by Violet Blue
He growled his response, and as I turned my gaze toward him, I saw he’d lost his clothes; his skin was already blotched with the signs of excitement, and his shaft was indescribably hard. I wondered if he’d already started to wank before Tina called him over.
“Bad Girl!” I hastily returned my attention to Tina, who was playing the role of headmistress perfectly. Her stern hard tone turned me on further, returning me to the naughty submissive I need to be when I’m with Con. “You will close your eyes and pay attention to everything you feel. You will not—I repeat—you will not come.”
Obeying, I sank back farther against the soft bed linen, my hand sweating lightly against my hair, as my enforced darkness heightened all my other senses. The sound of Con’s breathing seemed to block out everything else; it was ragged and deliberate, and I knew he was having trouble not spurting all over me there and then. I almost jumped off the bed when Tina’s hands returned to me, ripping open my blouse so fast that at least one button pinged across the room. My bra was tugged beneath my tits, and the air started to caress them even before two hands sharply squeezed each nipple, sending painful hot darts of pleasure through my chest, directly to my clit.
Squeezing my eyelids tighter, I saws colors begin to gather as I reveled in every touch.
“In exactly two minutes”—Tina’s voice seemed to be coming from far away as she continued to roughly pull at my tits—“I expect you to repeat all that is happening to you on my body. You will match these moves touch for touch, pace for pace. The more exact you are, the bigger your reward will be. After all”—her palms began to rotate over the very tips of my breasts, making it harder and harder to concentrate on what my pseudo-teacher was telling me—“you are here to learn, and I do think a system of praise for good work and punishment for poor work is the best way to educate, don’t you, Bad Girl?”
There was no way I could answer. I was too wrapped up in the electric currents that ran between her fingers and my oversensitive flesh as one hand broke away from my tits and began to stroke the strip of hair that protected my pussy. I tried hard to repeat the pattern of her routine in my head. Pinch nipples, rotate palms, move hand to mound…yet all the time I could hear Con’s heavy breathing; I could smell his cock and feel the lust radiating off his body. His presence shot my concentration to pieces.
My shoulders began to ache, and I was desperate to move my hands, to bring them forward and grab Tina’s chest; a chest I longed to see in the flesh. That was when the lesson really began.
“I hope you are paying close attention.” Tina spoke sternly before her lips came to my pussy. My arse leapt forward as if it had been hotwired, and I couldn’t help but lift my crotch toward her mouth. It was so familiar and yet somehow so different from the sensation of male lips between my legs.
As she moved her languid tongue, I tried to focus on each action. She drew it left, then right, and circled my clit with frustrating stealth. With my eyes firmly shut I couldn’t see Con’s face, but I was sure I knew how he’d look: intense, flushed and totally focused on the muscle that was sweeping across my nub with moist precision.
Grateful that I hadn’t been prevented from making a noise, I mewled in satisfied bliss, my back arching again as Tina increased the speed of her laps. I longed to open my eyes, to see her, to watch Con as he observed me, hoping like hell that when it came to my turn to lick out the other woman, as per his fantasy, I wouldn’t disappoint either of them.
My crotch began to twitch uncontrollably, and I braced myself for the first female-inspired climax of my life. A finger was now playing lightly at the entrance to my channel. I couldn’t help but beg for Tina to slide it inside; that was all I would have needed to tip me over. For a second I thought she was going to do it, as a fingernail scratched itself carefully around the edge of my clit, but then abruptly, Tina withdrew.
The cry of loss I let out was engulfed in the long exhalation of air that shot from Con as he realized that the moment to see me orally stimulate a woman had arrived.
“Now.” Tina stood up, appearing for all the world as if she’d been doing nothing more interesting than teaching me to spell. “Let’s see if you are a model pupil or not.”
With shaking legs, unable to believe I was supposed to do this whilst on the cusp of an orgasm, I opened my eyes and swapped places with my teacher.
Glancing at Con for reassurance, I was encouraged by his demonic smile, and the stiffness of his cock that seemed to be telling me that I could do this, and that when I did, it would be the reward.
Flexing my fingers, getting the blood flowing again after their period of confinement beneath my head, I took a deep breath, and in as commanding a tone as I could muster, I told Tina to put her hands behind her golden head, and to spread her legs as wide as possible, I shoved her black skirt up and clumsily dragged her knickers down.
