Hot Sex, Cool Erotica

by Bebe Wilde

  “No, I won’t,” I said.

  “Oh, you’ll be begging for it.”

  I paused, thinking I should be taken aback, but something in me wouldn’t allow that. He was so cocky, so self-assured. Right then, I couldn’t play the naïve card. I had to set him straight and put him in his place. So, I said, “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true,” he said. “But you’re different, difficult, a challenge. I like that.”

  I didn’t feel different. I didn’t like it much, either. I wanted to be that sexy, sexual creature. I wanted to be that open but I couldn’t. It scared me too much to be open like that. Just like he was scaring me.

  He stepped close to me and whispered in my ear, “In no time, I could have you shouting my name.”

  “Fuck you,” I said though it did entice me. “If this is your approach, it’s very lacking.”

  “Lacking?” he said quietly. “But this is the way we do it here, Nina.”

  I balled up my fist, ready to punch him. Instead, I pushed him away and said, “Well, in America we don’t do it like that.”

  “Oh America,” he said. “Such a kinky place. Well, what do you expect with such rampant repression?”

  Again, with the condescension. I was so going to slap him.

  He slid his finger down my cheek. “What’s this here? A little bruise where you fell?”

  I slapped his hand away from my face. “What are you getting at, François?”

  “You know what I’m getting at,” he said leaned in close again, then whispered, “Have you in your whole life lost any control?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “In time,” he said, nodding. “In time.”

  “I’d rather die than let you touch me,” I said. But I was dying for it. I don’t know how it happened, or why I wanted it, but I did. Something in me just seemed to change, like a switch had been flipped. I wanted him to come on, to get on with it. I was suddenly turned on by him. I wanted him to love me, fuck me, just do it and get it over with. I was ready to move forward but I needed a little push. He supplied it without hesitation.

  He smiled and said, “No, you wouldn’t.”

  I glared at him and suddenly felt the walls closing in on me. I have to get out of here, I thought. I didn’t know this guy. He could be a psychopath for all I knew. I had to leave and I had to leave now. Without another word, I ran out, ran all the way down the street. I thought about taking a taxi. I couldn’t afford a taxi all the way into Paris as I’d left most of my money at the apartment. Merde! I guess I hadn’t counted on meeting some strange French man who’d take me to his Château outside of Paris. I’d have to find a Metro station.

  So, I kept walking and walking until I found a little town and then the Metro. Once I was on, I sat down in the back. When I realized I’d left my bicycle there, I burst into tears.

  Little Slut

  “Oh, there you are,” François said as soon as he opened his front door the next day.

  “I want my bicycle back,” I said.

  “Certainly,” he said and moved aside, waving me in with his hand. “Come in?”

  “No,” I said. “I just want my bicycle back. That’s all. Get it for me.”

  “It’s in the garage,” he said and pointed to an old carriage house that had been converted into a garage probably about fifty years earlier. “Come with me.”

  I followed him to the garage and he went in and then came back out with my bicycle. The front tire was flat.

  “Sorry about the tire,” he said. “Want me to pump it up for you?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll just push it.”

  “You can’t push it,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

  “No,” I said. “I just came for my bike.”

  He stood back from me, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one. He offered me the pack, I declined, then he slipped them back into the pocket. Finally, he said, “You and I both know that you didn’t come back for the bike, Nina.”

  “Sorry, but you’re wrong.”

  He shook his head. “Let’s have a coffee.”

  “No,” I said. “I just want to leave.”

  He stared at me, the wheels in his mind obviously turning. He was onto me. I should leave. I should leave now.

  “Come with me,” he said and walked towards the house, flicking his cigarette away.

  I watched him, then glanced at the still burning cigarette on the gravel drive. I sighed, walked over and squashed it out with my foot, then followed him into the house, down the hall and into the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, this was the only room that had been renovated. There were new stainless steel appliances, including a six-burner gas stove, very modern and expensive looking cabinets with white marble countertops, all sitting atop an old worn and beautiful red tile floor. The walls were painted in a fresh, bright white. It was a beautiful chef’s kitchen.

