt I was. I wasn’t so in control or so adept at playing my younger self to be able to maintain the illusion in my voice at all times.
Besides, why not tease Jon a little too? Why not have him wonder just as much as I was when I’d present him with the woman or the girl in me. I knew by the questions he asked, which I could get away with and which felt more organic. Hell this was a learning process for us both, wasn’t it?
“You want to come?’
“You know I do,” I said in my full regular voice.
“Should I let you?”
“Please, Daddy,” I said back as my younger self.
“Mmmm, how bout you lock your thumbs into just where the front of your thighs fold into your pussy, like pin them right here.”
I reached down with my hands and pushed a thumb into folds of my crotch.
“Still wanna touch?”
“Yes, Daddy, please,” I said kneading my thumbs into my warm flesh, my pussy pulsating.
“Or do you need more punishment?”
“Oh, God,” I said and began to convulse.
“I will spank you more if you really need it.”
“Oh fucking fuck,” I gulped. “Jon, please.”
“Punishment Kay, deep, hard, unrelenting punishment.”
This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t come to just his words.
“No, Jon, please I can’t like this, I can...”
“Sure you can, and you will,” he said as I felt myself go then, a quick shuddering climax I knew would precede the bigger deep one rolling up under my belly button.
“Punishment,” Jon whispered and as cliché’ as I know it sounds, that one single three syllable word broke me open.
“Oh, oh, oh…” I brayed, I roiled, I dug my thumbs deep into my flesh. I shook my meaty thighs. I arched my back.
“Punishment,” Jon giggled and I began to wet myself, not just come but release, open, dump like I had most of the time when I came for him, when we had been together but so unlike I usually did when I masturbated.
“Pu … nish …. ment,” he tortured me with his low liquid cadence and I flooded, puddle, drenched down the crack of my ass and dewed the sheets of my high four-poster.
“Punishment, Kay, punishment,” Jon growled and I thrashed, wept openly, bucked and truly feared how much was coming out of me and how it didn’t seem like it would stop coming out of my suffering aching cunt.
I guess Jon sensed the end of it all, or at least my needing to catch my breath. He stopped talking and simply listened as I rolled and shucked, released the last of my water and began to laugh deep then even as I was still crying.
“That ever happen before? I mean without touching yourself or rubbing or anything?”
Was I bothered more by the fact that no, it had never happened to me without me touching myself, or the fact that Jon assumed, and rightly so, I had obeyed him throughout and had never touched myself?
“No, never,” I managed to croak.
“Wow, that’s wild.”
“No f’n shit, dude!”
We both giggled then enjoyed the silence.
5
One would think when the ‘the boys’ got like this, erect and panting, eyes wide, rolling round at my five-inch heels, I’d have been up on them. But the truth was, while I was aroused and concentrating on both Fred and Joel to the exclusion of all else. I have learned it’s not enough for me to have hard hung great looking men at my feet, ready and willing to do my bidding, sorry as that might be to admit. When I am set with a purpose it supersedes all else.
I was here to force these two into homosexual acts.
It really pays having a large group of friends. Here in the wilds of northern California suburbia I played as hard and as often as I could – and always safely – but this scene was a very specific happenstance that occurred only once every few months and never at any set time or for any planned interval. I could count on my one hand how often I had been in the company of these two handsome men in the past year performing this service and I truly couldn’t recount who had made the call each time to meet.
I could and often did dress this part, more often than not in some sort amazingly high platform heel, my hair styled in a Betty Page do. My outfits tended toward garters and stockings, wait-cinchers or corsets. I cut quite the vamp picture I knew and enjoyed playing the black-clothed, slightly leather-clad Goth chippie at parties and nightclubs with my friends or potential dates who might be attracted to the look. I courted a certain public persona and like any other girl (even if the girl tells you otherwise) I liked the attention from time to time that my reputation – small though it might be in such a small town – earned me.
Fred and Joel, the men at my feet then, were professional, early thirty-somethings, well known, respected and successful up here in our little burb. Both were in committed relationships (as far as that word went). Fred lived part time with a rather quiet, pretty blonde he had been engaged to now a countless number of years. Joel was married to a lady a few years his senior who had borne him a son. They were not ‘out’ in any sense of the word and only ever had homosexual sex with one another, as they had been having for years before I even came onto the scene. As with Jack, I had met the guys through my ex and though he liked them fine and knew about their bisexuality I didn’t, until Paul and I split and the boys found me one night in a bar, in full suburban vampire mode and we got to talking.
