At the end of the scene as the cast took their bows, Mary gave the most enthusiastic standing ovation of her career. She didn’t know exactly what had happened in the three hours that she’d been away, but she thanked God that it had.
Despite Mary’s sincere congratulations however, there was a sombre silence in the dressing room as the cast got ready to go home; the sadness that they would have to wait until tomorrow before they could rehearse again.
“You know,” said Katie, “Mary may have thought that the scene was perfect, but I personally think that I could have done better.”
“Yeah, me too,” replied Sally. “I don’t think that my terror was quite sincere enough when you told me to bend over.”
“I suppose we could go back to my house and rehearse some more?”
There was a moment’s chattering amongst the extras before Carol was finally press-ganged into being their spokesperson.
“Erm, Katie?” she whimpered. “Would there be room for all of us as well?”
Him
by Cyanne
You know I want you, I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. It’s rare, that kind of chemistry; it’s not about being good-looking, or funny, or clever, or any of that, although you are all of those things. This is chemical, literally. It makes me feel a bit icky to say it as I don’t want kids, but I guess on some primitive level I want your babies. But I don’t want to dwell on that!
So … we fooled around, we became friends, you told me we could be nothing more. I know you love her and I don’t want to take you away from her, but I know you want more, and I would be only too happy to give it to you. You feel guilty, sometimes you admit it, sometimes you don’t, but I know you want me too. Just give in to it. I hold out hope that one day you will just give in to it. For years now, through other relationships, single times, other crushes, jobs, projects, interests … when it’s time for my mind and fingers to wander, it’s you. It’s always been you.
We get a hotel. We hide our cars in different places just in case anyone recognises them. The sneaking around, the deceit, it’s part of the fun. I know you love legs and shoes, so I’m wearing the tightest skinny jeans and heels. You’ve checked in and are already sitting at the bar when I walk in; you look me up and down and your eyes tear holes in me. I am weak with lust for you, more than any man I have ever met. I don’t want to look like an escort and you don’t want to look like a cheat, we agreed on the phone, so we peck on the cheeks and act like we’re on a second date or something. Just being this close to you turns me on, the smell of your skin, the firmness of your body putting your arms around me. We have a drink and every movement, every comment, every flash of eye contact is loaded. You stroke my hair and it electric-shocks me. Our legs touch and I quiver. We were supposed to have dinner but we can’t wait, we’ll have to order room service later or something. You give me the room key and say you’ll follow at a safe distance. We’re not that far away from home, and you never know who’s lurking around.
I strip down to my underwear, plain black strapless bra and thong with opaque, plain top hold-up stockings. My hair’s black and my make-up’s heavy and gothic, completely different to her and I know you’ll love it. I keep my heels on. I throw a pink scarf over the lamp and put a CD on – Nine Inch Nails. She probably wants to fuck to Celine Dion or something. I’m going to be just the girl you want, which luckily is exactly the girl I am already. The hotel room’s the perfect backdrop, just tacky enough, decorated in reds, perfect for adultery and filth and things never to be spoken of but often dreamed about.
I pile on even more make-up, light a cigarette and sit in the big black armchair. I resist the urge to touch myself; I’m already wet but I want your fingers, or – oh my god! – your tongue, to be the first thing I feel. When you come in I almost faint with lust, and I love the fact that I can see you react to me the same way. I take a long drag on the cigarette, looking you dead in the eyes.
You love going down on a girl more than anything, and you can’t wait but I try to make you wait a little while. I know you’ll be in control soon enough but it’s more fun for you to break me if I’m strong. You kneel in front of me trying to pull my panties off and I tell you to wait until I’ve finished my cigarette. You start to play with my shoes, cradling my foot and stroking my insteps, held firm by the leather. This pulls my legs a little bit open and you tear your eyes away from my foot to try to make out the folds of my pussy under my thong. Stroking up my leg strongly with both hands you play with my stocking tops, staring hungrily all over my body. I’m enjoying the power, for now, but I’ll relinquish it to you in time and you know that. You watch the cigarette going down, like an egg timer for when the roles will change. You kiss my shoes, my ankles and up my legs. At the top of my stockings you hesitate, before blowing, nibbling, licking my bare thighs. I moan as you press your lips to my cunt through my panties. You love female juices so much and you try to pull them aside but I wriggle away, pointing at the cigarette, and taking another drag. You can wait, and you go back to playing with my shoes, a look of fascinated innocence on your face.
I stub out the cigarette and start to submit to you. You motion for me to turn around and I kneel up on the chair, leaning forward over the back and sticking my ass out. You walk round me, admiring every angle, stroking my face as I stay resolutely prone, running your hands over the rounds of my buttocks and down the backs of my legs.
‘You fucking temptress,’ you say, not harshly, but with just a hint of aggression.
I stare ahead, the patterns on the curtains swirling as my eyesight starts to go wonky with lust, and hear you unbuckling your belt. I try to turn and you press my face into the chair with your hand. You stroke my ass and every time your fingers graze just a little bit closer to my pussy. The leather feels different to your hand, cooler and less pliant, as you stroke the belt down my back, over my ass, and down the backs of my legs. The contrast between the feminine gauzy stockings and the manly utility of the leather belt as they meet each other does it for me, and I know you know this.
