Cupping a hand, he lovingly caressed those fleshy mounds, admiring their spongy bounce, the satiny smoothness of the rounded contours, the deep division between the cheeks. As he lovingly rubbed and massaged her rearend, the tense woman stirred with growing agitation. Laid out across his lap in the humiliating position of a naughty schoolgirl, feeling the dreamy caress of his firm masculine hand on her naked butt, there was no way Lydia could possibly keep still.
He paused to arrange the shifting woman over his knee, lifting his right heel a bit, so that her bottom was arched higher and her thighs were more slightly spread. His left hand came up to be placed on her lower back, pinning the big woman firmly in place, as he raised his right hand up high. And when he brought his flattened hand down it was with a crisp authority, delivering a glancing smack that sent her bouncy mounds wobbling.
WHAP!…WHAP!…WHAP!..WHAP!
He was spanking her -- hard and quick, while Lydia yelped, threw back her head, and kicked up her heels in furious staccato. He pressed down harder, determined to hold the writhing female steady, over his lap. In spite of her shrieking and pleading, he would give her no mercy, slapping her big ass with an insolence, delivering glancing slaps that sent the wobbly cheeks dancing merrily before his eyes.
WHAP!… WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
A smile curled the man’s lips as he watched those chubby mounds flatten and rebound under his repeated slaps, thoroughly enjoying their springy resiliency. After the first few smacks, Lydia tensed up, raising her head and shoulders and holding her legs in a rigid straight line, while she tightened her cowering cheeks in anticipation of each slap. But nothing she could do would lessen the terrible force of that methodical walloping, and soon she gave up even this feeble resistance, and lay passive, determined to endure what she must.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
The resounding echoes of that hard flattened hand striking the mounds of quivering flesh, now mingled with her sharp yelps. For Lydia, the severe spanking seemed to go and on. When at last he finally stopped, Wolfe’s aching palm was tingling, and he was breathing hard.
He studied that freshly-spanked bottom, the twin domes blazing angrily with a bright scarlet tinge. She flinched when he laid a cupped hand on her tenderized bottom, and got from her a deep-throated moan. She waited fearfully; but this time his only intention was only to let his hand rest there, lightly cupping one cheek, feeling the heat he had generated there, the radiating warmth of Lydia Wyngate’s well-punished, womanly behind.
And Lydia lay there panting, totally aware of the dull throbbing in her ass, and something else -- a curious tingling between her legs. She realized she was wet down there, and a shiver of lust ran through her. She felt a strong urge to pee.
He helped her up and she stood before him, woozy, with tearful eyes, weak with relief, damp with sweat, her thighs slick and trembling, half-masted panties still binding her knees. She was acutely aware of the wetness on her thighs; her cheeks burned with humiliation.
She couldn’t help reaching back to rub her sore bottom as she stood before him with head hung low. Now Principal Wolfe pointed to the corner and the big woman turned and obediently shuffled off, walking comically, still hobbled by the panties she was not allowed to hitch up, to take the mandated place with nose pressed to the corner of the room, He had her stand at attention and place her hands on her head. By this time the slovenly panties had dropped down her legs to ring her ankles as she stood there, her freshly-chastised behind on prominent display, embarrassed, humiliated, yet super-aware of the building lust flooding up from her loins.
The vividness of the dream woke her, and she plunged her hands into the slippery heat between her legs, rubbing frantically till, in only a few seconds, she found release, as a massive orgasm wracked her heaving, sweating body.
***
Maddie Fox was a featured speaker during the first morning of the conference, and once her presentation was over, she found herself at loose ends for the rest of the day. She had resolved to attend most of programs put on by other speakers. Some of the biggest names in the Movement were there. But she found herself only half-listening to the familiar rhetoric, drifting from room to room in the big conference center, taking a seat in the back so she could later say she was there. Still, she remained curiously detached.