The long and short
of it was, Fred and Joel were committed to staying committed in their respective situations, didn’t swing with their wives, but cared deeply for each other and the relationship they had built. They also liked having sex with one another and to assuage the guilt they felt over their stepping out. (I had a sneaking suspicion their respective partners and mostly everyone in town suspected or knew as Paul had.) They needed someone to ‘force’ them to, in effect, be gay with one another.
That’s where I had stepped in.
The pair was just too effeminate for my tastes. On any normal occasion I wouldn’t have looked twice at either handsome man, so it wasn’t that I became turned-on in these scenes in the typical sense, as much I was excited by the control I could wield and the wide-eyed faux begging I’d spy when I suggested something. Under my watchful yet teasing gaze I’d throw out a bon mot like, “Joel why don’t you get Fred across your lap and give him ten real hard swats”, or “Time for you two to kiss” (which they especially hated) and I’d sip my wine, cross and re-cross my legs under my tight business suit skirt (the one outfit they liked me to wear among all others) and delighted at the scene unfolding here in Fred’s loft. We were good friends. They got to engage in all manner of acts with one another without feeling guilt, I got to exercise some dominant tendencies and stare at some nice hard cock (and they did indeed have nice cocks) I never wanted beyond looking at them.
“Fred, are you up for it tonight?” I asked the lanky black man playing with his rather large stiffy squatting to the left of my left leg staring across the floor at his lover, who was playing with his.
To give us all a breather, I liked to get both my boys at my heel, make them simply manipulate their erections while I sat over them, sipped my wine and spied them trying not to look up my skirt. We all knew I was asking Fred if he was ready and willing to have Joel fuck his fine tight asshole this evening. It was part of the game I sometimes asked before I made them do something, in effect showing my more maternal side, when we all knew that no matter what Fred or Joel said, if I wanted something to happen it would very well happen because, in theory, they could never truly be forced here since anything I could possibly come up with were things they wanted.
“Oh, God, Kay,” was all the lanky chocolate-skinned man said.
“Up over the futon sweetie,” I said to him then looked over at Joel.
“Best get that thing nice and lubed,” I said to the sandy-haired blue-eyed accountant lifting his balls and smirking.
Though I have been in California most of my life and I live in a nexus of new age sentiment up in these northern burghs, I’m not one to believe in vibes. The boys calling me the very next night after I spanked myself for Jon and came only by his taunting words was serendipitous to be sure. Doming these guys was something I had no idea I would so desperately need right then, calming as this had been for me, quelling all my nervousness over what had happened the night before and how Jon was now deeper in my head then I feared he was already. I liked being able to completely lose myself in a dominant pose, dress and patter for the night and this particular rendezvous was really helping to ease my fevered mind.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I said and stood as did Fred, who ambled over to his low futon and without turning to look at either Joel or me, bent and got over.
Sometimes I liked how clinical this could get, how I could simply angle the guys into positions and make them go at it. Other times I was truly more loving and could meter their affections with ever softer suggestions until they were clutched deep and I knew they no longer even noticed me in the room. Right then I wanted Fred bent, spread and anticipating as I did Joel to fist his thin cock through the thick cool lube he was applying and huffing to the sensation as well as the thought of plowing his lover’s fine ass.
“Better get some up him as well,” I said looking over to the thirty-five-year-old science teacher fucking his cool wet fist.
Joel stopped for a moment, smiled at me as I poured myself another glass of the fine red wine Fred always seemed to have (another benefit of living in northern California) and walked up to his lover. He knelt and began to finger Fred’s open cheeks with a heavy amount of lube as Fred huffed into the futon and began to buck his hips.
“It’s gonna be more than a finger fucking sweetie,” I called from behind them.
Joel lay close enough to Fred that his hard cock was brushing against the black man’s ass. As Fred was plied and lubed, I knew both men were becoming ever more lost in the moment.
“Now,” I said and Joel popped his finger free, positioned himself directly behind Fred and the black man looked over his shoulder.
As Joel pushed up and in, laying his full weight onto his lover’s back, I took a long gulp of wine then put down my glass. I stepped as pronounced as I could so my heels ticked across the wooden floor and sat right next to Fred.
Both men looked up at me.
“Take as long as you need, but I want you to both come, okay?”
“Geez, Kay,” Fred groaned as his lover plowed him slow but deep.
“Yes, ma’am,” Joel said holding Fred’s hips in his hands.