  “I like to cook,” he said.

  He liked to cook? I liked to cook, too. We had a commonality. So what? He was still an asshole.

  He went over to the counter and poured coffee into two white cups. “I know it is not in character with the rest of the house, but so what? I like my modern conveniences.”

  “I see that,” I said and sat down at the old, rustic French table which was long and rectangular. It shouldn’t go with the modern room, but it did. He had taste. He knew what he liked. The chairs were vintage steel and wood, like they had been used in a factory of some sort and had been repurposed. They looked like they cost a fortune.

  He walked over and placed a cup in front of me. I didn’t touch it. I’d already had a coffee that morning and if I had any more, I’d be shaking like a leaf during a storm.

  “I know what you want,” he said and sat down. “You don’t even have to ask.”

  “And what do I want?”

  “Sex,” he said matter-of-factly. “But not only that, you want to be punished.”

  Holy shit! He didn’t just come out and say that, did he? Oh, yeah, he had. He was so blunt. So in your face. No beating around the bush for this one. I didn’t know if I could handle such forthrightness. I was more into subtleties than that.

  He had told me not only did I want sex, but that I also wanted to be punished. Punished for what? For wanting it? Sex? I shook my head, willing something to make sense but nothing did. And, yet, it was obvious. I did want sex and I wanted it from him. But the punishment thing? What was that about? I didn’t know but I sure wasn’t about to admit to anything.

  I leaned back and crossed my arms, staring at him. He was so good looking, so eloquent. He was a dream man, any woman’s dream man. He was perfect, tall, broad-shouldered, strong looking. He had the handsome face of a movie star, the body of a Greek god. He was the sort of man I wanted to have sex with, had always dreamed about having sex with. He would both ravish me and keep me safe. I knew that. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.

  However, I couldn’t tell him these things. He would think I was a fool, some romantic, silly American. I had to be cool and I had to not let on that I wanted what he obviously wanted to give me. So, I said, “I do not want sex from you and certainly not punishment. Whatever that means.”

  He nodded. “Of course, you do. You want sex and you want to be punished for wanting it. You want me to fuck you, then spank you afterwards. Or spank you, then fuck you.”

  “You are out of your damn mind,” I said.

  “Come on,” he said and leaned in towards me. “It’s always sex with you, isn’t it? You’re a little slut. Well, you are at least in your mind. That’s why you never cheated on your husband. You couldn’t give yourself permission to need what is human to want.”

  “Fuck you,” I said and stood up. He was going too far. What the hell was this guy’s problem? I didn’t ask, though, because I didn’t want to know. I was afraid there might be something slightly dangerous about him and I didn’t know if I could handle it.
I knew I’d picked him to do this but the thought of him not being quite right did cross my mind.

  He grabbed my arm and gently forced me back into the seat, then released me. “Just sit and tell me. Isn’t that what you want? You want sex and you want to be punished for wanting it so bad, like I said. Confirm my suspicions.”

  I blushed but he was right. Suspicions confirmed! That’s why I was here and I was here because I thought he’d give it to me. I just didn’t want to get hurt in the process.

  “Am I right?” he asked.

  I bit my bottom lip and nodded. I was so embarrassed, I wished the floor would swallow me up. I knew I could have not come back for the bike. It wasn’t really worth anything and I could easily get another. I didn’t abandon it because I wanted to see where he could take me. I wanted to see if my hunch about him was right. I wanted to know if he was the man who could give me what I wanted the most.

  “Little sluts need to be punished,” he said. “You want to be punished?”

  Well, if we were going to do this, we might as well get started. I was tired of waiting for something to happen or watching as something passed me by that I could have easily grabbed a hold of. It was time for me to take life by the horns and it was time for me to allow this man to call the shots.

