Wicked Pleasures: Stories of Kinky Love

by Wicked Pleasures- Stories of Kinky Love (epub)

  “Go, Janey, go,” he said as he hit me three last times, and on the last swat, Carl laid his hand to my hot ass and rubbed.

  “Oh, oh,” I cried, tears welling up in my eyes as I pushed up and back into his hand, then lay flat on his knees.

  “Yes, Janey.”

  “Ohhhahoh,” I sang as I clenched, repeatedly pushing my buns up into Carl’s palm, then my steaming pussy into his knee.

  “Yessssss,” he whispered. He flattened his hand even more, lifted his knee slightly.

  Straightening my body across Carl’s strong lap, I clenched my stinging cheeks, let the tears come, and flexed my pelvis so I was unabashedly humping his knee.

  “Fuck… Fuck… Fuuuck!” I screamed as I bucked myself into him and came… and came… and came.

  Jesus, it was so fast and so hard.

  “Just stay there, honey,” Carl said, after I rode my last wave.

  I really didn’t have much of a choice. I was exhausted and feeling just the slightest chill. I felt him reach over me, and I heard him pour himself a glass of champagne.

  “All these years and we never really change all that much, do we?” Carl began as if we were simply having a nice chat over wine and cheese. “It’s all so bizarre how our minds work, isn’t it?”

  What could I say? Given the time, Carl could ruminate on all manner of things. He just had one of those minds. And I felt once again, lying across him as he lightly pontificated, like the student I had always felt like around him. And again, for the inexplicable reasons I had never explored, I grew wet between my legs again and stared to wiggle.

  “Janey, you are incorrigible,” he said. I heard him sip, then reach over me again to put the glass down.

  “Now, now,” he scolded. “Do we have to do this all over again?”

  SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, he rained down on my ass as I bucked. These swats were considerably heavier, probably the hardest Carl had ever hit me.

  “Shit!” I screamed, trying to rise off his lap.

  “Janey, Janey, Janey,” he added and then I was swatted four more times, so hard that on the tenth, I cried out and rolled off him and onto the bed.

  I lay still, hurting, sweaty, and aching to come again. I was on my back, open, ready for whatever he wanted to do and knowing well that I shouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts. I couldn’t keep myself from them. But my older ex, my teacher, my spanker, just leaned toward me as if I was his child, and kissed me on the forehead.

  “I wish you the best of all worlds,” Carl said, standing then. I lay flat and turned my head to smile up at him.

  “Now that you have my address, you’d better keep in touch. And have a good rest of the night, little one,” he said. A tear came to my eye again then as he opened the door and I watched his high, tight buns exit the room.

  * * * *

  Delighted with the luck I had had and the spankings I had endured, I could have easily left then. But for some reason I really wanted to see Blaine most of all. Although the tall black man and I had talked about him spanking me, among other things, for some reason I could never quite fathom, Blaine and I had never managed past the heavy-petting stage. We had dated for a quick three months during our first year in college; a fast, furious time when I was so unsure of myself, bristling with such superheated, kinetic possibilities that I never really noticed what a great guy I had in him. Blaine and I were more buds then actual boyfriend/girlfriend and remained as close as ever after our romance—such as it was—petered out.

  There was a knock. My heart skipped. I sat as quiet as I could and crossed my legs, my arm across my chest. Blaine had never seen me naked and I didn’t want to startle him.

  The tall black man walked into the room, took off his glasses – glasses he hadn’t worn when we last saw one another – wiped them on his shirt, replaced them, and smiled down at me.

  “Hello,” he offered, but he was so shocked he had forgotten to close the door.

  “Blaine, the door,” I whispered, and he laughed and then closed it behind him.

  I didn’t move as he walked slowly toward me.

  “What’s it been, like a year?” he queried, still smiling. I could get lost in his deep dimples.

  “Yes,” I agreed, looking up at him. “Yeah, I think. Maybe a little less.”

  If I damn well wasn’t a virgin, and I wasn’t, I was feeling like one then. Just having Blaine see me naked, vulnerable to him like this, was so startling that goose bumps rose across my skin.