Repeating over and over in my head the pattern of what she had done to me, I placed my perspiring hands on her legs, and instructed her to close her eyes. Then, grabbing at the crisp white blouse she wore, I yanked at the buttons. Inhaling sharply at the sight of her braless tits, I paused. I knew I was supposed to be pinching the nipples, but I couldn’t, not yet. Suddenly every girl-on-girl tale I’d ever read flashed through my mind, every literary touch, every imagined stroke of female flesh. I wanted to kiss the full firm globes that lay before me. I wanted to lick them, savor every inch of the areolas, kneel down and examine them at close range.
Con let out a deep whine, and I snapped back to the reality of the task I’d been given. Yet, I knew that somehow my hesitation was inflaming him more. In that split second, I decided not to stick to the plan, not to follow the pattern of Tina’s movements, which I’d mostly forgotten the order of anyway. After all, I was supposed to be a bad girl.
Adopting an abrupt no-nonsense tone, I told Tina not to move or speak. “But that wasn’t what I did to you?”
“I told you NOT to speak!”
Con looked at me in total amazement, and I swelled with pride as his smile turned into a beam and he took a step nearer, whispering, “That’s my Bad Girl.”
Tina’s eyes flew open, and she turned to look at Con, who merely shrugged, “I told you she was very naughty. I suggest you do what she says.”
Feeling as if I was on the outside of myself, looking down at a part of me I hadn’t known existed, I set to work on her breasts, lapping, licking, nipping and kissing the porcelain skin with fervor. I wanted to do everything, but most of all I wanted to cram as much of the soft, pliant breasts into my mouth as possible, while my hands traveled across her entire body.
Clawing and tugging at her garments so they fell to the floor or against the bed, I touched, scratched and kissed every inch of her torso, thighs and legs, but pointedly ignored the enticing triangle between her legs.
My lover was so close to me I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he shadowed every move I made. Tina was mewling low and steady as her hips rose and fell; her neck rocked from side to side. I knew she was close, and I knew that only experience was stopping her from pleading with me to touch her between her legs and let her come.
Con’s huge hands gripped my shoulders, and his chest came up against my back as he pressed himself to me, his dick rubbing my legs. It was time.
Stamping down any lingering doubts about my ability to please another woman, I let go of Tina entirely, enjoying her howl of temporary bereavement, before I dropped to my knees, took a firm hold of her legs, and, with Con holding my ponytail away from my neck so he could see what I was doing, I took my first slow lap of pussy.
As the luscious moisture of her slick clit coated my tongue, I closed my eyes, recalling the movements that had crossed my own nub so recently. Burning with longing, I felt another climax gathering in the pit of my stomach as Con pressed himself harder against me, his body reeking of sex, his breath shallow.
Tina was quivering beneath me, and as my fingers snaked up to her nipples and squeezed them hard,
she began to judder.
Con could wait no longer, and swiftly kneeling behind me, he tipped me so I was buried deeper into her crotch, before sliding himself into my soaking channel.
I don’t know which of us came first as we bucked against each other, each calling out our own blissfully relieved satisfaction.
Con lay against the bed, one arm around my shoulder, the other snaked across my tits. “Are you sure you haven’t done that before?”
Still high on my success at making two people come at once, I smiled happily, wondering what my work colleagues would say if they ever found out what their quiet accounting clerk got up to out of office hours. “Never, I just had erotic fiction and lust to fall back on!”
“Not to mention the fact that you are naturally a very bad girl.” Con kissed my forehead with more tenderness than he’d ever shown me, before asking, “Fancy seeing Tina again? I have a plan.”
“A plan?” Immediately my pulse quickened. “What plan?”
“You’ll have to wait and see, Bad Girl, but I’m sure it won’t be long before your phone rings again….”
DOLLY
Amelia Thornton
She was the prettiest dolly I had ever seen. Her skin was so white and fragile, like it would shatter apart if I ever touched it, and her eyes stared at me so beautifully vacantly, empty emeralds bored into a porcelain shell. I wanted to brush her hair, feel the smoothness of it running through my fingers, stroke the smooth sheet of pure blackness hanging around her face like a dark curtain, put ribbons in it and inhale the musty, rose-scented smell of it. Her dress was a deep-green taffeta, with a pretty cream lace collar and trim on the puffed sleeves and a wide black velvet sash tied in an enormous bow on her back, and I wanted to take it off and see what she looked like underneath, then put it back on and take it off again, but I wasn’t sure if she’d let me.
