by Violet Blue
Because there in that DOWNLOADS folder I found something I thought I’d long ago lost—something that could shock me about you, something that could surprise and delight and terrify and excite me.
Something that could make me wet.
There, tucked amid a meager hundred or so downloaded images of cute girls in lingerie and sunning themselves nude at the beach, there was a single folder into which you’d separated out what I can only assume were your favorites—your kink, maybe? The one kink you’d never shared with me?
I can’t blame you, really. We all like variation, right? We all want something a little different than we’re getting—not instead of, but in addition to. Vive le différence—that’s the nature of the turn-on. So even though I know you love me, even though I know you want me, it shouldn’t surprise me that some part of you also wants that.
As I said, I’m a natural girl. I don’t shave my legs, I don’t wax my bikini line, I don’t shave my armpits—most of the time.
And I definitely don’t shave down there.
That is, until I’d spent hour upon hour looking through your collection. That is, until I found out in a rush that I’d discovered something I could do that would shock you, that would—I hoped—give you something you’d fantasized about, something that turned you on, something that made you so hard you couldn’t control yourself. Something you’d never had the gumption to ask me about.
And that’s why I’m so wet, right now, under the short skirt. That’s why my nipples are hard in the tight cocktail dress.
That’s why my clit is so hard it’s throbbing. And why I can’t wait to get you home.
I decide that the right moment is while we’re waiting for dessert to arrive. It’s a small table, a crowded restaurant, and the tablecloths are long. So it’s really only a small matter for me to scoot my chair closer, lean over near to you, as if I’m telling you something I want to whisper.
It’s a slightly more difficult trick to take your hand in mine and guide it to my thigh to press the fingers splayed over my flesh—and then inch it up. The skirt’s very short, so your instinct is to pull back when I slide your fingers underneath it. I don’t let you. I wriggle my body forward, turned toward the table so that the tablecloth hides us, as I push your hand under my skirt and spread my legs a little.
I feel your fingertips caressing me and I swear, I could come right then. I’m dripping, and that’s the second thing you notice. I kiss you, unable to suppress a little moan and a sigh as I feel two fingers sliding into me. Your fingers curve, and I feel you pressing against my G-spot as your thumb savors the smooth feel of my shaved pussy, your face showing its struggle as you try to remain nonchalant. But I can tell that I’ve had the desired effect—when I casually brush your thigh under the table, I can feel the lump in your pants.
Your thumb touches my clit, and this time there’s an instant when I really think I am going to come. I don’t—not quite, but I’m close.
“Oh, look,” I say. “Dessert’s here.” The waitress brings our chocolate mousse, and your hand slides out of my smooth pussy.
As she sets down the dessert, I bring your hand to my face and kiss it—a casual gesture of affection to everyone else in the restaurant. But I can smell my pussy, ripe and salty and invigorating. And I can taste it when I let my tongue drift along the tip of your finger. It makes me want you even more. It makes me want to fuck you. Now. It makes me want to feel your cock sliding into my pussy—this pussy I’ve shaved smooth and pink for you. Just for you.
We’ve just paid the check when I stand up, walk over, and lean very, very close to you.
“I’ve got to use the ladies’ room,” I say in a low, sultry voice, making sure my breath caresses the back of your neck.
“Me, too,” you say.
That’s one of the things I love about this restaurant—private restrooms. I’ve fantasized about doing you in one of them so many times I can’t count, and I know tonight nothing in the world is going to keep that fantasy from coming true. I can feel the moisture running down my inner thighs, can feel the ache where your fingers were a moment ago. I can feel my thighs trembling as we edge down the line.
I leave the door unlocked and pull up my skirt. It’s tight, so it’s not hard to tuck it over my waist, leaving my lower half bare except for the garter belt and stockings. I stand in the mirror, leaning forward awkwardly on my high heels so that I can take a look between my legs, at the way my pussy looks as it waits for you—smooth, shaved, hungry. I sit down on the toilet and spread my legs.
It takes you a while to get in; the line was so long that you had to wait until everyone who saw me enter this restroom had gone into the other. You knock on the door; when I don’t answer, you offer some feeble comment, making a show of suddenly realizing that there’s no one in here. That means there are other people still in line. That means there are other people waiting outside, waiting for this restroom that we’re going to monopolize with our fucking.
Knowing that sends a surge through my clit.
I lock my eyes on yours when you enter the restroom. Your cock is still hard in your wool slacks. I want it so bad I can feel my mouth water, feel my nipples stiffen painfully in the cocktail dress. Your eyes drift from my hungry face to my hungry pussy, taking in the way I’ve shaved it for you. You walk over to the toilet, where I’m sitting.
I’m on you like an animal. I don’t even kiss you; you don’t lean down to kiss me, either. I’ve got your pants open in moments, and I’m bending forward, not even teasing you in the slightest—I’ve been teasing both of us all evening, after all. Your cock glides down my throat effortlessly, its taste mixing with the taste of merlot. I hear you suppressing a moan as my mouth lingers around the base of your cock. I savor the feeling of you thrusting deep inside me. Then I come up for air and swallow you again, whimpering slightly as I do. I’m hungry for it. My hand rests absently on my shaved pussy, stroking it, loving the way it feels, loving that it turns you on so. I want to rub my clit but I know if I do I’ll come, so I don’t. I just stroke my lips, caress the opening. And suck your cock.
