by Jay Lawrence
"You look good, sweetheart."
I didn't know how to respond. To thank Art for the compliment seemed strange under the circumstances. I felt excited, exposed, nervy. Any moment, someone could approach and witness my al fresco corner time. My heart thumped and my legs shook a little. My ass felt very warm. It throbbed in time to the tingling of my clit. I needed release.
Minutes passed. I could hear insects and traffic passing on the highway. It occurred to me that I could move but I didn't want to. I wanted to do as I was told. It aroused me.
"Come here, Joely."
I turned and looked at Art. He was sitting on the bench by the picnic table and he patted his lap. I shuffled towards him, feeling a strange mix of embarrassed and excited. I could see his cock pressing hard against the fly of his jeans. He wanted me to suck him off. I began to crouch down between his legs but he stopped me.
"Just to make sure the message is clear."
Art grabbed me and put me across his knees. With a sharp intake of breath, he began to spank me, hard and fast on my sore bottom. I squealed.
"You're going to learn to do as you are told, young lady!"
My hips writhed and bucked over his thighs. I made rapid fucking movements, grinding myself against his legs. I was going to come.
Smack, smack, smack.
Art's hand felt very different to his belt. It was almost more arousing, intimate. I felt like a naughty little girl. I could feel my warm ass becoming hotter. I was going to have trouble sitting down.
Art spanked me good and hard. I could feel my naked bottom quivering with every short sharp slap. My clit was swollen fit to burst. My pussy dripped juice on my boyfriend's thighs. I was going to come.
"Oh please! Oh no! Ow, ow, ow!"
I orgasmed quite violently, kicking my legs and crying out in pleasure and pain. He did it. He put me over his knees and spanked me. Confused and trembling, I lay there, my shorts still wrapped about my ankles.
"Now, you're going to go to the women's washroom, make yourself tidy and have a big drink of water."
I nodded, unable to speak. It was all I could do to ease myself up from over Art's knees. I could have stayed there all day, being spanked. Slowly, I stood up and wriggled into my shorts. The fabric felt cool against my hot, well-whipped and spanked behind.
"Run along. We haven't got all day."
"Yes, Art."
I could barely place one foot in front of the other as I walked to the washroom. When I came out, after drinking several cups of much needed water, I saw the truck driver. He was leaning against a mail box looking at me in a way that made me feel strange inside. A kind of predatory smile, amused, hungry. He knew. He had watched my spanking. I walked quickly away, ignoring him, feeling his eyes burn into my back, knowing he was watching my wriggling ass, remembering it squirming and taking Art's belt. I ran back to the car. Art smiled at me in a way I hadn't seen him smile before.
"Things are going to be a bit different from now on, sweetheart."
My ass tingled and burned as I sat down.
"Yes," I agreed, and, with a pleasurable little jolt, I realized that I was pleased about it.
PEACHES
I have a wonderfully secluded little garden at my house by the sea. In the winter, when the fog rolls in from the bay, it sleeps, a neatly walled twilight zone of barren stick-like plants and covered patio furniture. In the summer, however, my garden comes into its own, rapidly swelling to a dazzling crescendo of fruit and flowers. I love bright colors and unusual, flamboyant plants. An ascending chorus line of terra-cotta pots edges the steps up to my kitchen door, containing a nursery of kiwi fruit, kumquats and hibiscus.
Last August, a former lover decided to pay me a surprise call. As always, during the warmer months, I had installed myself and my laptop at the little table on the slightly uneven red brick square that serves as my patio. I was trying to summon the Muse, who appeared to be taking a day off, when a familiar voice called from beyond the wrought iron gate.
"Hey there!"
"Why, hello Darrell! Where on earth did you spring from?! Come on in!"
The gate creaked softly as Darrell entered and I noticed that she carried a well-stuffed hold-all. Questions regarding the state of play of her long-term relationship came to mind but were dismissed in favor of a welcoming hug and kiss.
"You look tired, darling. Let me make you some tea."
Darrell sank into a chair and smiled up at me, all bright blue eyes and a halo of soft golden hair. She looked like an angel.
"I've left Karen. It's for the best."