  “Nina?” he said softly. “Answer me. You want to be punished?”

  I bit my bottom lip and nodded again.

  “Come over here then.”

  I stood and walked over to him. He looked up at me and began to touch me. I shivered with delight as he ran his hand up my legs and to my breasts.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You heard me.”

  A bit of hesitation swelled up in my chest, but I pushed it away. Yes, I needed this. I had to see if I could do it. I had to prove to myself that it was what I wanted. I wanted to know if he could give it to me. I looked down at my outfit—an oversized but stylish black cashmere sweater, skinny jeans that were well worn in and fit my petite but trim body like a glove and black leather motorcycle boots that I wore over the jeans. It was the sort of outfit I wore almost every day of the week. It made me look young, hip, stylish and like I didn’t give a shit. And it attracted a certain type of man, a man like François.

  “Now,” he said. “I want to see your body.”

  I started to say something, to tell him off. Again, getting caught up in the bullshit that always kept me from getting what I wanted. It was the inhibition, the anger that always stepped in and ruined it. But I realized I was doing this just because I thought that’s what I should do. But I didn’t. I couldn’t utter a word. And I couldn’t because I wanted to do what he wanted me to do. I wanted to lose control; I wanted him to have it.

  “Would you like me to help?” he asked.

  I didn’t know. I just stared at him. It was like I was there, right there, ready to cross the line, ready to get the show on the road but something kept tripping me up and stopping me.

  “Nina?” he said softly. “We both know you’re going to do this.”

  He was right. I was going to do it. Maybe with just a little more prodding. I stared into his eyes, so dark and gorgeous, his eyelashes so full. The eyes stared at me, through me, into my soul. They were telling me they knew, just knew, what I wanted and what I needed. They told me he was the man to give it to me, down the last detail.

  “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” he asked. “A while since you last had sex, oui?”

  I nodded but didn’t say a word.

  “A woman has needs just like a man,” he said. “I can help you with this, Nina. I want to touch you everywhere and feel your skin. I want to kiss you and show you how it feels to be wanted.”

  I closed my eyes and thought about that. To be wanted… Isn’t that what we all wanted? What we all needed? Even though I drove my husband away, I knew he wanted me. He just left because he finally gave up the fight.

  “I want to see you naked,” he said softly. “Show me your body. I want to see it. Do you understand?”

  Did I? Did I understand? Yes, I did.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  I could tell he was. I could see the outline of his hard penis through his pants. He was ready. He was willing. He was able. He wanted me to want him. It was that simple.

  “Then do it now.”

  Now. Right now. Not later. Just now. It was time. Could I do this? Could I undress and expose myself in front of a man I’d just met yesterday? Yes, I could. Easily. I wanted to. I wanted him to see me, every single square inch of my body. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since I’d run out of here yesterday. I was ready. I was willing. I was able. It was time.

  I nodded and stepped back and pulled my sweater over my head, then pulled off my boots and socks. I glanced down at my toenails, which I’d painted the previous night while sitting on the side of the tub. They were cherry red and, as I’d painted them, I had fantasized about François taking notice of them, commenting on how lovely they looked. Then I caught myself doing this and stopped. What was wrong with me? I chastised myself, told myself I’d never see him again and that he was an asshole.

  But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I’d even gone to sleep thinking about him and about what he could do to me. As I thought about this, I found my hands in my panties, rubbing myself, bringing myself to orgasm. I hadn’t done that in a while. But he brought it out in me. I was suddenly fantasizing about his hands on me, on my naked skin, his lips devouring me, sucking my nipple, his tongue thrusting into my open, wet and willing mouth. I’d thought so much about him, I didn’t fall asleep until late in the night. When I awoke, I was alive with this new feeling, this feeling of lust I’d never quite experienced before.

  And now here I was, waiting on him to tell me my next move. And I loved it. I loved it. I was getting so turned on, so worked up, I was almost beside myself. Just touch me, I thought. Just once, just touch me. I needed it so badly I was on the verge of begging for it. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It was his call to make and we both knew it.