You have to push me off you to get your turn. I know this is all about my pussy, but it’s so hard for me to give up your cock. You drop to your knees, not even caring that your face hovers inches from the toilet bowl as I spread my legs still wider and feel your mouth descend onto my pussy, your tongue caressing the smooth flesh. I run my fingers through your hair and tell you that I’m going to come. I’m going to do it fast, so fast—and when your tongue finds my clit, I know from experience that nothing in the world will make you stop before I do. I lean back on the toilet seat, my hips rocking slightly as I mount toward orgasm. When I come, I have to bite my lip so hard to keep from screaming that I’m afraid, for a moment, I’ve drawn blood.
Part of me worries that you’ll be satisfied, that you’ll be quick to leave now that you’ve made me come—knowing that other people are waiting, that it’s rude to monopolize the restroom. But that seems to be the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you slide your arms under my shoulders and lift me off the toilet, turning me around like a rag doll as you tell me what you want. This pussy is yours, you know, and you’re going to take it. You bend me over the toilet, my arms resting hard on the toilet tank. I lift my ass in the air and spread my legs, tottering on my high heels. I wriggle my butt, begging for it. But I know you don’t need me to beg—I’ve been begging all night.
I feel your cock sticky with my saliva. It meets my pussy, sliding easily between my lips and entering me. I gasp as you thrust in; at this angle, with my ass so high in the air, the head of your cock hits my G-spot and continues deep to press against my cervix. My whole body shivers as I feel it. You don’t give it to me slow; you don’t want to take your time. Not because time is so short, but because you can’t bear to wait another instant. You give it to me hard, fast, demanding, as if you don’t care about anything but taking this smooth, bare pussy that belongs to you. And that is what mak
es me come, even harder this time, bent over the toilet tank and moaning softly, wishing I could suppress the noise issuing from my lips—but totally unable to do so as the pleasure explodes through my body. I look at you over my shoulder, locking eyes with you, and whimper that I want you to come. I want you to come inside my shaved pussy.
You do, your hips pumping quickly as your cock explodes inside me. I push back onto you, knowing that you’re filling me up with your come, knowing that I don’t have a pair of panties with me. That thought almost makes me want to come again, but all I want right now is for you to fill me all the way, pump me full of you.
Your cock slides out of me; your fingers give me one last fleeting caress and you fasten your pants.
Without kissing me, you move toward the restroom door. You give me a final lingering look as I stand there, high on my heels, bent over, naked pussy exposed as it drips your come.
“I’ll get the car,” you say.
A Very Naughty Girl
SEAN EVANS
I’ve been anticipating this all day. Throughout my boring meetings, the dull paperwork, what kept me going was the tingling of my palm as I anticipated the feel of my wife’s ass underneath it. The commute home was torture. As I sat in traffic, my hand on the gearshift longed to have her bum against it instead.
When I arrive home Sarah is already dressed for me, as she is every night. Her commute is shorter, so she always has plenty of time to change. Her blonde hair is in pigtails, her C-cup breasts stretching the white lace bra so that it shows through the thin white blouse, the mounds separated by the trail of a blue tie. Her curvy hips are clad tightly in a plaid skirt, too short for a schoolgirl but perfect for Sarah. She has on knee-high white stockings and mary janes. She’s holding a Scotch on the rocks.
“Did you have a good day?” she asks me.
“Boring. But I was thinking about you. How was your day, Sarah?”
“Very good,” she says meekly, looking at the floor, her face flushing red with imagined shyness.
I accept the drink, go into the living room, and sit down in the middle of the sofa. Sarah follows me. I sip the drink and hold it out for her. She takes it from me and sets it on the coffee table, sitting down next to me on the sofa.
“Do you know what I was thinking about you all day?” I ask her.
She shakes her head shyly.
“I was thinking about spanking that pretty ass of yours.”
She flushes deep red, and I can see her nipples hardening under the white blouse.
“But I’ve been good,” she says.
“I know,” I tell her. “That’s why I’m spanking you. You know you enjoy it.”
She covers her giggle with her hand. “But that would be bad of me,” she says. “I’m not supposed to enjoy spankings.”
“But you do,” I tell her. “Lie across my lap.”
Meekly, she obeys.
I’m already hard when her belly pushes into my crotch. She wriggles slightly as I edge up her skirt.
“Spread your legs,” I order.
She obeys, parting them just enough for me to slip my hand under her skirt and feel her smooth-shaved pussy. It’s dripping wet, and as I slide two fingers into it she whimpers and squirms, her belly rubbing my cock.
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” I comment.
“I know,” she says. “It…it got wet. I had to take it off.”
“Why did it get wet?”
“I…I was thinking about you.”
“What were you thinking about me?”
“About your cock.”
“What about my cock?”
“Your cock…sliding into my ass.”
I chuckle, easing two fingers deep into her pussy and letting my thumb travel up to linger between her cheeks, rubbing her tight anus. She gasps.
