Free Erotic Stories

SwingLifeStyle Free Erotic Stories are written and submitted by our members Sit back and enjoy "Metaphor".


 

METAPHOR

Pages: 1

I've been for a short walk after the afternoon of endless meetings. It's bitterly cold in Brussels, down near minus 10 C now, and I'm not in the mood for playing tourist. Just need to stretch my legs. There's nothing much to window-shop for. Lots of upmarket boutiques, luggage shops. A yawn.

Near a bus stop along Avenue Louis, I see a familiar face. A young woman, crying. Brushing away tears. She has a backpack and a duffel bag at her feet. Dressed in a cheap leather jacket, black jeans.

It takes me a minute, then the penny drops. I'd seen her much earlier that morning, picking up her luggage off the Gatwick flight at Zaventem.

We'd eyed each other warily for a moment. She'd been with some kind of Indian-looking guy, a little taller than her, rather weedy. She's no older than early twenties, with that blank accusing stare you get used to in young women. Like puppies. She's around five foot four, nothing special to her shape, short dyed blonde hair. She's quite pleasant, but no raving beauty. Which is fine by me. Beautiful women are always a bunch of trouble, and have guys in tow.

"Hey up," I say.

She squints through her tears.

"What's up? You look worried."

"Oh, you speak English? I want to go home! I'm stranded!" she wails. A London accent.

"What do you mean?"

"Me boyfriend. He's dumped me here. Took the tickets, the money, me passport. I'm totally fucked!"

"Skinny bloke you were with this morning?"

"Yes. Oh. I think I remember you from somewhere..."

"The airport, right? Not good, that. Calm down, eh? What're you saying?

You haven't got any money or credit cards, or anything?"

"No, nothing like that. He took the lot."

"And you're sure he's gone? It's not just a misunderstanding?"

"Convinced. He had the hotel throw me out when he left."

"So he's not there. What hotel?"

She names some fleapit I've never stayed at, off the Grande Place. I've seen it. More like a hostel, a hookers' handout.

"So, what I suggest is..."

"Go to the police?"

"Oh, not at all. Unless you're looking for trouble. Total fascist bastards. No, tomorrow morning, go to the British Embassy or Consulate, whichever it is, and they'll bale you out. Give you some sort of entry permit if they believe your story, and loan you some money for a ticket."

She nods, sobbing. "But that won't take care of tonight. I'm freezing."

"Oh, you're right, it's cold. Listen, you could come back to my place.

I'm just down the street, at a hotel."

She looks at me suspiciously.

"It's an idea, isn't it? Or stay out here and freeze. Do you have any better choices?"

"Alright. Maybe. No funny business," she says, looking rather angry.

I shrug. "Listen, whatever. I'm just offering to help. You could be a bit more gracious. Jesus!" "You're right. What options do I have?"

I pick up her duffel, and lead on. She's mumbling self-pityingly about:

"I can't bloody believe this. How could I be so stupid?" "It's easy to get conned. Don't feel so bad," I tell her.

Her expression changes dramatically as we reach the Conrad. A deluxe hotel, this one, even by Brussels' up-market standards.

The doormen are too busy with cab loads of arriving guests, mostly rich women in fur coats, to take any notice of us. And me they know, anyway. We take the elevator, and I open up the room. Another low gasp from her. "Oh, this is amazing!"

Well it is, and it isn't. Depends on your frame of reference. A large room, king bed, lots of brass fittings and fake French furniture.

"Oh you've got TV!" she says.

"Of course, what kind of dump were you in?" I ask.

Looking around, she comments: "And an ashtray? A smoking room?" "Of course. Got any?"

"No, finished my last one. You?"

"Uh huh. Just horrible Euro version Marlboro Lights." I toss the packet on to the desk.

"Good enough, at a pinch." She takes one and lights up, drawing deeply.

She looks out the window into the internal courtyard. "Oh, this is a flashy place, alright."

"Well, no sense in slumming, eh?"

She grins. "A bit of a change for me, though. Hey, I'll get used to it."

"So, do you want to take a shower, change, or something? I'll buy dinner.

But, you know, you might want to tidy up a bit."

She nods warily, says: "You're right, I'm a mess." She begins to drag her bag to the bathroom, cigarette dangling from her lips.

"No peeking. I'll be quick," she says.

