Sienna Harte's Sensual Sampler (BDSM, Taboo, BBW)

by Sienna Harte

  Then a penis appeared, pressing against my face. I opened my mouth, not bothering to look to find out who it belonged to. I was too busy getting lost in the pleasure between my legs, sweet wet pleasure sending periodic tremors through my body as I continued to lick Laina’s tits.

  Behind me I felt a pair of hands on my hips, then the tip of a cock pressing against my pussy. Laina’s hand continued to stimulate me as the hard dick entered me slowly, filling me up completely.

  “Oh my god,” I groaned. Laina was now groaning too and I looked up to see that Erik was pumping into her roughly. Then I was lifted up to my feet. Jonathan was sitting there on the couch, completely naked.

  “Come on baby,” he said seductively, guiding me towards him. I kneeled on the couch, positioning my pussy above him. He didn’t wait for me to lower myself and instead grabbed onto my hips, squeezing tightly and bringing me down onto him.

  “Ooooh my god,” I said, wrapping my arms around him as he assaulted my pussy with his huge dick. I could barely keep up with his pace; he lifted me and dropped me onto his slippery penis as if I weighed nothing to him. I bounced up and down in his lap, perky breasts lifting and falling, ass cheeks colliding with his lap with a loud smack.

  My muscles clenched tight as I came, spasms running from my core to my extremities. Soon after, Jonathan came, slamming into me at a rapid speed. I felt his cock swell and throb as slammed himself into my g-spot. He emptied his load into my pussy and sucked on my tits.

  I was turned over on Jonathan’s lap to face Mikee, who was stroking his dick in his hand. Jonathan parted my legs with his own, grabbing my breasts in his hands and kneading them roughly. Mikee knelt down, positioning his cock in front of my pussy. Over his shoulder, I could see Laina on all fours, simultaneously being fucked by Aaron from behind and sucking Erik’s cock. The sight of it was enough to get me going again, on the brink of orgasm once more.

  Suddenly I felt a blunt pressure against my asshole. It was Jonathan’s dick, hard once more.

  “Aarrgh,” I said as he pushed it inside of me. I’d never been fucked in the asshole before, and it was the tightest feeling I’d ever experienced, enhanced by the fact that Mikee’s cock was still inside of me. I felt overwhelmed, as if I couldn’t take any more. Mikee grabbed my firm breasts in his hands, squishing them against my chest. Jonathan gathered my hair, pulling it back and exposing my neck so that Mikee could gnash his teeth against it, nibbling and sucking softly up and down the length of it sending shivers down my spine. I came explosively as their dicks pummeled me in both holes, sandwiched between their naked sweating bodies.

  Soon they were cumming as well, filling my holes with white gooey semen that spilled out when they pulled out of me and dropped me onto the couch. I turned my head to see Laina continue to be fucked hard, also being double penetrated. Soon the men came inside of her as well, pumping her youthful body full of their seed.

  FIVE

  Laina stared out over the dash of her Wrangler, merging onto the deserted freeway. It was 2 am and we were sobered up and headed back home. The radio was off, the windows rolled up. The tension was unbearable.

  “Are we going to talk?” I asked finally, looking down and fidgeting with the frayed ribbon of my mangled bustier.

  “About what?” she asked stoically.

  “What do you mean about what?” I asked incredulously. “We just had a 6-way. We fucked our favorite band. Hell, we just about fucked each other!”

  “I know,” she said in clipped tones.

  “Did I…do something wrong?” I wanted to cry.

  “Nope,” she said. I looked out the window, watching the Arizona desert fly past. We stayed that way for a few minutes.