“That’s very naughty,” I say. “I thought you’d been good, but now I don’t think you deserve a spanking.”
“Oh please,” she sighs. “I…I tried to be good. It’s hard not to think about your cock.”
“Because you want it so much? You want it in your ass?” I push harder on her anus, feeling it stretch gently around my thumb.
“Yes,” she gasps.
I reach underneath the cushions of the sofa and find the lube she always plants there before I get home. I squeeze some lube out onto my thumb, a little more between her cheeks, and slide my thumb into her without preliminaries. She gasps again, louder this time, and then moans, long and low in her throat, a bestial, helpless growl of desire.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl,” I tell her. “Thinking about my cock in your ass all day. You definitely don’t deserve a spanking. But you don’t deserve to get what you want, either.”
“Please,” she begs. “I want it so bad….”
“If you want your spanking, you’re going to have to earn it. Do you know how you’ll earn it, Sarah?”
She shakes her head.
“Take my cock out.”
She hoists herself onto her hands and knees, my thumb still planted deep inside her ass. She gropes at my belt and unzips my pants. She takes my cock out and, without being instructed, begins to suck it. Her lips slide up and down on my shaft, and I wriggle my thumb back and forth in her ass, making her whimper as she sucks my cock down her throat, breathing deep between thrusts.
“Very good, Sarah. Now sit on it.”
I slide my thumb out of her ass and she climbs on top of me, straddling me as she lifts her skirt and guides my cock up to her pussy. She works it up and down her smooth, shaved slit, and then fits the head into her tight notch.
Then she settles down on it, moaning as her pussy accepts my hard shaft.
“Does that feel good, Sarah?”
“Uh-huh….” She can barely nod, so overwhelmed is she by the sensation. She reaches down and begins to rub her clit.
“Naughty girl,” I say, grabbing her wrist and taking her hand away. “You don’t get to come until your spanking. You don’t get to come until Daddy does.”
She slides up and down on my pole, her breasts swaying close to my face. I grab her blouse and rip it open, popping her full breasts out of the white lace bra. I start to suckle her nipples, eliciting moans as her hips rhythmically pump up and down, forcing my cock into her pussy with thrust after thrust. I’m very close to coming, even though it’s always hard for me to get off in this position. I know it’s very easy for her to come when she’s on top like this, hand or no hand—my cock hits her G-spot firmly, and her clit, pushed out by the stretching of her lips, rubs against the base of my cock as she comes down on it. She’s fighting not to come, even though she wants to. I grasp her pigtails and pull her head back.
“Very good, Sarah,” I tell her. “You’re not being naughty at all.”
“Th-thank you,” she gasps.
“Get off me and lie down on your belly.”
She pulls herself off my cock with difficulty and as I get up she lies down, face pressed to the sofa’s pillows, exposed breasts pushed against the cushions. She lifts her ass high in the air.
Her asshole is still lubricated from the thumbing I gave it earlier, but I add a little extra lube just to be sure. I’ve taken her ass so many times before, but I know it always scares her just a little bit. I part her cheeks with my thumbs and push my cockhead into her asshole. She moans loudly as I force it into her. She starts to come almost immediately, and I fuck her fast, making her climax intensify as I take every inch of her asshole. Within moments I’m shooting, groaning as I fill her ass with my come. Sarah’s whole body is shaking, her orgasm mounting and peaking as I finish with her tight back door.
When I pull out of her ass, I say, “Very good, Sarah. But you came before Daddy did.”
“I…I’m sorry,” she says.
“I’m afraid you’ve forfeited your spanking,” I tell her.
She sits up, rolls over, and grabs my arm, tucking her head against my chest. “No,” she begs. “Please, please, Daddy….
”
“Unless….”
“Unless what, Daddy? I’ll do anything….”
“I’ll spank you if you take a caning first.”
She breathes hard, her hands shaking. She looks up at me, and I can tell she wants that spanking pretty goddamn bad. We enact this ritual all the time, almost every night. When she’s naughty, a caning. When she’s good, a spanking. The spankings make her come. The canings make her walk funny for days. She tries very, very hard to be good. She hates canings more than anything.
She nods. “All right, Daddy. If it’ll make you happy.”
“Go into the basement and take your clothes off.”
She knows the scene is moving to the next level. She’s no longer a naughty schoolgirl; she’s now, indisputably, my slave.
“Yes, Daddy,” she tells me. She stands up and walks toward the basement door. I hear her footsteps, heavy in the mary janes, as she goes down.
I take a moment to compose myself, taking off my work clothes. I put on my high boots but don’t don pants, shirt, or underwear. When I go down the stairs into the basement, she’s already stripped naked and pressed herself up against the St. Andrew’s cross, legs and arms spread. She’s holding onto the wrist restraints, the ones with the handles.
“I’m ready, Daddy,” she says softly.
I approach the cross and fasten the restraints around her wrists. I know there’s no need to padlock them. I slowly walk to the toy rack and select the long, flexible wooden cane. I swish it through the air a few times as I look over her glorious body, naked and pale in the warmth of the basement. She turned on the heat before I got here—she knew there was a good chance we’d end up here.