I flick on the TV, and she pulls the bathroom door half closed. I wait till I hear the shower running before wandering to the door. There's a two-inch crack, and the bathroom lights are blazing brightly. I see this as an invitation. The shower is a glass-walled box, separate from the bathtub.

A voyeur's delight, as I'm sure it's designed to be. She's shampooing her hair with her back to the door, singing softly to herself. She's slim and pale, but has a good shape. She turns to take a look at herself in the long mirror above the sink, facing the shower. One hand on her left breast, another on her furry triangle. Botticelli's Venus gone just a little slutty. She turns aside and winds the shower faucet shut. It's time to step away, so I'm not seen spying on her. A shame, because I have the feeling she'll be pleasuring herself in front of the mirror for some time.

Eventually, temptation gets the better of me. I'm right, she's squatting in front of the mirror, stroking herself with a far-away look in her eyes, one hand massaging her right breast, the other scrubbing up and down between her legs. Her eyes close, and she tilts her head back, mouth open, breathing deeply. I move away, reluctantly.

After about fifteen minutes she reappears. Her hair is mostly dried.

She's wearing a plain black dress, a gray cardigan draped round her shoulders and black lace-up shoes. I detect a trace of eye makeup. She's applying cherry-red lipstick. Very tarty, and very appealing. "Alright!

Where are we going?" she asks brightly, most of her reticence gone.

"Well, as it's so cold, shall we just eat downstairs? Not very adventurous, but it's not bad."

She's a bit awkward and uneasy as we walk into the brightly-lit restaurant.

It's not the kind of place she is used to.

We're seated in a quiet corner, with the usual obsequious ritual.

"I suppose I should introduce myself, hmm? Bob," I say.

"Ah, right. Sandra. Are you Australian, or English?"

"English. But I live in the States. Back and forward to Europe a lot."

"Ah." "So, tell me again. What happened with this bloke of yours?"

She's looking at the menu, struggling to figure out what to eat. I accept the waiter's suggestion of a couple of glasses of champagne to start.

"Well, we came over for a few days, for you know, just some fun..."

"Why not Amsterdam?"

"He said that was a cliché," she replies.

"Ha! But more fun than Brussels. This is a business town."

"Well, anyway," she continues, "I didn't know him very well. Rikki Patel.

Met him online a few weeks ago in some chat room. I'm at Aston, he's at Leeds. We got together at a rave the next weekend, and decided to give it a try."

"And?" I ask, figuring out that 'it' was kind of obvious. The weekend away, so traditional.

"Like I said before. We got to the hotel, he started drinking the duty free stuff, then wanted me to go to bed with him."

"Which you did, I imagine. That wasn't a surprise, surely?"

"Yes, of course. I was kind of looking forward to that, if you know what I mean. But he was useless. As a lover I mean. In a big hurry. After I told him he ought to read the Kama Sutra."

"Oh, very subtle. I bet he appreciated that."

"Not much, no. So, we get dressed and go to this bar down the street, he vanishes into the toilets, and never comes back. By the time I catch on, and go back to the hotel, it's done. He's checked out, my bags are out of the room, and all me stuff is gone."

I'd bet this had nothing to do with you, personally. I bet he's already gone through passport control with some Commonwealth cousin or whatever, about your height and age..."

"Think so?" she asks. "Damn! The little sod. Why'd he pick on me?" She sighs and sips the champagne. "I bet you're right, though. The bastard!"

We drift into talking about ourselves. She's studying Computer Science.

She can see I'm much older, but doesn't ask 'the question.' Impressed by the idea of meeting the president of a software company, she's on her best behavior, for now. Her expression is becoming increasingly cheeky, as she relaxes and the champagne takes effect. I find her green eyes rather fascinating. Obviously, some kind of Celtic heritage here.

"So, you do lots of dirty weekends?" I ask, innocently.

She grins. "Some. And you? You often pick up girls half your age?"

"Whenever I can," I agree. "I have good taste."

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she says, blushing. "You've been very generous and sympathetic and all. I didn't mean to offend you."

I'm interrupted by another waiter, and I order for both of us. I take the chance to pick out some wine.

"No, leave off. I'm not offended. I must admit, the fact that you were pretty didn't slow me down when I saw you stranded."

"Yes, I reckoned that," she smiles sweetly. "You're very kind anyway."