She hated to admit it, but these women bored her. It was the same tired rhetoric, she had heard so many times before. She watched one angry young woman in a camouflage jacket, working herself up into a hysteria, haranguing men as part of the international conspiracy. The few guilt-ridden examples of male gender in the audience hung their heads, nodding their complicity in something they only dimly understood. Maddie let her mind drift. Her thoughts turned to men. Men!
It was a subject increasingly on her mind as of late. Not the sort of pasty, weak-kneed, bloodless, insipid males who might actually attended the conference, the “male feminists” who tripped over themselves in their efforts to be ‘sensitive.’ No, she was feeling an more earthy need: the need for a real man, one who would take her, and use her to satisfy this raging lust. For days now, there only been one thing on her mind: Sex! Sex, sex, sex! It had been driving her crazy! She saw men watching her: imagined thick bulges tightening the front of their pants, their eyes following her with the haunted look of a man wanting a woman. She felt she could see it in their eyes: rutting lust; raw, animal lust. Was she, could she be… a sex object? Did the men who watched her? Want to fuck her? Wasn’t she past all that silliness…the residue of all those romantic paperbacks she read as a girl?
As the day wore, on she became increasingly restless. Thoughts of sex turned her insides to mush; leaving her fluttery as a schoolgirl. For no reason, a powerful surge of randiness would suddenly ripple through her. One time, she had to rush back to her room in the middle of a talk, so as to roll on the bed, her hands jammed between her legs, gripping herself, hard, and rubbing with the heel of her hand till she abruptly came in an explosive shudder. Masturbating in the middle of the day in a strange hotel room! She shook her head in disbelief. What had come over her?
Back in her hotel room, after the interminable afternoon session, she immediately stripped to her underwear, fell on the bed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed her moist, aching pussy. With her hand trapped between her clenching thighs, she would rub her pantied mons in desperation, palming her needy sex, arching back against the mattress. The creamy rise of pleasure made her moan, electrified her, left her shaken...and wanting more. More. She had no choice. She had to get out, to escape this bloodless, boring conference of endless talking, and flee into the city outside -- to find a man!
She swung her legs over the side, sat up on the bed, breathing deeply, passing a hand over her sweating brow. Her hair was soaked. She realized she was sweating: dripping wet. She moved fast now, stripping off her bra, pausing for just a second; then quickly slipping off her panties. She snatched up a light-weight cotton print, wigging into it in a heated rush, letting it slither down her nude body, reaching up in back to find the zipper. Tugging the thin dress into place, she quickly slipped bare feet into a pair of waiting sandals with wicked 5” heels, she had just bought the day before the conference.
In the mirror, she paused to study her reflection, smoothening the thin, body-hugging dress, cupping her plump little breasts, fluffing them up a bit, before running her hands down her body and over the flare of her hips. The summery dress hung by two spaghetti straps, baring shoulders, neck and chest, and the tops of her tits, all sheened with perspiration. The bodice was drawn smooth, pulled taut over the firm bulges of her pert tits. Her nipples were already tightening, growing, hardening; you could just make them out, twin points pressing against the tightly-stretched fabric -- peeking out with expectant audacity. Her nipples had been so very sensitive as of late. Frisky nipples, lightly teased, till they came out to play. She twisted to look back over her shoulder at her behind. ‘Hey babe, nice ass,’ she chuckled to herse
lf, giving her small butt a sexy wiggle. A final tug on the hem in back, and she was ready to go.
The terrible horniness now had her firmly in its iron grip. Wild and wicked; she was so excited that she had to work to control her shaking hands when she grabbed her lipstick – gleaming, wet-red. Curling her painted lips, she pressed them together, and give the mirror her best, lipsticked smile. She studied her hair. Her fingers brushed down her bangs, then she combed clawed fingers through the sides of her hair, imagining a man doing it; sifting her silky hair through his fingers. A shake of her head loosened the mop. Giving herself a final, big smile, she turned to go out into the night heat.
Going out into the street like this, with no bra or panties, was an incredible turn on for the middle-aged woman. She felt naughty and wicked and marvelously free -- all at once. She threw back her shoulders and let her hips sway, as she strolled along the crowded avenue in her high heeled sandals. ‘Fuck me’ shoes -- the words came to her out of thin air.
