by Laurel Aspen
As her on screen manager eagerly smacked the proffered buttocks, Jon found himself fervently wishing himself in the man’s shoes. Tightness began to constrict his groin, he felt overheated, a hand slid across his thigh to his crotch.
‘Hmm, looks as if this scene is definitely having an affect on my test audience,’ whispered Columbia teasingly. He felt her warn, sweet breath on his cheek, smelt her perfume.
‘So,’ she continued seductively, expertly unzipped his jeans and sliding to the floor in front of him, barely visible in the flickering light, ‘I can’t let you sit there in discomfort, let’s see if we can take care of that.’
Transfixed, Jon sat watching Columbia’s bottom bounce and ripple on the silver screen as the punishing palm burnished that delectable derriere. He gasped as in reality her hot little mouth gently engulfed his cock; hands skilfully stroked his balls; darting tongue ran the length of his member. Ramrod straight, his cock felt as if it were about to explode, teased by sensations both tactile and visual.
‘Columbia I’m…’ he began, trying to push her head away.
Momentarily she halted her oral ministrations and looked up
‘Gonna come? No problem, honey,’ and dipping her head she took him deep in her mouth and swallowed long and hard.
Luckily the next two scenes were mainly dialogue which gave Columbia, smiling like the cat who’d got the cream, a chance to resume her seat and Jon, still on cloud nine, the opportunity to recover a little of his composure. All too soon the final reel reached what was clearly the climatic – in every sense – scene. Wearing nought but knee-high boots and a halter top, Columbia’s character was spanked by what was obviously the man for her; someone who understood submission needn’t mean subservience, that equality can encompass difference.
Feeling her grip on his hand tighten, Jon looked at his host. Eyes shining, she was clearly aroused by her own work, still mentally occupying the character on screen. Time to repay the compliment, he thought.
Deftly Jon slid his hand up her skirt where, meeting no resistance, he gently parted her thighs. The minx! Columbia accidentally – or more likely by design – wasn’t wearing knickers. Softly, he stroked her thighs teasing his fingers through her downy, pubic hair, quickly detecting the wet slick of arousal. Sliding into the kneeling position she’d occupied not 15 minutes before he lifted and spread her thighs, Jon bought his mouth down to kiss the honeyed portal, tongued her clit, finger-fucking her tight vagina. Columbia began to moan in pleasure, surrendering to the simultaneous pleasures of voyeuristically enjoying her own spanking, while having him expertly go down on her.
Facing away from the screen, Jon couldn’t see her celluloid character smile blissfully as she slid her hand down to slyly masturbate while being spanked by her beau. That the real Columbia should come noisily, joyfully, just as the film ended was just a fortunate coincidence. After which, Columbia knelt a touch precariously on the folding seat while Jon, quickly but most satisfactorily to both concerned, took her vigorously from behind.
Then, straightening themselves up, Jon and Columbia adjusted their dress and left the picture house arm in arm in search of a coffee over which to discuss their future.
No One Ever Guesses,
And No One Guesses Now
by Lana Fox
Tonight, I wear a dress that clings to me like oil. I’ve never felt as physical as this. When I got home, I showered with that gel – the stuff you bought in Paris last July. It smells of dry vanilla and feels like something lewd, especially when it lathers and spreads. The water on my skin, the scent, the steam, my head thrown back, my wet mouth wide … I longed to touch myself, but made myself stop. I held the shower against my buttocks, made them red.
Though I hate office parties, I get here early. I’m warm beneath my dress. My stockings dig a little. (Oh, I’ve missed you! Phone-sex doesn’t work! It’s your touch, can’t you see that? You left me here alone!) And now, I’m turning. I don’t need to think. I sense you there behind me, at the door. The bar is crowded, but I can see you. Your neat black hair, your wide, green eyes. Even from this distance, I can feel your stare. It pushes right into me, tells me what you want.