Dolly smiled a big smile at me. Maybe she was thinking I looked like a pretty little girl too. I couldn’t tell, because dollies aren’t really supposed to talk, and even though I wanted to ask her, she probably wouldn’t answer me. Daddy said I could have whatever I wanted for my birthday though, and this was the most super-duper-best-ever present he could ever get me, though where he found one as pretty as this I just don’t know. I mean, I had mentioned it enough times, but I didn’t think he’d really be able to find one. Not a real dolly, one who breathes and feels and suffers just like me; who I could play with, just me and her. But here she was, right in front of me, so smilingly silent. My perfect doll.
Gingerly, I stepped forward and poked Dolly’s arm. She fidgeted a bit, but didn’t move much. I poked her again. This time she kept completely still. Hmm. With an air of scientific experimentation, I took a large chunk of her beautiful black hair and gave it a good, hard tug. Her head lolled to the side, eyes still blankly staring ahead of her, enticingly unresponsive. I could feel an evil chuckle bubbling inside me as I pulled the other side of her hair, then the opposite one again, until her head was being mercilessly yanked from one side to the other. Dolly was going to have to get used to these kinds of games.
With all my might, I dragged her to the middle of the room and propped her up against the edge of the bed. That was the best thing about being a big girl on the outside, but a little one on the inside—you had all the strength of a grownup to pull a dolly around with, and considering Dolly was really quite a big girl herself, it certainly came in useful. I left her sitting like that for a bit whilst I got my very best tea set out of the cupboard, and I’m sure I saw her out of the corner of my eye twitch her head just a little to see what I was up to; but then every time I looked, she was completely still again. Damn sneaky for a dolly, that’s all I can say.
With everything all ready and lined up, I crossed my legs on the floor and started to pour out some nice imaginary tea for Mr. Teddy and myself, and some for Dolly too of course, and I was perfectly content like that for a little while, chattering away to her and knowing she wouldn’t dare to respond. I did start telling her about the time I tied up Mr. Teddy with my skipping rope to see if she’d get scared, but she didn’t even blink an eye. She probably knew that Mr. Teddy was just a teddy, and wouldn’t care two hoots if he got tied up or not, whereas the thought of tying her up was far more appealing. Maybe she was even hoping that I would do just that, and trying to goad me into it with her tempting little silences. Well, we would just see about that. Either way, I still couldn’t stop thinking how I wanted to see what Dolly looked like under her dress, whether she would look like me, or like other girls; whether she would still be a dolly with her dress off, or whether she would magically become a girl again, like some kind of fairytale made real.
“Oh, whoops!” I suddenly said, very loudly, spilling my imaginary tea all over Dolly’s dress. “Look at all that mess, Dolly! Daddy will be really angry if he sees you have a messy dress on. Do you know what happens to me when I make a mess?”
Dolly didn’t say anything. She just kept staring straight ahead, smiling so very sweetly. Hmm. Maybe she knew it wasn’t really a mess. That’s the problem with dealing with a dolly who technically speaking has all the cognitive facilities of a grown woman; she’s going to know when you’re making things up. I got up and scurried next door to the bathroom to fill my teapot with lots of warm water from the tap, and came back and stood right over Dolly, the teapot menacingly poised above her pretty little frock, and what I hoped was an evil glint in my eyes.
“You don’t want to get in trouble, do you, Dolly?” I demanded. “You don’t want to get taken over my knee and spanked black and blue for being such a messy girl, till I make you cry because it hurts so much, then cry a bit more? You don’t want to have that happen now, do you?”
Still she said nothing. That was it. She deserved to be in trouble now. Slowly, so slowly, I tipped the teapot; I watched the water trickle slowly down her dress and across the shiny green bodice, slipping down to the skirt in watery snake-trails and forming a big, dark patch right on the front of it, sticking to her legs just a little bit. Maybe her skin would be wet underneath too. I wanted to touch it, feel the water soaked through the fabric to her smooth limbs, see if it felt cold or warm or just in between, see what she would do if my fingers slid past her petticoats and crept farther up and tried to… Dolly’s arms flopped to her sides. She wasn’t doing anything.