The first smack with the belt is a surprise, not unwelcome, but harsh and shocking nonetheless. It smarts. My gentle female arousal is punctuated by the flat slap of the belt, right across my arse, and a low grunt from you as you do, loving hurting me, punishing me for tempting you, and loving that I love it. I arch my back up and lift my head, crying out – it does actually hurt, even though the rush and the turn-on are amazing. The music is getting particularly industrial and thrashy and you are getting into your stroke, and three harder smacks crash down on me, and I cry, eye make-up smearing down my cheeks, black lines of drama that lovers love.
My arse and the tops of the legs smart from the thrashing and you stroke me gently, sliding your hand over where the welts are just starting to appear. My pussy’s gushing, aching for your touch. You slowly edge my panties down a little bit, which stings as they graze over my spanked buttocks. How do you know? How can you have the same, equal and opposite turn-ons to me? It’s almost like I’m writing it, almost like you’re reading my mind. You leave my panties stretched between my upper thighs – it’s perfect, I love it. Kissing your way down my back you work your way down and I arch backwards, begging you with my body. You allow me just a few seconds, flickering your tongue into my cunt, wet with spit and pussy we squelch together and I’m spinning with lust, feeling like I’m about to faint.
You tell me to get on the bed and I obey. I want to obey you, and I know that by obeying you I am giving you what she won’t, and it’s so perfect. I am moving carefully, wobbling on my heels a little, my legs weak and my marks hurting. I go to pull my panties back up and you shake your head.
‘You can take those down.’
So I do, stepping out of them, loving the abandon I feel. No knickers, hair aflutter, my shoes bondage in themselves as I struggle to control the high heels in my weakened state.
The bed is dark red, and flanked by a huge mirrored wardrobe down one wall. I lie o
n my back as you tell me to and touch myself between the legs. I could come in an instant if you’d let me but I don’t think you’re going to quite yet. You smile, shaking your head at me. You’re trying to look harsh but you’re loving this. You kneel on the bed and pull my legs up, over my head, almost into a shoulder stand, hooking the heels of my shoes under the top bar of the high metal headboard. I look at myself in the mirror, looking like a total porn star, a little narcissistic maybe but you love me for it – she doesn’t even shave her legs.
My ass is lifted off the bed by my feet being hooked and you give it another whack with the belt, and another, and my heels take chunks of paint off the wall as I try to wriggle away from the pain. Then your fingers are on my pussy, one finger stroking up and down so gently and I’m almost coming. Then your tongue, and I’m coming against your face, screaming, sweating, not caring – the mirror showing a porno flick of a fully clothed man pressing his face into this total slut’s cunt. But it’s me. And it’s you. It’s you.
The French don’t call it the little death for nothing. I am momentarily destroyed, unable to focus or think straight. And you are up beside the bed, your mind still clear, and you’re undressing. Your body is perfect for me, muscular, tattooed; I love your strength and the contrast of you to me. I want you to hold me to your chest but you’re pressing your cock into my mouth, pulling me up onto my knees so you can see in the mirror. I put on a show, arching my back and licking your cock and sucking just the end, locking your gaze in the glass. I can see your gaze travelling from my mouth around you, down my arched back, to my bare ass and the red marks before my stockings and those shoes. You love everything I love, and I suck you.
You want me on my back again, and I willingly comply. Again, my legs are up and hooked, and it aches, but it’s worth it. You kneel over me, and gently now start to push into me, just the tip, and it drives me wild. I’m begging you to fuck me hard, but you’re so in control, and that makes me even madder. I want you to lose control like I have, and we both know what’s going on, and I love it. I’m so wet and you slide your cock around, getting it wet, and start to nudge it against my ass. I protest theatrically and you smile and carry on. I open up to you and you slide in further, your sudden gentleness both delicious and frustrating. You’re rubbing my clit so gently, and moving the head of your cock in and out of my ass, and I’m going to come again. My wetness is trickling down and you’re sliding in and out so gently, and my clit is swollen and super sensitive under your touch, and I’m coming, thrusting up to meet you and pulling you further into me, the mixture of sensations more than I can handle.
You pull out and wank over me, both of us watching each other in the mirror, and your cum showers me and you hold me tight, open and vulnerable just for the moment. Just for tonight.
Learning her Lesson
by Chloe Devlin
The click of the door sounded louder in the quiet room than it actually was. Debbie knew that the sound meant she was caught. And that she would be punished.
The Jenkins had told her their rules when she’d moved in at the start of her last semester in college. Staying out too late was a major no-no. And sneaking in was an even bigger one.
She pulled herself the rest of the way through the window into her room. As she stood up, a light flashed on, revealing Mr Jenkins standing in the doorway to her bedroom. He had a wooden instrument in his hand, kind of like a fraternity paddle.