"It seemed like the right thing to do."

She nods. "So, what brings you here? Not a dirty weekend, obviously."

"I was visiting some clients. Kind of annoying. We got into a big row about post-modern trends in communications. They were bemoaning the demise of books, and I was telling them that we're moving into a symbolic age.

Which they found annoying, coming from a word-driven business."

"There are lots of them around," she agrees. "Primitives."

"To some extent I'm one myself, but I know that for simple functions, like web pages, online help, you've got to get the words out of the equation, till the last stage of delivery."

"Right. Makes sense to me."

"Not saying that books are obsolete. I buy lots. But, I mean, take a trivial example," I gamble on her tolerance here, "Of porno movies versus books. Which is better?"

"I find the movies depressing," she says quickly. "Always the same stuff.

And some pretty ugly people, if you ask me. Freaks, a lot of them."

"The silicone, the face lifts, the artificial erections?"

"Hard to know what's real, and what's plastic, yeah."

"Whereas, with a book, you can use your imagination."

"Exactly. And it runs at the speed you want it to."

"Important that. Did you ever see the movie version of 'Story of O'?"

"Yeah, I remember it. Dreadful. The book is sublime, though," she nods, sipping her wine.

"You like it?"

"Only read it for the first time a couple of months ago. It's, uh, in a class of its own."

"Isn't it just? Did you find it exciting, or just peculiar?"

She smiles at me. "Oh, very exciting. Very."

I feel a bulge growing in my pants. Well, here's an interesting development. Maybe I won't need to call my svelte hooker friend Ingrid this weekend, after all. Perhaps my young friend will have hidden depths. I can go either way with women, and spending time with a submissive young lady will suit my mood tonight, if I adjust. It will please me, just as much as Ingrid's icy contempt, expert bondage and knee-weakening brutality with the whip. I'd been fantasizing about groveling at her feet, begging to lick her, but alternatives are beginning to dawn on me. Giving this tasty little tart a good whacking appeals more and more each minute.

"There are worse people to identify with," I suggest. "Than O, I mean."

She nods, and gives a pixyish smile. "I'm always amazed at how many women do," she agrees. "Among my friends, anyway."

"I often wonder if people approach the story as a metaphor, or take it seriously."

"How d'you mean?"

"Well, all that serious stuff about slavery, submission. And the things that get done to her. What I'm saying is, do people take it literally, or is it a metaphor for a traditional male-female relationship?"

She snorts, and grins delightfully. "Oh, I think people take it pretty literally. Think how popular piercing is, how much S&M there is. No, I think Pauline Reage started a quiet revolution. Don't you?"

"Could be. Bless her little cotton panties, anyway."

"Silk, if she wore any at all," I add.

Our first course, a warm salad, arrives. She picks at it carefully.

"Peculiar, this, but it's quite nice."

I motion to a couple at a nearby table, with some vast shared seafood concoction. "I ordered steak for the next course. Figured you wouldn't want the Starship Troopers entrée."

"Oh, good choice, yes. Yeuch. I can't imagine eating that."

A few minutes pass, then she comments, rather obviously: "Um, just a thought, but there is only the one big bed, right?"

"Is that a problem?"

She blushes. "Uh, not really. But, look, don't take anything for granted, eh? You know what I mean?"

"I'm sure I do. We'll see how we feel, shall we?"

"That's what I meant, yes."

"You can trust me," I assure her. Feeling the bulge harden further.

"Oh, I'm sure. You've been kind. Very generous. I'm feeling a bit fragile, but, you know?"

"I'll be gentle."

She giggles. "That may not be exactly the right answer. But, okay."

When we get back upstairs, she's less defensive. I can see she's calculating to herself, figuring out how daring she is feeling. The couple of drinks have guaranteed success here, I'm sure. I hug her as we enter the room, and she responds with a kiss. A long, hungry kiss. I start to unzip her dress.

"It's kind of early to go to bed, isn't it?" she murmurs in my ear.

"Not if we're planning to get some sleep later, it isn't. We'll be fucking all night otherwise."

"Oh, yes please!" she giggles.

"And even if bed isn't what we're talking about, let's get you undressed.

Me too. It's warm. Then we'll know what we want, hmm?"