"I'm so sorry. Oh dear, I don't really know what to say."
Darrell's expression was as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa's.
"Then don't say anything at all! Some things simply aren't meant to be. I don't suppose you have any of that glorious apricot tea left?"
Ah Darrell, ever the little pragmatist. Like a cat, she'd always fall on her feet. I watched my girl kick off her sandals and stretch out in the dappled, sun-splashed light of the patio. Two years before, I had lost Darrell to Karen, a tall, brusque redhead with an architect's business in Manhattan. I wasn't bitter. It was hard to bear a grudge against someone like Darrell.
In my tiny yellow kitchen with shells arranged upon the window ledge, I boiled water and searched for the special fruity tea. There was just enough left to make a small pot for two and I recalled the origins of the heady brew, an old-fashioned store in Greenwich Village. Darrell had worn a great big scarf to keep out the November chill, looking every inch the student she was. Yellowed maple leaves were thick on the ground as I kissed her, tracing her cold cheeks with my worshipful hands.
"Here we are, Daz."
The old endearment slipped so easily from my lips as I set a tray down upon the garden table. I'd used a clear glass teapot and the hot liquid within glowed like the purest amber. I noticed that Darrell's dress had somehow risen above her lovely knees, revealing a glorious sweep of gleaming sun-tanned leg. She grinned at me like a mischievous child and I suddenly realized that I could forgive her anything. Half amused, part annoyed and just plain happy to see the girl, I poured the fragrant tea into porcelain cups.
"You always did have wonderful taste, Suzy. I envy you."
That made me laugh out loud. There was my gorgeous girl, veritably glittering in the afternoon sun, humbly admiring my fine but mismatched thrift store china. She shifted slightly in her chair, crossing her legs and magically revealing an extra inch or two of thigh. Terminally artful and absolutely adorable.
"Are those peaches, Suze? They look marvelous!"
I followed Darrell's gaze to the heavily laden tree, which I had carefully espaliered against the south-facing wall of my little sanctuary. A multitude of blushing downy globes had rewarded my care and I had been planning a lengthy canning session that very evening. Peaches are my favorite fruit and there's nothing can brighten a dark winter's day more than a spoonful of luscious gold from my well-stocked pantry.
The grass felt cool and moist beneath my feet as I padded across the lawn and selected the finest, ripest fruit for my impromptu guest.
"You don't get this in the city."
I thought of Karen's industrial-chic loft, all white empty space and Bauhaus chairs, like living in some monochromatic Lego set. Karen herself, lean and taut with Pilates, poles apart from my homely charms.
I placed the peach in Darrell's lap, an offering to the goddess. She looked down and smiled.
"You're so sweet. Would you peel it for me, please? I'm so hopeless, I always get in a terrible mess."
"Of course."
I returned to the kitchen to fetch a knife and, as an afterthought, a bright paper napkin with a pattern of sunflowers. Glancing through the window as I rummaged in a cluttered drawer, I spotted my friend surreptitiously unbuttoning the bodice of her dress. Suddenly my mouth was dry, as if every last drop of moisture had rushed to the warm oasis between my legs.
Well, my beloved, you certainly didn't
waste any time. And you know I'm caught just like a fish on your hook.
Conflicting emotions surged through me as I stood, transfixed, watching Darrell remove her dress. Did she sense that she had a captive audience of one? It was an unselfconscious striptease. A ray of sunlight caressed her breasts as she unhooked her bra and my pussy responded with a soft yet insistent fluttering sensation. Butterflies of desire. Slowly, as if determined to maintain at least a semblance of dignity, I descended to the patio, clasping the knife and napkin in moist hands. My heart was beating like a drum.
Darrell was stretched out on the grass like a big calico cat. I almost expected her to purr expectantly as I sat down beside her with my votive offering. I couldn't help smiling as I swiftly peeled and sliced the velvety fruit. Only Daz would have the nerve, the sheer insouciance to arrive without warning, requesting her special tea, asking me to prepare her peach, as if nothing had changed since that Greenwich November and Karen the architect didn't exist. I felt as if I should be building some kind of emotional wall but, dammit, I just wanted the girl. Wanted her and loved her too.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"You could start by kissing me."