  He watched me, then took a good look at my breasts which were now heaving in my bra. He liked what he saw. But I shouldn’t have even been doing this. I should probably just leave. It was going somewhere and if I didn’t pull the plug soon, there would be no stopping it. But that didn’t stop me. I wanted to do it. I wanted to see if I had it in me to do it. I needed it, so badly.

  He motioned with one finger for me to take off my jeans. I did so and stood in my panties and bra. Yeah, they matched. They were an expensive tartan plaid set that made my body look so, so good. I had bought them a few weeks earlier at a fancy little Parisian lingerie boutique. I never wore anything like this and, after I purchased them, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking, preferring comfortable boy shorts and simple underwire bras. I’d put them in a drawer and forgot about them until this morning when I knew I’d see François. Maybe it was kismet or something that I’d had the forethought to buy fancy lingerie and this was the sort of lingerie that would impress anyone. As I pulled the lingerie on, I had imagined him taking it off. Right then, I was waiting for him to do just that.

  He couldn’t contain his smile, then muttered, “Oh, lassie,” in a faux Sean Connery Scottish accent.

  I almost laughed but blushed instead. I also took note that he liked what he saw. Good. He should have.

  His smile disappeared and then he paused for a long moment, his eyes skimming my body, not leaving an inch overlooked. I could tell me liked what he saw. I worked hard to keep my body looking good, toned and tight. My breasts were a firm C-cup and suited the frame of my body well. I had a body men lusted after and I knew it, even though I covered it up with baggy sweaters most of the time. I kept it like this just in case I ever met someone I’d want to show it off to. I was glad I had put forth the effort. I could tell he appreciated it, too.

  Without a word, he leaned over an
d pulled me to him. I stood there and waited breathlessly for what he was about to do. It didn’t take long before the tip of his finger went under my panties then tugged at them. I turned around and both his hands grabbed my ass, then his hands were under the panties, touching my bare ass. He squeezed it hard, then leaned in and kissed the small of my back just once.

  A moan escaped my lips. I was getting heated up. I was finally going to get what I wanted, what I had been so horny for.

  Then he tugged at my panties until they came off my body. My bare ass was in his face. I felt so vulnerable but I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I wanted this. His hands played with my buttocks for a moment, then he sensuously but firmly kneaded them with his hands, squeezing so tightly I just knew he’d leave marks. But I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to see what he would do with me offering myself like that.

  I was about to find out. Before I could blink, his hand came down hard on my ass, thusly spanking me. He’d told me this was what I wanted. Was it? My ass burned as did my face. It was slightly humiliating, but then it wasn’t. It was…nice. It felt good. I wanted more. Should I ask for another or would he automatically call the shots? I didn’t know and I didn’t have time to ask because he gave me another good smack on my other ass cheek. Then he squeezed both of them with both hands.

  Was that all? Was there more where that came from? No. he was moving onto other things. His hand went in sideways between my ass cheeks, then down and down until it was sliding backwards and forwards on my pussy. Ahhh… That felt so damned good! Backwards and forwards… And then he paused on my clit and stopped moving, as if inviting me to pleasure myself with his hand. And I did. I found myself rubbing against his hand, feeling my juices began to flow, wanting to orgasm but waiting, waiting, waiting to do so; making the sensations last, feeling the wet softness of my cunt against his hand.

  Before I could really get my groove on, he removed his hand and, out of nowhere, he gave my bare ass another good, hard smack. Back to the spanking. Wow. This almost jolted me back to reality, but something about it made me moan. Wow! What was he doing? Would he do more? In answer to my question, he gave me another good, hard spank, which almost sent me over the edge. I was so hot with lust for him, I could barely breath. Then I realized what this was. It was building anticipation. It was making me want him so badly I couldn’t think straight. And want him I did. I was about to beg him to fuck me when he changed course again.