Filthy Smut (Vol. 3): 38 Erotic Stories (Over 450 Pages of Hot Sex)

by Lynn, KT

  I sat. “I'm sorry I-” I began, not sure what I was even going to say. “Shut up,” said Kent, without inflection. “We'll do the talking, and you'd be best advised to keep quiet until you fully understand. You do recall the ironclad confidentiality agreement that was part of your hiring paperwork?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Well, keep that and the extremely costly consequences of violating it very clear in your mind. Now. You spent three full hours doing nothing on our time this morning. That's, as I'm sure I don't need to tell you, completely unacceptable.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Were you not one of the best producers in your entire division, this conversation would not be taking place. You would have already been let go, with the usual negative performance report issued to all industry bulletins and media.”

  “However,” Mark picked up the conversational ball, “we have found it effective and sound business practice to occasionally offer a single second chance to traders who've shown great promise. There are some rigorous conditions, though.”

  “Anything!” My heart pounded. Another chance! I felt reborn.

  “Exactly.” For the first time ever, I saw Kent smile. “Anything. If we agree to continue your employment on a provisional basis for the next twenty four hours, you will sign another agreement, reinforcing non-disclosure and waiving all rights to any future litigation, civil or criminal.”

  “Twenty-four...” My mind was reeling. Had he just mentioned criminal litigation? What the...But Kent was going on. “Twenty four hours you will spend up here, working in very different conditions. Succeed, and your desk will be returned to you. But there will be not even a hint of resistance or disobedience. Now, you may either leave--never to return--or sign the paper in front of you.”

  I tried to make sense of the fine print but the words swam. My hand shook as I held the pen and tried to retain some shred of professionalism. But my heart was pounding, and that nagging creepy-crawly heat in my pussy wouldn't go away--in fact, it grew like brushfire as I read the document.

  Only garments specifically issued by Kent or Mark Wellborn could be worn beyond this room. Absolute compliance with all verbal and non-verbal commands. Acceptance of any chastisement deemed necessary. A release of all privacy rights. The paragraphs didn't really say much, but they spoke volumes. I would be theirs to use if I signed this--not for my trading instincts, but for my slender gym-toned body. I swallowed hard. Slammed the pen to the paper and scribbled on the line. Raised my head and glared at them, the smug jerks. Who did they think-

  “Very good. Strip,” said Mark matter-of-factly. “I-” I started to say. “Now,” said Kent, his voice as icy as I had ever heard it.

  My fingers clumsy, I shrugged out of my jacket and slipped my stockinged feet out of my spiked heels. My skirt fell in a puddle to the floor, and I was suddenly very aware of my damp panties, the air on my tender thighs above thigh-high hose. I slipped my silk T-shirt over my head and unfastened my bra, trying not to think. They remained expressionless. Topless, standing before them in a tiny pair of underwear and lace-trimmed stockings, I hesitated. A frown replaced Kent's impassive look, and I hastened to begin rolling down my left stocking. “No,” he said, “You hesitated, so you'll have to remain just as you are for your first penalty.”

  I swallowed hard. “I think we'll start with something basic and appropriate to your childishness,” he went on. “Get over my lap. Now.”

  His voice was crisp, and I found myself feeling more awkward and silly than frightened as I positioned myself tummy-down over his thighs. Was this the scary part then? This titan of trading was going to give me a few swats on the bottom as if I were his rebellious toddler? I felt suddenly giggly and wildly turned on. Maybe all that stuff on the paper was for show, and what was going on here was mildly kinky seduction. I could play that.

  My thoughts stopped in their tracks. Kent's hand whipped down on my bare thigh with a ringing smack that made me gasp. That hurt. And he kept it up, spanking first one thigh and then the other, till the nakedness between my panties and stocking-tops felt skinned. I was sobbing and kicking my stocking-clad feet before he stopped and stood me up.