  “That was quite a letter.” He sat on the bed. I could smell his thick cologne; his sinewy arm brushed my thigh.

  “An invite,” I corrected, demurely looking up at him as I tried to keep my arms locked to my chest.

  I was aching to open up, stand up, and show off. Let him see what he never got the chance to see, let him touch, taste, even smell my muskiness.

  Please, I whispered in my mind, please just ask me to stand up and face you!

  “An invite,” Blaine said, as if running behind the conversation a few seconds. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he continued, and damn if I didn’t see a soft tear in his right eye. “I mean, we had some great times.”

  “We did, we did,” I agreed.

  Ask me to stand up, please! I yelled to myself. The last thing I needed now was Blaine getting all emotional with nostalgia. That would easily lead to me getting all emotional with nostalgia.

  “Good times,” he repeated, the light in his eyes far away.

  Was I losing him? Jesus, I had never expected a sentimental walk down memory lane, mainly because I didn’t want one. I figured the spankings would keep all those old feelings at bay, but truth be told, I had been crying over these very feelings only an hour before. Why would I have the exclusive rights on regret? But just as I thought I might have to embrace him, Blaine suddenly cleared his throat, looked nearly through me and added, “And now, here you are naked as all hell, and I’m gonna get the chance to spank you.”

  Rivers of stilted anticipation ran over me as my ex and forever friend stood.

  “Now, let me have a look at you,” he softly demanded. “The real good look I never got to have. Stand.”

  I did so, nearly swooning as I stood up straight on my two-inch heels.

  “Turn around and walk to the bathroom,” he said, and I did.

  Not one sound from him as I did as commanded. I was hot with desire to wiggle my ass, or turn and shake my big breasts, anything to get a reaction.

  “Okay, come back here,” Blaine ordered and returned. “This excites you, huh?” He eyed my rock-hard little nipples.

  “More then you know,” I agreed.

  “Want me to tell you how great you look?” he asked, as I came closer to him. “I guess you know that already though.” He stood and as I came up to him, he hugged me hard and his lips found my right ear. “I’ve never spanked a girl before,” he whispered.

  “There’s always a f…” I started, but he broke away from me, smiled and said, “I’m going to really enjoy this.”

  Blaine spun me around, turning me quickly and pressing me against the wall. He moved with such easy speed, I literally teetered on my heels as my fingers spread across the dark wallpaper and I settled myself, thrusting my ass out as far as it would go, my chest and face pressed to the wall.

  “Now that’s a sight,” Blaine commented, as I ached with anticipation. “I guess I just do it,” he added more to himself then to me.

  SWAT, his wide hand landed soft across my right cheek.

  I moaned to the wall.

  “Was that too hard?”

  I merely moaned again and shook my head. I could take it much harder, I wanted it much harder—surely he could tell by the slightly raised red welts on my ass that I had taken it harder—but as it had been with this man from the minute he stepped into this room only minutes ago, I wanted Blaine to find out for himself just what he could do.

  “Okay, okay,” he agreed and he connected again, thi
s time to my left cheek. Then another.

  He was metering the swats to a friendly, slightly hesitant pace and I smiled as I realized I was getting, and had had, real spankings from my men tonight, spankings that truly befit their personalities: from Gregory’s over–the-knee spanking to Gerald’s whipping to Carl’s swatting and teasing to Blaine behind me now, hesitant.

  “Number four,” Blaine announced. A dead center hit, this one rocked me forward.

  “Ah, Blaine,” I managed. “Um, baby.”

  “That’s good, huh?” he asked and—SWAT, SWAT, SWAT—he hit me three times, fast and hard, all to my left cheek, actually pushing me forward so my big tits pressed even harder into the expensive wallpaper.

  “Blaine,” I sighed and again he spanked me without speaking…two more on my aching left cheek.

  But alas, only one more! Dammit, I thought, he was just hitting his stride.

  “Can I…?” he started and turned to look over my shoulder at him. “Would it be okay, if…I mean…”

  “The more, the better,” I said, finally realizing that he too realized he was just getting his feel for this.