  “Look,” Laina said quietly. “I understand if you’re upset. I’m a little upset too. But we never have to talk about this again; I know you were drunk, I won’t tell anyone. We had a fun night, that’s all it has to be.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, tears running down my face. Is this real? “Laina, you’re my best friend. We just did something very intimate and I need to talk about it! Laina, I’m not ashamed of what happened! It’s something I’ve fantasized for a long time…”

  “Really?” Laina said in a more lively tone. She turned to look at me, her brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think you’re…you know, gay?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I still like men. But I also like women...specifically you. I guess you could call me bisexual. I don’t really need to put a label on it. All I know is what happened in that tour bus will be playing in my mind over and over again. I liked it.”

  Laina pressed on the brake pedal and turned, leading us off into the shoulder of the road. Without a word, she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look at me. I stared, admiring her face, this person I’d grown up with, so close after so many years.

  I leaned over and turned the ignition off. We were in the darkness now, with no one around for miles. I found her lips in the darkness and kissed her deeply.

  “I liked it too,” she whispered.

  Copyright 2014 Sienna Harte

  All rights reserved.

  Mr. Smith’s Forbidden Touch (Taboo)

  It had been difficult, at first, adjusting to having a new male role model in my life.

  My father died when I was very young, and my mother mourned for years, sinking into depression. Too sick to care for me, she often handed me off to Mr. Smith, our neighbor. He became something of a father figure for me. He watched me at least twice a week, more if my mother was especially ill or if I had misbehaved. My mother didn't have the energy to punish me, so Mr. Smith was happy to pick up the reigns and discipline me when I had been bad.

  I hated him at first sight. He wasn't like my dad had been. He wasn't fun. He didn't play. In fact, he usually ignored me. He was obsessed with his work, and spent a lot of time cooped up in his study on business calls or analyzing numbers. I seethed with anger for the first year or so, angry that my mother had the nerve to abandon me with this man so often and give him the authority to punish me. I still resent him, but I learned quickly not to mouth off to him.

  The first time he spanked me, I was twelve and had thrown a shoe at him when he got onto me for bringing home a bad report card. Most would expect to stop being spanked once reaching puberty, but Mr. Smith didn't. I just turned 18 and I'm about to go to college, but he still spanks me when I do something naughty. Running away from him does no good; he'll just call my mother, and then my mother will get more depressed about her life and so on. So for her sake, I take my punishments like a good girl.

  Thankfully, this is my last summer at home. Come fall, I'll be moving two hours away to college and I'll be far away from Mr. Smith and his swift, punishing hand. He doesn't baby sit me anymore, but I still have to turn in my grades to him, and he sets my curfew. Even now that school is out, I have a curfew.

  In recent years, he began watching me from his window when I left the house. Today would be no different - as I walked down the driveway I knew he would be peeking out of his study window, like the creeper he is. I don’t know why it annoyed me so much that he watched me – I guess I just don’t know why he does it. Probably so he can catch me doing something wrong and spank me again. He did seem to love an excuse to spank me. The sadistic jerk.

  Last week he had given me a particularly hard round of spankings because I'd come home late from a party. I was still angry from that, and I wanted to punish him back.

  I didn’t bother to look up at his house; I could feel his eyes wandering over my body. The length of my shorts had been an argument between us since I was fifteen. I spent some of my birthday money on a pair of cutoff jeans, which had been forbidden by Mr. Smith long ago.

  But I didn't care - I was eighteen years old now and a high school graduate. He couldn't tell me what to wear. I walked slowly, showing off my lean, long legs. The summer sun felt warm against them, and I knew that by August I would have a killer tan. The better to woo sen
iors at University with, I guess.

  In addition to the shorts, which cut off just below my ass, I was wearing my bikini top. It was hot red and tiny, the cups just barely concealing my breasts. My boobs had grown a lot in recent years - I guess you could say I was a late bloomer. My little a cups had become over-filled c cups seemingly overnight. Suddenly, I was being invited to parties and dates with the popular guys, football players even.

  I knew they just wanted sex, but I didn't give it to them. Still, after a lifetime of having no curves, I enjoyed teasing men. Even Mr. Smith, although I doubt it ever did much good. That man was so stuffy and formal - I doubted he had a sexual bone in his body. He probably hadn't been laid in his entire life. Perhaps that was why he was always so grumpy?