I opened my legs as wide as my skirt allowed, less to give the boys a show as to give myself some relief. Sure they had spied my pink parts – what of them I had shown – on a few occasions, but other than getting down to some 50’s lingerie or occasionally going sans panties under skirts shorter than the one I was wearing then, I had never really deliberately exposed myself to them. They had significant other females in their lives and while I knew they found me attractive, I knew the way I dressed turned them on as much as what I said to them. I felt sexy under their staring and would sometimes push the envelope just a little further than usual wearing something so tight or revealing, the boys catching a slipped nipple or a bare cheek was more accident then premeditation on my part, and more fleeting bonus then craving on theirs. Somehow my playing their mistress was perfectly within the confines of propriety. If they were to touch me in any way but with affection or if I crossed the line to touch them, we all sensed it would be cheating in the classic sense. Sure, we all got aroused here, for drastically different reason and with drastically different results, but I really didn’t want to suck their cocks or have either one kiss me, beyond our usual helloes. I knew they didn’t want me doing anything much more then showing up and ordering them as creatively as I did.
But their orgasms did turn me on. I watched the two lovers without saying a word or really making eye contact. The way this aroused me was certainly different than anything I usually felt, wanted or could project a fantasy on. Although altogether different in almost every possible regard, still I felt what I was doing here with these two men was as equally kinky as what I got up to with Jon. To play this role and help free my friend this night was so what I needed I realized I began to feel the tears well up as Joel plowed up and true and Fred fucked the side of the futon as hard as his lover pumped him.
To my credit, by the time I get either guy to suck each other or one inserts one’s cock, or I’m coaxing them to mutually masturbate, Fred and Joel are usually so turned on from what I have put them through they’re not ever too long in coming. I might have been sitting on the edge of that futon three minutes, certainly not more, before Joel backed away from his lover, bit his lips and began to shutter.
“You bitch, you bi-i-itch,” Fred said bucking into the edge of the futon as he obviously felt Joel tighten and quiver. I could tell, too, he was coming – these guys didn’t need me to bolster their compatibility – jerking off to his wooden floor as Joel came in his ass.
I have never orgasmed with the guys. I knew they’d have no problem with me doing so. They’d probably egg me on in fact. God knows my pussy was pretty dewy and hot at that point, I could have easily tickled up my skirt and managed a few fingers into my panties, but I never really wanted to come in front of them. In fact, I never admitted my arousal, which I thought was hotter in the long run for all of us. Joel and Fred were confi
dent enough to know if I didn’t want to be here, six months into our meetings, it would have to be more than just the uniqueness of the idea that kept me coming round.
As usual I moved away slightly, not making a big show of it, but certainly giving them their space to disengage and coo and attend to one another in the manner they wanted without me staring at post coitus intimacy. I am an experienced enough woman to know that all men, hetero, bi, or gay, have to regroup in their own way.
“That Chardonnay is good right?” Fred called from across the room.
I turned from the high window and regarded him, boxer briefs on as he paddled across to me. I tried not to stare down at him, but the man’s pale blue shorts truly made his dark ab muscles pop. I could hear Joel off in the bathroom running the water.
“Yummy,” I agreed as Fred passed me for his own glass.
The duo was quietly energetic. This would not be the only time either would come this night, but my participation ended, at least my sexual role in all this, when they came for the first time. The rest of the night would be spent with us jawing up a storm while sipping good wine and sitting on that very futon Fred had just been fucked on. It was as if the boys needed my coaxing to get them over the hurdle of allowing themselves to be together. From there all was allowed.
As I walked with Fred back to the scene of the crime and we sat with knees touching I realized maybe that’s what I was using Jon for, to get me over my own hurtles.
With Jon I was running the inside lane of a track. He saw obstacles before I did and helped lift me over all surfacing hindrances. The first was meeting the guy after so short a time knowing him then allowing such a quick and open seduction. Furthermore, was Jon finding and exploiting another bump in my road, a submissiveness I never truly knew I had … or at least had never admitted to. Pussy or ass spanking, age play ... he had put up a few roadblocks of his own to see if I would let him help me over. Not more than a week home I’m not only admitting my exploits to Jack, I am sleeping with my best friend, knowing one of my main motivations for doing so is that I might be able to admit it all to Jon and maybe he will punish me for it. Lastly, coming without touching myself to just Jon’s word, a hurdle, track, a whole stadium I never could have imagined encountering, let alone running a race in.