The thrill of knowing she was naked under the light dress cut through her like an erotic knife. But no one she passed on the street could ever know how turned on she was by the very thought. A tiny voice somewhere inside warned her to be careful. She tried to keep an uninterested look on her face as she passed men on the street, pretending not to notice their stares, the sexual hunger in their eyes. It suddenly came to her: ‘I’m a bitch. A bitch in heat.’ The words ‘bitch in heat’ hung in the air. And they know it! Men sense it somehow, instinctively. Can they smell a bitch in heat? Can they guess that I’m walking around practically naked, wearing nothing at all under this thin little dress? Do they know my pussy is soooo ready: wet, throbbing with aching need? She couldn’t help smiling to herself.
‘Men! They just can’t help themselves. I know their cocks are swelling up as, they stare at me with desire in their eyes. They dream of stroking my perky, half-exposed breasts; getting their hands up under my dress. They’d sell their souls to know what I look like beneath my dress, the short, sexy, summer dress that barely covers my bottom, and leaves exposed my bare legs from my toes almost to the cheeks of my swaying ass. They stare at my firm, sweaty breasts and wonder what they’d look like if they were freed; strain to make out the imprints of my excited nipples, my tingling, rock-hard nipples. Their cocks stiffen, as their eyes follow me with pitiful longing. You can almost see them salivating. Pavlov dogs.’
Still smiling, she watched herself in the shop windows as she sashayed along the avenue, her ‘fuck-me’ heels clicking on the pavement, feeling deliciously wicked, feeling like some slut, like a whore; but with a one important difference. She wouldn’t boldly meet those hungry stares, don’t give them one of those seductive, welcoming smiles, that whores give to likely prospects. No, she would keep her eyes distant and remote, her chin in the air. She knew those guys would love to see her bare-assed naked; imagine what she’d look like, imagine doing things to her -- all kinds of things. Like fucking her plump little tits while she squeezed them around a surging cock; or forcing her to her knees, to make her suck them off, to lick and gobble greedily, and suck on their big, stiff cocks; to weigh a set of big balls in the palm of her hand. She’d be made to service many men. Lots of naked guys who would crowd around her in a lose circle, while she’s on her knees, reaching for their cocks, stiff pricks quivering with hot male lust.
Throbbing pricks would erupt; they’d come on her face, all of them, all at once, showering gobs of cum all over her lips and teeth and chin, splattering her face, and even her hair, with thick gooey strands of their cream. And all the while she’d grovel at their feet: a cum slut, a love slave, wallowing in sex. Sex, sex, sex; down and dirty sex. She actually felt her womb jump; quivered at the deliciously erotic thought that electrified her, leaving a shiver of lust to ripple in its wake. The warmth rose up from her loins; she felt her face flush with the rising heat.
She knew she was horny, practically trembling now. She could taste it! ‘Damn it,’ she thought, ‘I need a man!’ A strong guy, whose wide hands are hungry for the feel of my body. He’ll feel his way down my back till he can grab my ass, and he takes me, and fucks me; fucks me while I lay on my back, legs waving in the air. He’ll clamp my ankles, open me up, hold my splayed legs wide open, while he pounds into me with teeth-jarring fury, his cock driving into my opened cunt like a well oiled piston, hard, deep, relentless, in and out. It’d just go on and on. Or maybe he’ll take me from behind, while I crouch on hands and knees -- an excited bitch, wagging her tail in heat. Clamping my hips, he’d hold on tight while he savagely jams his powerful cock into me, rams it in all the way, holds it there, deep in my churning cunt. A prick! A big, hard prick! Then his solid hips will be pounding against my jutting ass, and all the while I’ll be moaning and squirming and tossing my hair around wildly, while this guy fucks me savagely, from behind, like a fuckin’ animal. He’ll ride me, and fuck me. Fuck me, FUCK MEEE!
She saw before her a bright neon sign of a trendy, wood-framed bar, and the single redhead in the short dress and heels headed straight for the front door.