We don’t meet up. We hardly talk. The secret’s half the thrill. No one knows about us, and no one ever will. You’ve kissed me in the closet, in the kitchen, in the hall. You’ve spanked me after hours, in the silence of your room. But no one ever guesses. And no one guesses now. We circulate, we drink. You pass me, brush my arm. Three times, you touch me in a way that makes me ache. Once, at the bar, you slip your hand across me, just above my buttocks where I will soon be spanked, and the heat from your fingers forces through my flesh and I arch and push against you, full of need. Then, later, when I’m talking to Alissa from Sales, you brush against my arm so I can smell your skin. (That cologne I bought you, the one that smells of spice – it makes me want to lick you, feel your grip.) And at the end of the evening, when the wine has made me flushed, you grab me through my skirt. I gasp, almost moan, but my boss doesn’t notice – she’s busy talking, like she always is – and you keep on touching me, stroking through my layers, making me so wet my thighs are moist. Then someone calls you over and you move away, and I’m lost without your touch.
At the end of the night, when people start to leave, you’re still talking to Matt and Jimmy Sykes. I walk across and join you. Matt’s telling a joke. All of us are laughing. I touch your wrist. I think if you don’t hurt me within the next few minutes the fire in me will burst. But you don’t respond; your eyes stay trained on Matt’s. Inside my head, I tell you you’re cruel. Not so, you reply. This is how we like it. And you’re right, oh yes, you’re right …
At last, you give the cue. You glance at your watch. “It’s getting late,” you say. “Got jetlag. Better split.”
“Me too,” I add.
You turn to me, with your wide, certain eyes. Your mouth curls up a little. I’ve always loved your smile: dry, secretive. I want to bite your lip.
“Shall I get your coat?” you say.
“That’s okay. I’ll come.”
We walk to the coats together. The cloakroom’s by the door – an open closet that dips into the wall. You glance across at the drinkers, before pushing me in. I grab the soft layers, moan into their depths; feel you pressing onto me, raising my skirt. My flesh feels so soft. I’m aching, I’m a burn. How I’ve missed your hands! How I’ve dreamed of this! I tried, with a ruler, to spank myself like you, but it was merely pain with no relief. I couldn’t fake the passion, couldn’t fake the need – without you, I’m not real. Now I close my eyes. I pray into the air: Do it, please do it, afraid you might tease; but you touch my stockings, push your fingers into me, whisper, “Oh, I’ve missed you,” and spank me – once, then twice. My lips part. My breath grows hot. My body jolts with every slap. I push myself against you. I hear you moan and gasp. My legs feel weak beneath me; but you – you feel strong. Your spanks become insistent. My buttocks feel sore; but I want harder-harder, so the pleasure takes the pain. And you know it – yes, you know it – because you step right in, and I feel you hard against me as you hit me with your palm. You bite my neck. You gently pull my hair. You touch my mouth and I suck your fingertip. All the time, you’re hitting me, swiping at my flesh, so my sex and thighs are wet. And behind us, all those people with their superficial jokes and their stupid power-struggles and their money and their lies, and here are you and I, dirty and alive, stuffed into a corner, getting laid.
But you stop. You pull away. I melt into the coats. “More!” I tell you. “More!” But you stroke down my thigh. I grab a fake-fur and drool into the pelt. I pant, I plead. But you are hard and cruel. You will make me long for you. You will make me wait. And you know that’s exactly what I want.
“We’ll get a cab,” you say. “I know you like cabs.”
And yes, you’re right. But I tell you this is urgent!
We emerge from the closet. No one seems to notice. But I am a mess, my hai
r in my face. My stockings rub my thighs, my dress rubs my breasts – each movement makes me sensitised and warm. I whisper in your ear as we walk from the bar, “Aren’t you turned on? Say it! You look so cool and calm!” So, in the shadows, you take my hand and place it on your crotch. You’re harder than a paperweight. You whisper, “There. You see?” You cup my face and say, “I always, always want you,” then you walk me to the cab and help me in.