“Where have you been, Debbie?” His deep voice sent shivers through her. So far she’d behaved well enough to escape punishment, although she’d heard the cries of some of the others when they misbehaved. Although no one would tell her exactly what happened behind closed doors, they always had a sparkle in their eyes the next day when talking about it. A spurt of excitement shot through her at the thought that she’d finally discover all those secrets.
“At a party, Mr Jenkins.” Her voice quavered, despite trying to keep it steady. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
He tapped the harsh wood against the palm of one hand. “I’m sorry, too, Debbie. You know you broke the rules.”
She nodded, her heart starting to pound.
“Then you know you must be punished.” The words slid against her skin like silk, arousing every nerve ending.
She shivered again, but didn’t say a word as he locked the door behind him, his body a menacing presence. She knew he’d never seriously hurt her, but she also knew that she wouldn’t escape punishment. She trembled as he walked over to her, but by clenching her fists, she managed to stay put when he reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.
“Take this off,” he said, fingering the cotton material of her shirt.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. Did he really say what she thought? Was this really going to happen?
“You heard me,” he said. “I want you to take off your blouse and skirt.” He whacked the wooden paddle against his denim-clad thigh, the sound reverberating in the room. “Now!”
Feeling self-conscious, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and drew it off her shoulders and arms. Then she unfastened her long, flowery skirt and let it drop to the floor. Thinking she might meet up with Ricky, she’d worn her nicest undies – her garter belt and stockings with matching bra and thong.
“The bra and thong, too,” he said. “But leave the rest on.”
Wondering what on earth was going on, she reached behind her and unsnapped the tiny hook holding her bra closed. It fell forward on her arms, letting her small breasts poke free. In the cool air of the room, her nipples puckered invitingly. But she also knew it wasn’t entirely the cold that made them do that – it was also a deep-seated excitement that was building in her belly.
Mr Jenkins reached into his back pocket and withdrew two lengths of rope. “Hands out. Wrists together,” he ordered.
She swallowed hard, but obeyed. He swiftly lashed her wrists together, intertwining the rope so there was no hope that she’d be able to free herself. Not that she really wanted to. The rasp of the rope against the inside of her wrists made her wonder what it would feel like looped around her thighs or even her tits.
She quickly obeyed his command to get on the bed on her knees and stretch forward. Without her hands, she fell forward, landing on her chest, the rough blanket like sandpaper against her hard nipples. She turned her head so that her cheek rested against the cover as Mr Jenkins took her bound hands and used the second piece of rope to secure them to the headboard.
“Spread your legs,” he said.
She shuffled her knees sideways, trying to obey the best she could. With only her garter belt and stockings, she felt incredibly exposed. And with each inch that she spread her legs, her excitement built. Fresh air wafted over her pussy, making her aware that she was dripping with arousal.
“Wider.” He tapped the inside of each thigh with the wooden paddle. “I want you stretched wider.”
She kept shifting her knees apart until she thought her hips would pop. “Mr Jenkins, I –”
He ignored her hesitant words. “That’s fine. Now you’re ready. I’m not going to gag you. If you cry out or scream, I will. Do you understand?”
She nodded, the blanket harsh against her cheek. “I understand.”
“Good. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard whispers and rumours about punishment in this house.” He smoothed one hand over her taut buttocks, gently caressing. “Not only did you stay out late, but you were caught trying to sneak back in from a party. I have no doubt you went to this party to meet a boy. But if you’re not responsible enough to be home on time, then you cannot be permitted to attend such functions.”
“But ...” Her protest died off as he moved his hand to her other cheek, cupping and massaging her flesh.
“And I’m equally certain you went to meet this boy because you thought he could satisfy certain … urges you may feel. However, after tonight, I guarantee you won’t care about meeting that boy because I’m going to satisfy those urges. Remember, no crying out.” Before he fi
nished the warning, he lifted his hand and brought it down on one side of her butt.
The sting shot through her body and she stiffened against the unexpected pain, her back going rigid. But she managed to keep from crying out, biting hard on her lower lip. Instinctively, she whimpered, “One.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” he said. “There’s no need to count the number of strokes. The number doesn’t really matter. It’s all about the pain and the pleasure.”
Both sensations collided in her gut as his blunt fingertips swirled around her cunt, parting her pussy lips and sliding through the slickness. She shivered and clenched her insides, trying to hold on to the sensations. Then another swat landed on the other butt cheek.
Debbie managed to keep from crying out each time Mr Jenkins’ palm landed on her flesh. But it was getting harder and harder to contain her arousal as he touched her pussy or labia or clit after each swat. Keeping her hips still for the punishment, she wriggled her upper body, revelling in the roughness of the blanket against her nipples, sending an aching arousal coursing through her entire body. Another whimper escaped as she clenched her insides, wondering just how much of this pleasure and pain she could take.
“You’re positively dripping,” he crooned softly. “You must be full of those naughty urges. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
She gasped as he thrust two fingers into her tight pussy. Holding them deep inside her body, he continued spanking her ass, the slaps landing with a steadier rhythm. Just as she began to get used to the sensation, he wiggled his fingers inside her body. Then he thrust his fingers in and out of her pussy, like a hard dick fucking her.
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