Darrell giggled and opened her arms. I felt a kind of inner rush, like being enveloped by a warm tide. I just wanted to dive on into her welcoming embrace. I knew I was being used but I didn't care. I kissed the girl. Her lips tasted sweet and faintly sticky, as if she'd been eating candy on her journey. The previous months melted away as we reconnected, lost time dissolving as surely as the honey in our tea. Finally, we came up for air, both breathing hard. I looked down at Darrell's face. Her eyes were closed; a faint smile played upon her lips and her cheeks were flushed. I admired her beautiful breasts, which were quite small but ultra-firm, their tips upturned. Pert and perky tits. I had always lavished attention on Darrell's breasts.
The sun felt heavy on my back as I knelt between my lover's parted thighs and dipped my hot tea-sweet mouth to suckle upon her small pink nipples. They felt like firm jellied candies against my massaging tongue. The butterflies returned, beating their pleasuring wings deep within my syrupy pussy. I took a slice of juicy peach and placed it against my lover's slightly parted lips, simultaneously caressing her silky inner thigh. Darrell sighed, a long, sibilant sound like the sea rushing up the gravel beach to greet the dunes. Slowly, as if she knew it would drive me wild, she drew the dripping wedge of fruit into her mouth and held it there.
"Why don't you feed me, Daz?"
Her eyes half opened, glittering dreamy slits in her sun-kissed face. I counted the tiny freckles on her sweet snub nose as she squeezed the slice of peach out through her plump and sticky lips. A nub of orange/pink flesh emerged from her mouth, so resembling a swollen clitoris that I began to flick the fruit with my tongue. The ripe fruit slid down my throat and I swallowed greedily, as my hand instinctively strayed to the soaking place between my legs. My thin panties were drenched and I shivered as Darrell's cool fingers reached up to ease them over my hips and down my thighs. Swiftly, I wriggled out of my sun-dress and tossed it onto the grass. Suddenly, it was as if we couldn't stand to have the slightest wisp of fabric between our bodies. Almost roughly, I nipped at her skimpy panties with my teeth, dragging them down to reveal her perfumed velvety pussy.
"You look just like a peach!"
It was true. I'd always thought Darrell had the most beautiful pussy. She had a lovely plump Mound of Venus, which was usually either shaved smooth or trimmed to leave but a fine dusting of reddish gold, a mere bloom of soft curly hair. Her labia were small but perfectly formed. She was, indeed, the most tempting fruit of all, as she lay like some magnificent windfall beneath the whispering branches of my tiny orchard. The afternoon sun seemed to caress my naked back as I slipped on top of my lover in a sixty-nine. My lips found her clit and I began to lap up her musky juice, tracing the satiny contours of her inner curves with my searching tongue.
"Eat me, Daz!"
Almost tentatively, Darrell's mouth captured my own ripe to bursting fruit. I could take no more than a few brief moments of her intense wet heat before crying out with my first orgasm. As soon as the waves subsided, I placed my mouth over her solid, shiny clit and sucked like a five year old enjoying a lollipop. I remembered Darrell. She was the kind of girl who took a lot of stimulation. I'd long suspected that Karen spanked her, taking full advantage of her slight passivity, but ours was a meeting of equals. I licked and sucked and flicked the tiny female cock, savoring the smooth silk of her fresh clean flesh, the salty sugar of her copious juice. Darrell aroused slowly but steadily, as if her body chose to climb a long, steep plateau and make brief ecstasy last forever. Her hands felt warm, sometimes playing with my hair, sometimes pressing softly on my back, guiding me gently, encouraging me to stay the course. I could sense her orgasm rise, swell, grow, from a well-hidden seed in the depths of her love-nest, to a full, ripe, bursting, juice-filled crescendo. As she almost reached her peak, she began to thrash around from side to side, as if to come was just too intense, too much for her body to bear. She took her time but when she came it was explosive.
"Oh, fuck me! Oh, please fuck me!"
I kept my mouth on her clit, never missing a beat, but slipped the tip of one finger inside her ass. Darrell's whole body seemed to rise, she writhed like an ivory serpent on the grass.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..."