  “Now,' he said. “Strip.” I thought I caught a hint of mocking laughter in his brother's eyes. I sniffled but rushed, this time, to slip my stockings off and my soaked panties down. Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a strap of fine leather. As arrogant as Kent now, he gestured for me to come near so that he could buckle it around my throat. The final touch was a light golden padlock that felt cold against the hollow of my breastbone. Our eyes met. His were unreadable. My bottom burned and a wave of erotic heat so powerful it must surely be steaming like fresh-poured asphalt rippled through me.

  Kent was opening a door behind where they had been sitting. They both stepped back and allowed me to enter first. The room was large and sumptuous, all shiny surfaces and flowing velvet and silk, with large abstract murals on the walls. On closer inspection, the murals depicted couples entwined, nudes with their heads thrown back and fingers between their legs, faces at the peak of pleasure.

  But the décor, unique as it was, was hardly the most striking feature. In niches between the murals, women were displayed like statuary--bound, stretched and exposed, with wrists above their heads and legs spread wide. One mouth held a ball gag. So stunned was I by the display of flawless young bodies in bondage that it took me a moment to realize that the gagged woman was Elena. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

  I had no time to consider what to make of her presence there, because Mark was leading me to a table not unlike a doctor's examining table and bidding me lie down, lifting my legs matter-of-factly onto stirrups. Being thus spread and exposed in front of people I had worked so hard to appear dignified around broke something in my heart, and tears welled up in my eyes again. I moaned helplessly as I felt the air on my bare pussy.

  Mark laughed. “They've all been right where you are now, Lori, and they're better off for it. You'll see.”

  Kent was releasing clips that held a lovely blonde girl still. I’ve seen her around a few times, but I didn’t know her name. She reclaimed her limbs slowly, shaky. He moved to Elena and began by unfastening the gag from behind her head.

  “Hey-” she began.

  “Hush!” he said sharply. “You just don't get it, do you?” From a low shelf, he picked up what looked like a clear plastic ruler and began smacking the insides of her spread thighs. She trembled and cried out in pain before he set the evil thing down--her thighs were striped crimson--and unfastened her arms and legs.

  The blonde girl had moved to stand beside Mark, near the table where I was helplessly bound. To my terror, I saw that she held a strip identical to the one that Elena had just been disciplined with and something else--a two-foot switch that looked made of the same material.

  “Time to find a few of your limits,” said Mark cheerily. Expertly, he began with the switch, using it to tease the nerve endings around my nipples to a tingling delirium. I was moaning and writhing as best I could, my bared pussy gushing juice, wishing he would touch me there, when the caresses stopped.

  Thwack! The switch lashed across my breasts like pure fire.

  “Ooohhhh!”

  He proceeded to tease me all over again, and although I knew the game was rigged, I could not control my arousal or my howls of pain when he wielded the tip of the rod against a sensitive spot.

  Kent appeared at my side, leading a chastened Elena. I saw that her ball gag had been replaced by one that held a hard rubber piece, about six inches long and rounded, so that it jutted from her face like Pinnochio's nose, but lower; the other end looked to be buried in her mouth, enforcing silence.

  Mark gave the blond girl a gentle push that was apparently a signal she knew. Without a word, she moved to stand beside my hip and bent over. And as the rod teased my nipples yet again, I felt her soft, hot wet mouth at the top of my pussy-slit, her tongue seeking my clit.

>   “Ooohhhh,” I screamed, but with pleasure this time.

  Each time the girl found a rhythm that brought me near climax, Mark would spank her upturned rear hard and make her jump, so that I was left helplessly grinding my pussy up to try in vain to recapture that hot tongue. Apparently this was yet another fiendish game.

  Kent positioned Elena between my legs, making her bend low. With one hand on the back of her neck, he forced my friend and rival to push her dildo-gag up into my weeping-wet vagina.

  “Fuck her well now,” he said, taking the blond by the nape of the neck and forcing her back to work on my clit.