Behind the driver’s screen, you turn me on my side. On the door, there’s a bar. I grab this, bite my lip. You reach around my front, lifting up my skirt. You finger me, dip into me, make me sigh and arch. You paddle at my buttocks with the flat of your hand. You play with me. I feel you, stiff against my thigh. You spank me harder, harder. I’m about to come. The heat in me is rising. Pain and pleasure merge. Each bump in the road makes your fingers jolt more deeply. Each turn round a bend makes you fall against my flesh. My eyelids flutter. I whisper, “Yes, oh yes…” And then the cab stops and you abandon me again.
But once we’re in my flat, you slam the door shut, and you press me up against the shelf and raise my thigh. And in one move, you’re pushing up inside me and your groan is long and beautiful – it makes me lose control. You thrust and I grab you. You spank me, then you bite. I pull you harder into me. I tell you to be harsh. You say that I am perfect. You say that I am yours. You hurt me with such passion that I come.
In the bathroom, I step from my dress. Everything is sticky. Everything is wet. You run the shower, then strip yourself down, and we kiss with our tongues through the steam. You run a finger down my jaw and tell me I am dirty. I laugh into your eyes, and tell you you’re worse. And, beneath the spray, you rub me with gel – the stuff you bought in Paris last July. I feel your hands all over me, lathering me up.
We glance down at my buttocks.
They are red.
My New Personal Assistant
by Eva Hore
My boss had employed a new Personal Assistant for me. Her name was Myra. She was efficient and quiet, seemed shy and reserved. We worked together well and I was pleased, as working took my mind off my own personal problems.
A long weekend was coming up. I’d just split with my partner and wasn’t interested in a new relationship or even going out. I hated the fact I’d be alone. It had been so much easier having someone in my life even though we’d had our share of problems.
As five o’clock drew near it was just Myra and me left as we made our way to the elevators.
‘So what are you up to this weekend?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘What about you, Vanessa?’
‘Same,’ I said.
‘Why don’t you come over to my place? We’ll watch videos. You can sleep over,’ she said enthusiastically.
Sleep over. I hadn’t had a sleep over since I was a little kid. I peered at her and she seemed so eager, so I thought, why not? We could sit around in our pyjamas eating popcorn, watching television, have a little girly night.
‘Sure, I’d love to,’ I said.
Her eyes lit up, ‘Really? Oh we’ll have so much fun.’
So that’s how it came about that we were lying on her bed in front of the television drinking way too much champagne and eating delicious delicacies, still dressed in our work clothes, minus the shoes.
She popped a movie in and jumped back onto the bed, her skirt riding up high on her thigh. I could see the tops of her stockings and just caught a quick glimpse of her panties. We were laughing about something and didn’t notice the credits of the video. Next thing I knew we were watching porn.
‘Oops,’ she laughed. ‘Wonder how that got in there?’
‘Hmm, bondage. I’ve not seen one of these. You into that sort of thing?’
‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘I … er … don’t know where it came from.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘I have a few at home too.’
‘What … er …oh. Do you want to watch it?’
‘Sure, why not. Never know, I’m might learn something new,’ I laughed as I eyed her perky breasts.
As the movie played I found myself getting turned on. I’d never considered being tied up or whipped but the thought of tying up someone else really appealed to me.
‘Wonder what it’s like being staked out like that,’ Myra muttered.
‘Why don’t I tie you to the bed and you can let me know?’ I said, eager for her to comply.
‘Yeah, OK,’ she said, a little too quickly.
‘Take off your stockings,’ I said. ‘I’ll use them.’
As quick as a flash she’d unclipped them. I knew she was a little bit drunk and that I shouldn’t take advantage of her, but I couldn’t help myself.
‘Just open your arms and legs and spread both wide,’ I said.
She giggled as I tied her securely to the bed.
I looked over my shoulder at the video and saw a guy munching down on this woman’s pussy and I thought, why not?
Pulling aside her panties, I looked hungrily at her pussy.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ she said.
‘Just following what they’re doing on the video. Come on, it will be fun to experiment a little, won’t it?’
‘Oh, OK,’ she said in a quiet voice.
I lay between her outstretched legs, her pussy visible to me. I’d never gone down on a woman before and found myself excited at the prospect. Her pussy lips protruded nicely as I pulled her panties across, causing them to bulge forward. I could just see her inner lips poking out of her slit and, with the curiosity of a child, I tentatively stretched my tongue forward, to have my first lick, my first taste.