  “Ten was just an easy number,” I explained. “If you want to go mo—”

  I found out that Blaine did want to go more, a lot more. I pressed my chest to the wall, thrust my stinging ass back to him even further then before and…

  “We have a lot to catch up on,” he said and SWAT, SWAT, SWAT…

  As I lay there and Blaine worked into a stride that began with six heavy six blows, cheek to cheek, I knew that I had caught up on so much this night. Old feelings, old loves, old stingings, but most of all, I had caught up to myself…in the present, a woman who loved to be spanked, would continue to be spanked and would forever cherish the men who had spanked her, and the one who would do so for my future.

  “Daddy” and His Two Girls

  by Ralph Greco, Jr.

  “Did our ’daddy’ have a good time?” Geena asked, looking up from under her sweet brown bangs. All I could do was smile.

  “I had a great time,” Ilene offered on my other arm.

  I looked down as her deep white cleavage pushed up and forward while she snuggled against me. As usual, the bigger girl was wearing a shirt unbuttoned nearly as far as it could without her bosom popping out. It was all I could do to keep my attention on her face when she spoke.

  “I’d say a little too great,” I said, opening the single screen door for us all.

  “We were only playing, Jeff,” Geena defended as I led them inside, down the ten steps to my basement apartment.

  “All that ’whu,’ ’whu,’ ’whu’ shit?” I said, imitating the girls’ sarcastic enthusiasm of only an hour ago.

  “My girls” as I called them, had accompanied me to a small club tonight to see a band they considered a “bunch of old fucks in baggy leather pants” mainly because a friend of theirs was the singer for the opening band. I had enjoyed their company as I always did, my ego stretched to the limit with these two eighteen year-olds on my thirty-year old arm, “Daddy out with his two girls.” I had reveled in the stares I received as Geena and Ilene purred over me. This was a “game” we played often when we went out.

  “And I warned you about the smoking,” I continued to tease.

  “So what?” Ilene said, coming to stand with Geena at the bottom of my stairs, hands defiant on her wide hips.

  “I’ll give you so what, young lady,” I lightly scolded the pale girl. Placing a hand to each of their bottoms, I gave each girl a quick pat, pushing them to the center of my studio apartment.

  “It’s high time I punished the both of you,” I barked, looking around quickly for the voice that had issued this threat. “Now, who goes first?”

  Although there had always been this tremor of sexual possibility running through our yearlong friendship, nothing much had ever happened beyond Geena and Ilene flirting through our “Daddy out with his girls” scenario. On the Saturday nights we didn’t plan to hang out I’d still, more often then not, find the pair parked in Geena’s blue Mazda, waiting as I returned from a date. If I was lucky enough to bring a girl home, Geena and Ilene would split, but if not, we would all steal into my place for latenight munchies, a DVD, and Geena and Ilene finally collapsing on my futon.

  I knew the girls through a brother of a friend and really did like being with them, but I certainly couldn’t deny the sexual fantasies, and the frustration, they provided me. Maybe, just maybe, this night could be different if I could count on the drinks, the lasting effects of the girls’ flirting, and our possible mutual attraction to get me to do whatever it was I was thinking to do next.

  “First, for what?” Geena asked.

  “Since you asked…” I said, pulling her toward my high-backed desk chair. With my free hand, I got hold of the chair and sat down under her.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured Ilene as she sat on the futon across the room. “I’ll get to you, too.”

  Then I spoke to Geena again. “Well?” I asked, wondering myself what it was I was asking.

  “‘Well’ what?” Geena exclaimed. Surprised or not, her usual tight smile was playing across her smooth, dark face.

  “You gonna make me wait?” I asked, then added as I felt sweat start on my forehead, “Strip. Everything off.”

  “Jeff!”

  “That’s ‘Daddy’ to you!” I spat back. “Hop to it. Ilene’s gonna do it, too.”

  I knew I had to show absolute confidence here, as if I just assumed the girls would do as I asked. Let’s face it, I wasn’t even sure what “punishment” I was threatening after they stripped…if they did strip. But I had to be cool about if I was going get anywhere.