  I sobbed and shrieked. Mark continuedl giving my breasts the occasional sharp cut with his switch, but as I watched, he drew the blonde's hips around so that her well-striped rear faced him. Smearing her bottom-hole with juice from her naked pussy, he unzipped his pants and spread her cheeks, inserting his sizable rod there with one hard push. She gasped against my clit and began licking harder.

  To my right side, Kent was whipping Elena with the ruler paddle, forcing her to fuck me like a bucking horse, hard and erratic. My limbs wouldn’t move, and it wasn't long before I felt the orgasm slam into me, unstoppable as an oncoming train.

  Kent watched me closely. When he saw my whole body quake, heard that definitive deep groan escape me, he pulled Elena out of the way and moved to stand between my wide spread thighs. My cunt still convulsing, he pushed his fat, hard cock into where the dildo had been, fucking me mercilessly as his brother pumped a load of hot cum into the blonde's bottom.

  When I was released from the examining table, I thought that perhaps the ordeal might abate. Instead, Elena and I were led to a contraption resembling an oversized turning-spit for cooking food over a pit barbecue but featuring devilishly clever harnesses. We were fastened to the device, our faces near each other's pussies, with the blond girl turning a handle that rolled us over and over. Mark and Kent now freed the other two girls, whose job it was to spank us as our bottoms rotated up into reach until the brothers once again felt ready for a bit of penetration.

  The next day, my body sore all over, my mind still reeling, I was soundly whipped and had my pussy shaved and spanked.

  At noon, my clothing was returned. I could think of nothing to say, even when the brothers left the room for a moment. Elena, who was once again bound in a niche, her body a mass of welts and her hair tangled, gestured me near.

  “What?” I whispered. “You want me to save your desk if I can? Will you be out of here soon?”

  “Not that soon,” she whispered back. “I lost a hundred grand of their money. I have a week. Besides that...” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes flashed like the girl I remembered who had been so impeccable and proud.

  “What?” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said, “they'll let me stay up here.”

  Passion and Hysteria

  by Cherise Kemps

  Themes: vanilla; toys

  Gideon Smith was the talk of all the women in town, the more so because he was single, attractive and seemed entirely immune to the coy smiles and light flirtation my friends had tried on him. With his hair soft and golden, his figure tall and immaculate and his eyes a dark, hypnotizing blue, he was the man we all chose to sigh about. To add to the romance, he was recently returned from Germany where he had studied some dull but impressive-sounding subject with some dull but impressive-sounding German neurologist. Now, he’d come to practice his skills in our neighborhood, with an expensive looking sign outside reading Gideon Smith, Psychoanalyst.

  Every afternoon in the garden around the tea table was spent discussing the cool politeness and aloof mystery of the gentleman. But each day, the frustration built as every acquaintance of mine tried and failed to get his attention.

  “I wore my newest bonnet, and he didn’t even compliment it when I asked him if he thought it becoming,” Martha bemoaned.

  “I invited him for a turn in the park, and he said he had no time to waste,” huffed Catherine.

  “It seems like the only way he’ll give you the time of day is if you’re a patient – old Mrs. Pringle was with him for hours, pouring out all her silly old troubles,” Harriet pouted. “If you’re a silly, hysterical old woman with too much time, badly dyed hair and no figure, he has all the time in the world.”

  “I don’t doubt it has something to do with her ample purse too,” Catherine said darkly.

  “I wonder that you haven’t tried anything though, Alice. You’re the prettiest girl in the neighbourhood,” said Martha to me, slightly sourly. I laughed, shrugging off the compliment.

  “I have no interest in such things,” I lied.

  This conversation, over cake and honey and imported Darjeeling, had given me a brilliant idea, though. If there was something everyone wanted, then I wanted to be the one to have it. And I knew exactly how I could do it. Later that night I sat with my sister and closest confidante, Georgina.

  “What if I were to pretend hysteria so he’d see me?” I suggested mischievously.