I felt her pull back and she moaned, ‘Oh!’
I wasn’t sure if she liked it or not so I did it again.
‘Oh, yeah,’ she moaned.
Encouraged, I licked harder, my tongue roaming around as my fingers pulled her outer lips apart.
‘Oh, yeah, that feels good,’ she breathed sexily, all the girlishness now gone.
Her scent wafted up to me and I nuzzled in further, licking in between her folds as my fingers began to explore inside her.
‘Oh, man,’ I breathed. ‘You’re so wet. This is turning you on, is it?’ I chuckled.
‘You bet, bitch,’ she hissed at me.
Whoa, I thought. Where did that come from?
‘Lick me. Lick me hard, you fucker,’ she swore. ‘Tear my shirt off and suck my tits.’
Not wanting to come across too innocent, after all I was her boss, I tore her shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere and exposed her heaving breasts.
‘Suck them,’ she demanded.
Knowing she was at my mercy, I hesitated, wanting her to beg. I ran my hands over the swell of her breasts before inching my fingers inside her bra and giving each nipple a tweak.
‘Suck them,’ she demanded, wriggling desperately.
She had on one of those bras that opened at the front and as I unclipped them her breasts literally popped forward, her nipples hard and rigid.
‘Suck them hard,’ she whispered throatily. ‘Suck them fucking hard.’
Lowering my head I took a nipple into my mouth, rolled it around my tongue, my saliva slipping all over it, while I crushed the other.
‘Oh, God, yeah,’ she breathed. ‘Suck it in, baby.’
Not wanting her to call all the shots I pulled back.
‘Hey,’ she complained. ‘Get back here.’
I looked down at her, practically naked, and decided I’d make her wait. Wanting to come across as the dom I left her there while I looked for things to heighten this experience like I’d seen on many of my own videos.
‘Untie me,’ she demanded just as I spied a pair of scissors on her dresser.
Lifting her skirt to her waist, I put the outside blade against her skin just above her slit. She sucked in her breath not daring now to speak. I eyed her mischievously, smirking while she licked her lips, wondering if I’d harm her.
In one quick movement I slash
ed her panties from her, exposing her completely. Now her pussy and her tits were mine for the taking.
‘Please,’ she begged, tugging at the restraints, ‘make love to me.’
I threw myself between her open thighs, my tongue lapping at her. I wiggled between her cheeks trying to lick her hole and then slathered her with saliva and made my way up over her slit and under her hood, where her clit was nestling as though waiting for me.
‘Oh yeah baby. Ohhh, yeah. Tickle it, rub your tongue up against it, yeah like that. Now with your finger … oh yeah …that’s it … don’t stop … ohhh … ohhhh … don’t stop … I’m coming … coming … ahhh.’
With my finger rubbing like mad I watched as her juices poured out of her. Fascinated, I lapped them up. Her scent intoxicated me and I went wild, nuzzling into her cunt, grabbing her breasts, squeezing them, pinching the nipples while I smothered myself in her pussy.
‘Oh that’s so great ….bring your pussy up here … I want to taste you too … come on … please, turn yourself around.’
Before I assumed the 69 position over her I stripped out of my stockings and panties, positioning my cleanly waxed pussy just inches from her mouth.
‘Stop teasing me,’ she moaned. ‘Let me taste you.’
Lowering my pussy over her waiting mouth, I could feel her breath on me, tantalizing my skin, before her tongue touched me, sending a fire searing through me, making me feel more alive than I have in my whole life.
This little mouse was now a tiger. She lifted her head into my pussy, licking furiously, her tongue locating my clit as she flickered it over me like a madwoman. As she buried herself into me I untied her legs, grabbing at the stocking, tearing them in my haste to free her.
I turned myself around and untied her arms while her legs wrapped around my waist. She flew at me, grabbing me, kissing me, her scent and mine mingling together as our lips and mouths met.
‘Oh fuck,’ I moaned, never having felt anything so good.