I remembered her pleading, as if she almost had to fight the relentless onslaught of her orgasm. Nobody came like Darrell came. It was all I could do to hold onto her as she ground her shaking hips against my face. I was coated in her juice from forehead to chin. Finally, joyfully, her body imploded beneath my tongue and she screamed, wailed, moaned a veritable Greek chorus accompanying a climax that could waken the dead.
"Oh God, oh my darling..."
It took her a while to subside, to slowly come back down to earth, so I gently dismounted and brought her her tepid tea, patiently waiting for my lover to recover. From time to time she shuddered with little aftershocks, as if she had been plugged into a powerful electrical source and now had to shed the current amp by amp. Suddenly I felt overwhelmingly protective.
"You're precious to me, you know."
Darrell looked up at me, her bright gaze a hybrid of gratitude and triumph. She made a slight face as she sipped the half-cold apricot tea.
"You're so sweet, Suze! There's so much I have to tell you."
"There's plenty of time. No hurry. I'm not going anywhere." My lover smiled ruefully, but truthfully, I hadn't meant to imply anything. I wouldn't be going anywhere because permanence is my style. I'm a patient sort. I understand that the seasons turn and birds fly south in winter, only to return when the weather is fine. I love the slow, sensual rhythm of my garden. Sometimes it sleeps, sometimes it sings with a riot of color. If I tend it, it rewards me with baskets full of fruit. Darrell is a butterfly. She lives completely in the present, without regret. I know I can never possess her, I can only seize the day. And so, that drowsy August afternoon, I got her to help me with my peach canning. I decided to store up sweet fruit and memories to ward off future chill. My lover comes and goes. Sometimes, months pass and all I have is a postcard on my fridge, stamped in Albuquerque or Spokane. I deal with it. Summer can't last forever but it always returns.
SPANKING THE MAID
"What are you doing?"
I knew it was a mistake to utter the words the moment they had escaped my lips. I stood in the drawing room doorway, frozen, entirely transfixed by the scene unfolding before my eyes. My husband was seated on the green leather sofa – the one the exact shade of the car in Tamara de Lempicka's "Autoportrait". His right hand was raised. And Sonia, our maid, lay across his knees; her skirt flipped right up to reveal a rather plump and exceedingly well-reddened behind.
"I thought that was rather obvious, my dear."
As if it was the most natural and commonplace event in the world, he returned to spanking Sonia who rewarded his
efforts by squealing lustily and wriggling her ample hips against his crotch. Idly I wondered if his cock was hard. But wasn't it my cock? Wasn't he supposed to be keeping it for me? My heart beat sturdily, making the fine cream silk of my blouse quiver in time with the young girl's blancmange-like derriere.
"Really, Quentin..."
This time he didn't even bother to look up but continued relentlessly applying force majeure to a pair of buttocks that had begun to look rather sore and as crimson as a bad case of scarlet fever.
"The girl needs correction and correction she will have. Be quiet, Constance. It's time you learned your place."
I gasped and leaned against the doorframe. Here was my dear husband of six months wrestling with the buxom nubile form of our new domestic help. Sonia was big and blonde with a rosy complexion and reminded me of a dairymaid. Her bosoms were large and I imagined that her nipples would be hard as she received her bare bottom spanking. I thought of them rubbing against her brassiere, chafing as her entire body surged against his lap. He paused and I noted that Sonia wore frilly panties, rather little girlish, layer upon layer of frothing lace. His left hand tugged at the waistband of the chi-chi undergarment, pulling it up tight. I thought of how that would feel to Sonia, all that fabric bunched up in a wad between her smooth silky thighs. With a shock I realized that I was very wet between my own legs.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The palm of his spanking hand came down sharply and firmly against the poor girl's writhing bottom. Some peculiar side of me began to feel jealous – no, not because my dearest had wrestled a pretty girl into an uncompromising position – but because he was meting out discipline upon her squirming, luscious posterior. I leaned against the doorframe and watched intently, mesmerized like a mongoose by a cobra.
Slap! Slap! Slap!