  “Oh, Alice. You’d barely have to pretend – you’re always up to some mischief so it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine you with such a condition,” Georgina teased.

  “You’d help me though? Support my story? You can say that I faint all the time and get emotional over the smallest trifle, that I barely eat a thing…”

  “If you’re sure. You know I’d do anything to help you. I’ll tell mama I’m worried about you.”

  And just like that, my mother, a little on the nervous side herself, had made me an appointment with Dr Gorgeous Gideon.

  -

  I was practically bouncing with excitement as Gideon Smith beckoned me into his office to lie down on his couch. His room was dull and academic, with framed certificates on the wall boasting the time he studied under that famous German doctor, can’t remember his name but everyone talks about him. The walls were lined with books, all thick and boring. I was excited though, because Gideon looked absolutely delicious in his long black coat, his golden hair gleaming in the shafts of sunlight pouring through his tall windows.

  “Miss Cole,” he said. I nodded. “What seems to be the problem? Your mother wrote to me that you have been experiencing fits of hysteria?”

  “Yes, doctor,” I nodded earnestly. “I can barely eat or sleep. Faintness overcomes me, my heart flutters, and when I do sleep, I have such strange dreams!”

  “What sort of dreams?” Gideon, stiff and detached, looked unflappable. Well, we’d see about that.

  “I’m not sure I should say,” I said artlessly, biting my lip and coaxing myself into a blush. “They were of an improper nature.”

  “Everything you say stays inside this room,” Gideon promised. Oh, he was so stoic and lovely! “I want you to feel you can be open.” I’d show him open.

  “Last night,” I began, keeping my eyes lowered and my blush high, “I dreamt a man entered my chamber. I tried to rise and scream for help, but he pushed me back onto the bed, bound my hands with his wrists. When I tried to cry out he struck me. I tried to move, but he was too strong. He ripped my nightgown, pulling it clear off my body so I was naked and vulnerable before him.”

  I looked up slyly, seeing what effect I was having on him. He was calmly taking notes, completely unmoved. I decided to step it up a notch.

  “Suddenly I felt a wicked and terrible desire shoot through me. I let him touch me, taking my breasts in his mouth and stroking his fingers over my naked flesh. It made me feel flushed and feverish, and I found myself moaning and writhing on waking, with such a strange feeling.”

  “Did this man penetrate you?” Gideon asked, matter-of-factly.

  “What? No!” I said indignantly before I could stop myself. I thought I saw a flash of amusement on Gideon’s face, but it was gone in an instant. I recovered myself. “When I woke though, I felt so strange, the only thing I could do to still my body’s restlessness was to touch, use my fingers, stroking them across my breasts, over my stomach,
caressing myself between my legs, sinking them into my hot, wet hole to quiet the throbbing I felt in my loins.”

  “I see.” Gideon looked completely uninterested, and I pouted, folding my arms across my chest.

  “The whole experience left me quite shaken,” I pointed out.

  “How frequent are these dreams?” he asked blandly.

  “Almost every night,” I said.

  “Well you have pinpointed the exact treatment for this type of female hysteria,” he said practically, closing his notebook and standing up. “I use a method quite similar to what you described to help calm the nerves and promote relaxation. Come.”

  A little confused and apprehensive, still irked at his lack of reaction but nevertheless excited and curious, I followed him to where there was a wider bed, white and plain with no cushions or embellishments.

  “Lie down,” he said. “Remove your garments.”

  “What?” I was shocked, unsure what was happening. Had I succeeded in seducing him? But he was still so… clinical.

  “The best treatment for such a condition is pelvic stimulation. It creates a sensation which calms and balances the nerves. Don’t worry – it’s quite professional, I assure you. I derive no pleasure from it.”

  Now this just hurt my feelings. But I was often called headstrong, and it was not for nothing. I resolved to make him snap, if I could, to get him to succumb to my charms.