  “I…” Geena’s high cheekbones flushed, her slightly slanted eyes wide.

  There was a true sexual energy in the air now, more so then ever before. I was finally calling the girls on all their teasing. I was living the role of “Daddy” and if they were to really be my “girls,” they’d both have to obey me. This game we played, the flirting, the not-so-subtle kisses and brushing up against me, the bending low, the coy glances—all of it was coming to a head, right here, right now.

  “I, um…” Geena tried, actually fumbling with the snap on her low-rider jeans.

  As if to boost her confidence, the lanky brunette stood and faced Ilene, giving me a wonderful full view of her high little ass. Let’s face it, with the jeans the girls wear today you see a lot of thong and low hip even when a girl isn’t bending. I knew showing me her ass wouldn’t really tax Geena all that much. But getting her to strip all the way, to take off as much as I hoped she would right then, in full view of Ilene and I, this could be a major moment.

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

  I watched Geena crisscross her arms and lift her shirt high over her head, then caught Ilene’s even bigger blue-eyed stare. Was this turning them on…even a little? Was it possible these eighteen-year-olds found me as attractive as I had always hoped they did?

  The tall girl bent, I heard a zipper, and then Geena was peeling her jeans down her long legs, wiggling and stepping until she had them off her, her ass halved by a black thong. “Jeff…” Geena quietly pleaded. She turned to look coyly over her shoulder. Standing there in her bra and thong, she looked so cute looking back at me.

  “This is for your own good,” I said, not truly addressing her hesitation. “You know you both deserve this. Strip all the way.”

  Geena sighed, then turned to stare at Ilene again. Whatever passed between the two in those silent seconds was enough as the Filipino girl reached behind herself, unsnapped her bra, let it fall, and then bent to peel her thong out of her little cheeks, down her tan long legs.

  I screamed in my head. Holy fucking shit! But I tried to keep up my steely exterior. “You both know you have been very bad little girls.”

  With Geena’s sweet high buns not more then an arm’s distance from me, I tried to ease my breathing and not stare too obviously. I looked
around her to Ilene, who sat still on the edge of the futon, no doubt realizing she’d be next. The girls weren’t saying a word, but they shared another look; what was passing between them in that look, I had no idea.

  My next request was going to push the envelope, I knew. But if Geena complied, there would be no doubt in my mind that I had her, and hopefully Ilene as well.

  “Turn around.”

  Slowly Geena turned and I faced a thinly trimmed brown “landing strip” of public hair, then my eyes traveled up her body. She was by no means as big on top as Ilene, but she had nice breasts and long, tan limbs. I could have stayed staring at this seemingly shy girl all night—I truly was amazed that Geena was standing in front of me naked, her arms at her sides—but I had to get to Ilene as well.

  “Go sit on the futon, honey,” I told her. And called Ilene’s name.

  “Well?” I asked as the stockier girl came to stand before me.

  “What if I don’t want to?” She chuckled.

  “You have to obey ‘Daddy,’” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Ilene surrendered with a broad, thin-lipped smile.

  Flicking her strawberry blond hair from shoulder to shoulder, Ilene opened her zipper, then pulled her jeans down her thick thighs. Unfolding her shirttails next, unbuttoning just those two buttons that were buttoned, she flicked off the shirt and was in her blue bra and matching boy-shorts in seconds. Again I wasn’t sure how far I could push my luck, although Ilene was facing me even then with her hands on hips.

  I was still amazed at the thought that these girls wanted to strip for me. Even though I was suggesting they do so as their part of their “punishment,” I did not want to coerce either of them into anything that they didn’t want to do, that they didn’t get excited from. I knew they enjoyed the “Daddy and his girls” game when we were out in public. Their enjoyment was why it all worked for me so much and why I was sure that they wanted to strip for me. They would have told me to fuck off, or laughed it off and put a DVD in the player if they hadn’t wanted to play along.

  In fact, it seemed to be Ilene who wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t chicken out. “You sure about this,…Daddy?” the big girl cooed. She looked once over her shoulder at Geena, sitting on the couch staring wild-eyed at us.