Firmly, I pulled Dolly up to her feet and sat myself down on the edge of the bed, yanking her roughly over my knee with every ounce of strength that I had. It felt good to be able to take charge like this, compelling and powerful and just so deliciously…moreish. It made me wonder why I didn’t do it more, though I suppose I knew at the same time; it was the very same feeling she was probably feeling right then, that helpless, fathomless submission that comes from having another person take you over completely. I guess it’s like eating nothing but cola cubes then having a jelly baby—both of them are yummy, so why have just one of them?
Sternly, I reminded myself I needed to be addressing the important tasks at hand, not just contemplating the relative merits of dominance and submission in terms of confectionary, and I tugged Dolly’s limp torso a little farther over my lap so I could reach better. I did think I could see a flicker in her eyes, a tiny bit of fear, but then it was gone. Well, she’d be sorry soon enough. Daddy always takes his time when he smacks my bottom, over my dress, then over my panties, and then finally, very carefully, pulling my panties down; but I didn’t have time for all that nonsense. Dolly’s dress got pulled up right away, her pretty white lace knickers shoved down to her knees, and I smacked her as hard as I could, over and over and over. I know that’s the very worst way you can spank someone, because I had it myself once, and it hurt like hell. No warming up, no gentle preamble, no time to get used to the sensation of someone’s hand determinedly slapping against the softness of your skin. Just cold, hard ouch.
She was very good though, and didn’t squeal or anything, not even when I got that awful spot right where the curve of h
er buttocks reached the top of her thighs. I did see her flinch a couple of times, and her feet kick out a little bit, but I guess even dollies can’t help it sometimes. I could feel the water on her dress soaking through to my lap, a damp wetness spreading from her onto me, but I liked that feeling. It was just such a shame Dolly had to be punished for it.
It didn’t take long for my hand to start to hurt, though. I don’t know how Daddy manages it! Maybe you get used to it if you do it enough, and I suppose practice makes perfect and all that, but it wasn’t really helping me in the current situation. So I decided to be resourceful, and pushed Dolly over to lie on her back on my bed while I went to find something else to teach her a lesson with, which couldn’t be that hard in our house. Sometimes when me and Daddy aren’t me and Daddy, but we’re Master and slave, and Headmaster and schoolgirl, and other games Big Girls play when they’re not being little, we have lots of nasty things to hit me with, but I wasn’t too sure where Daddy kept them, and besides, little girls don’t really have riding crops and cat-o’-nine-tails hanging round their bedrooms, and I do like to pay attention to details like that.
I did find my hairbrush, though. It’s a beautiful hairbrush, all ebony wood and hand-plucked bristles, and Daddy told me it was very expensive and I’d better take good care of it. I did lose it once, but I was soon very sorry and had a very sore bottom and made sure I wasn’t going to lose it again, not to mention having to use my pocket money to get a new one. That’s the good thing about learning a lesson when you do something wrong; it focuses the mind so much more than just an average “don’t do that again” ever could.
I glanced over at Dolly. She was still lying there, her eyes like glass, her long limbs stretched limply across my bluebell-print sheets, a silent little temptress. She looked like she deserved a good hairbrush spanking. Slowly, ever so slowly, I crept over to her, the mattress squeaking as I climbed up on the bed next to her and peered into her face. In the corners of her beautiful green eyes, I could see the beginnings of tears glistening. Poor Dolly. Gently I pulled her dress away from her long, pale legs and ran my fingers along her skin. It felt yielding and soft, not at all like porcelain. Maybe it wouldn’t shatter after all. I gave it a good, hard pinch, just to be certain, and felt it surrender to me—clutched between my finger and thumb, coaxed into malleable submission. I liked the way that felt. I wondered momentarily if she would bruise, like I do, purplish blue dancing beneath her skin, fading to shadows of yellow as days passed. Dollies probably can’t feel it like little girls can, I decided, and brought the hairbrush down with vicious force against the inside of her thigh, making her jump in shock, leaving a stinging red mark against her whiteness. It looked very pretty. Maybe dollies do get bruises after all. As I gazed with fascination at the fading blush of her skin, it made me want to make more marks on her, cover her pretty legs with angry redness, see what it would look like. So I did.