  When I reached my car, I pretended to accidentally drop my keys. Bending at the waist with my knees locked, I reached to the ground with my ass in the air. A car driving down the street slowed and a boy my age leaned out of the window, whistling appreciatively.

  I retrieved my keys and turned to smile at him, giving a little shimmy for good measure. Then I turned back around. I saw Mr. Smith standing in the doorway of his house. He was positively seething.

  He began to walk toward me, no doubt to berate my clothing and behavior and demand that I come inside at once so that he could bend me over his knee. But I was too quick for him. I got into my car and turned the engine over, speeding away from him before he could even reach the curb.

  I headed to the pool, where I met up with a couple of friends and some guys they knew. They oogled my body, but I picked one of them to pay attention to for the night. We splashed and flirted, and beneath the surface of the water his hands wandered over the topography of my body, lingering just above my ass. I knew what he wanted, and as we headed to the parking lot with our towels draped over our shoulders, he invited me back to his place.

  I smiled and drew close to him, then whispered a sultry, “No.”

  He looked bewildered and almost angry when I pulled away, but with a smile and a wave I bid my friends and the guys goodbye. On the way home, I grinned from ear to ear. He didn’t remember me, but I did; the boy who had his hands all over me tonight was the very same one who had mocked me in P.E. in seventh grade for having pimples. He probably didn’t even recognize me, but I’d remember that face anywhere.

  I sincerely hoped he had a severe case of blue balls tonight. My body and my virginity would remain another day, waiting for someone who was worthy of them.

  I pulled up to the curb. It was dark outside, nearly 11 pm. I felt a pang of guilt and hoped my mother hadn’t stayed up late worrying about me. She had always worried I was going to have an accident, since that was the way my father had died.

  I closed the car door and silently crept up the walk to the front porch steps.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  I jumped nearly a foot in the air in surprise.

  “Mr. Smith?” I said in surprise.

  “I told your mother to go on to bed. She was exhausted,” he said grimly. “Worrying about you and where you were. It was difficult to calm her down. You understand why, no doubt.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “So I have to repeat my question, Lauren,” he continued. “Where the hell have you been? It’s past your curfew.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I said, trying to shove past him. His hand came up and caught me on the shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Let me go,” I growled. “Leave me alone. I’m not a kid anymore, asshole.”

  “You’ll pay for that,” he replied, his eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t see how,” I said. “I’m 18 now. I don’t have to listen to you anymore. And pretty soon, I won’t even be here for you to ogle from your window.”

  His brows lifted.

  “That’s right,” I said fiercely. “I know you watch me! I see you all the time in your window. Why don’t you leave your study more often and meet some women your own age? Or if not, I heard they have pornography online nowadays.”

  “You watch your mouth, young lady,” he said. “I won’t have you talking to me this way.”

  “Or what?” I snarled.

  “Or I’ll tell your mother what you were doing tonight,” he whispered.

  “What?” I asked, my eyes widening. “How do you know what I was doing tonight?”

  “I saw,” he said. “You and that lanky excuse for a male wrapped around each other in the pool. He was practically salivating over you.”

  “What the hell are you doing watching me?” I asked. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mr. Smith was always trying to figure out where I was going and what I was doing. “And me and that guy didn’t do anything. It was just flirting.”

  “Maybe,” Mr. Smith said. “But your mother doesn’t know that.”

  “Are you saying you’d lie to her?” I gasped.

  “I’m saying I’ll do what it takes to make sure you are safe and where you are supposed to be,” he said. “Now, do I have to force you to come to my house and take your punishment, or are you going to come willingly?”

  “I’m not going,” I said. “I already told you. I’m 18 now and I don’t plan on listening to you for the rest of the summer.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said, reaching for the doorbell. “I guess we’ll have to wake your poor mom up after all. And it’s too bad; she was starting to feel a little better about things. Imagine how terrible she’ll feel after she hears that her daughter is a good for nothing slut.”