***
Paige gave a lot of thought as to what she would wear to her lunch with Hillary DeWitt. She knew the restaurant was a very posh one, the sort of up-scale place where fashion-conscious, chic women would be dressed to the max. She paused with one hand on the outfit she had just bought. It was bold and sassy, the kind of thing that might be worn by a model, but hardly by professional woman, even one as pretty as Paige. Would someone like Hillary consider it too flashy?
She brushed aside her reservations. What the hell! She loved how she looked in the shiny vinyl skirt of dark maroon, with its short hem, and the tunic top, collarless, with that long prominent zipper that ran all the way down the front. Once she had the outfit on, it seemed only natural to go with a pair of sleek, calve-high boots. Perhaps, it was a bit much, but Paige liked the way she felt in the sexy outfit: wild and youthful, and, well …’sexy,’ she thought, tugging on the red leather boots. She savored the word ‘sexy’ as though she had just discovered it. A thrill shot through her.
She wasn’t really dressing to please Hillary DeWitt, she told herself, but her heart beat faster when she saw the woman’s eyes widen in approval when she strolled into the restaurant.
***
The two women sat at a small table in a quiet corner of the elegant restaurant. The lunchtime crowd had thinned out, yet both seemed reluctant to leave, lingering over drinks and the trailing conversation.
Paige was enthralled, thrilled to have an intimate lunch with no less than Hillary Dewitt, herself. Hillary intrigued her -- a fascinating woman, who took a genuine interested in Paige and her work. She thrilled when those engaging eyes found hers, and brightened in a smile. Now she was looking across the table at Hillary when a strange feeling of detachment came over her. She was watching Hillary’s lips move, but not really able to pay attention to her words. She couldn’t seem to shake off last night’s dream.
In her dream she had come upon two naked people coupling on a bed in what looked like her parent’s bedroom. As she entered the room, she now saw that the woman, who was on her back, knees drawn back and legs waving in the air was none other than Hillary DeWitt, her teeth clenched, face contorted with passion. Between her spread legs a stocky man was pumping into her with all the vigor of a lusty male. Fascinated, she came closer to the coupling pair, and it was then that the man turned to look over his shoulder at her, and she found herself looking into the grinning face of Marcus Wolfe!
She took another sip of gin. Normally, Paige didn’t drink much, especially during the day. But Hillary seemed to be especially fond of gin gimlets, and Paige thought it would be impolite for her companion to have to drink alone.
By the time the two women left the dark restaurant to step back into glare of the hot afternoon, Paige felt pleasantly lulled by the gin. She couldn’t face going back to her office, and when Hillary asked if she’d like to stop by her place, Paige jumped at the chance, h
er heart racing.
Paige crossed her long legs and eased back on the creamy beige sofa in the tastefully-decorated apartment, while her hostess went about mixing drinks -- which Paige felt she could hardly refuse. Hillary kicked off her shoes, stripped off her jacket, which left her in sleeveless blouse. In stockinged feet she strolled over to hand Paige her drink, and then, somewhat surprisingly, plunked down rather close to her guest, tucking one leg under her, and leaning against the back of the sofa. There was a long pause in the conversation and Paige felt herself redden as she realized Hillary’s eyes were on the side of her face. She took a sip from her glass, and turned in her nervousness, to meet Hillary’s eyes. The blond woman was studying her with a soft, affectionate look that startled her. Paige met the woman’s searching blue eyes, and felt a wave of attraction. It passed quickly, and both looked away. The words ‘lesbian love’ shot through Paige’s confused mind; she took a big gulp of gin.
“You must tell me where you buy your clothes,” Hillary began, bringing a hand down from where it rested on the back cushion to finger the sleeve of the Paige’s tunic. For a while they discussed shopping, with Hillary complimenting the girl repeatedly on her taste, telling her that a woman had to have the right sort of look, a well-proportioned figure to carry it off. She had to be good looking -- a pretty girl -- like Paige. Paige thrilled to the compliments, blushing like schoolgirl.
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