  “I am not!” I wailed. “You’re lying.”

  “Who will she believe?” Mr. Smith asked, raising an inquisitive brow. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  “No!” I said, just as Mr. Smith was about to press the bell.

  “You will come and take your punishment?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “Yes,” I said glumly. “I will.”

  “Good,” he replied, seemingly gratified.

  Steering me by the shoulders, Mr. Smith led me down the walk and sidewalk and up his own front porch. I was very familiar with this porch; as a little girl I’d been made to write lines while sitting in the swing, so that I could watch all of the other kids playing and know what I was missing out on because I had misbehaved.

  We entered his house, and he sat me on a wooden stool in the kitchen as he always had.

  “Stay here,” he said warningly.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  Usually when he made me wait, it was because he needed to get something from upstairs. Sure enough, I heard dull thuds as he ascended the stairs. He was no doubt retrieving the writing tablet, maybe even the paddle. The paddle was a thin piece of wood with a handle on one end that Mr. Smith used when I’d been especially bad. He’d had it made when I was about 13 and being particularly bad, and it had hung in his spare bedroom since then. It was rarely needed; the paddle hurt and had no desire to repeat the pain again.

  However, I didn’t care at this point. I would take the pain like a big girl and be on my way. I tapped my foot impatiently, wondering what was taking him so long to find. I wanted to go home so I could sign in on my computer and talk to my friends. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had three text messages from the boy from the pool. I grinned evilly; I had him in the palm of my hand. He was used to getting his way with girls, and I would spend the next couple of weeks squeezing gifts and favors out of him until he became boring. Then I would break it off with him unexpectedly, hopefully crushing his heart, and move on to someone else. Maybe a college boy – I was 18 now, I could fuck whoever I wanted to.

  I was planning my devious demolition of my ex-bully when Mr. Smith returned from upstairs. Sure enough, he was carrying the writing tablet as well as the paddle.

  “Writing lines?” I asked dryly. “Surely after 7 years you could think of something more creative?”

  “Trust me, sweetheart,” he said forebodingly. “I can be very creative when necessary.”

  “Whatev
er,” I said, rolling my eyes and taking the pencil from him. “What’s the line?”

  “I will please Mr. Smith,” he said shortly.

  That was unusual. I had been expecting something like I will not dress provocatively or I will come home before curfew.

  “What’s the meaning of it?” I asked.

  “You will please me,” he replied simply. “We are going to work on your goal of pleasing me. Tonight you displeased me immensely.”

  “By flirting with a boy?” I asked.

  “And dressing like a harlot,” he added.

  “A harlot?” I asked with a laugh. “Who even says that word? Harlot?”

  “Silence,” he snapped, settling into a chair a few feet away from me. “Fifty lines. More if you keep mouthing off. Now quickly.”

  I began writing in silence. I will please Mr. Smith. I will please Mr. Smith….

  My hand began to cramp at line 20 and I paused to shake it out.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked with a sly grin.

  “You wish,” I seethed, writing again with determination.

  “Oh, how I do,” he said with a smile. Goosebumps prickled at the surface of my arms but I ignored his comment and continued to write quickly. I wanted to get out of his house as soon as possible.

  “What next?” I sighed, shoving the writing tablet away from me. Beneath the table, I massaged my writing hand with the other. I didn’t want him to see that his punishment was working on me.

  “The spankings,” he said simply. “Come.”

  I got up and stalked over to where he sat, bending down so that my ass was up and my head was nearly touching the ground.

  No matter how many times it happened, it never became better. Not the pain, but the humiliation of being bent over Mr. Smith’s knee while he punished me. I felt I’d long ago passed the age where this would be appropriate or even necessary. But I didn’t want Mr. Smith to go upsetting my mom, so I gritted my teeth as I prepared for the blows to come.