It doesn't take long to get her undressed. I'm pleased to find that she isn't wearing a bra. She has small, firm breasts, nipples hardening already. I'm even more pleased to discover that her backside is broad and feminine. She's not fallen into the habit of trimming her pubic bush, so she is abundantly hairy, and very welcome, extremely moist.

She's struggling with my shirt buttons, then with my belt. "Oh, you're so hairy!" she gasps. I'm losing my clothes as fast as I can, sensing this is a decisive moment. Younger women often have a negative attitude to hairy chests and legs. Best to move the debate to the next level. I steer her so she has her hand on my tool. Now she gives a little growl of desire. "Oh, yes. It's huge!" Compared to that little swindler Rikki, I'm sure it is.

I pick her up and carry her to the bed. Spread her thighs, and press my face to her pussy. A faint protest is heard, but ignored. She's fragrant, clean and intensely excited. I begin to lick her, long thirsty strokes up and down her labia, flicking my tongue over her clitoris.

She's moaning, and I break for a moment to encourage her: "Don't hold back. Come!" Little encouragement was needed. She wraps her thighs around my head, and holds my hair tightly in her knotted fists. After she stops pumping her hips, she's quiet, panting for breath. I wipe my face, and she stares at me with wonder. "Oh, that was fantastic."

"Don't you get to do that much?"

"Not like that," she sighs. "Are you going to fuck me now?"

"That was the general idea."

"That's good. But I'd like to suck on you first. That sound good?"

"Yes, I'm feeling presidential."

She has me sit on the edge of the bed, and her lips are soon wrapped around my cock. "You're very good at this," I tell her, trying to hold back. She pauses, flicking the tip of my cock with her tongue. "Yes, I've practiced a lot. Since I was about eleven years old."

"Oh?"

"You know how it goes. Boys never stop pestering, and for a dozen reasons you don't want to fuck them. So it pays to get good at handjobs, and at sucking."

She's a skilled fellatrice, and knows when to stop. Licking gently at me she says: "I love uncircumcised guys. Really do."

"Why?"

"The taste, the fact they get so much more excited. Just because..."

I stroke her hair, then kiss her mouth.

"Oh, just taste us," she breathes. "Your mouth's all cunty, and god knows what I taste like."

"Delightful. We're losing our inhibitions, very easily."

She giggles. "I don't believe you have any inhibitions at all, the way you go about things."

"Maybe not. So, you wanted my cock in you?"

"Oh, yes. Come on."

It's not hard to arrange. She wants to be face down on the bed. Slightly disconcerting, she insists on watching MTV.

"This is good to fuck to," she tells me. And she's there, with her rump raised, and me plugged into her pussy. For now. I'm tweaking her nipples, and licking her neck. She shivers and wriggles her hips.

"Is that a signal?" I ask.

"For what?"

"Like go faster, or do something else?"

"Dunno. What do you mean?"

"Well, would you like my prick in your rear instead?"

She chuckles. "Oh you are a dirty bastard, aren't you?"

"I take that as a compliment. You're quite a filthy girl, too."

"You really like my arse, don't you?"

"It's not bad, right."

"Maybe. If you spank me first, I might."

"You're really into that, huh?"

"Told you over dinner, didn't I? One of my favorite ideas. Always wanted it. How about you?"

"No problem. I'd be pleased to. You weren't spanked at school then?"

"No. But I wish I had been. There were some women teachers I really fancied."

"Tell me more...about what you wanted."

"Not just spanking, but a real caning. Hard, really hard."

"Ah, Story of O stuff, eh? On your bare backside?"

"Yes. So I got welts. In public. In front of the other girls and boys.

That's how it used to be, in my grandma's time. She told me. One day a week, bad girls would come out on to the platform in the assembly hall, nearly naked. Escorted by prefects. Just wearing their vests and socks, hands over their wotsits. Then they'd have to bend over for six of the best. Turned so everyone could see their bare bums."

"She wasn't teasing you."

"Really? I wondered."

"All the details are right, too. Yes, it really was like that. You'd have loved it, eh?" I growl.

"Oh, wouldn't I? I'd have gone and got in trouble on purpose, if I wasn't bad enough already."

"If I'd been in charge, there'd have been no vest and socks for you.

You'd have been the last out, when the other kids watching had gotten excited. And you'd have been made to walk out stark naked," I murmur.

"Imagine that. Not a stitch. And no covering up for you."

"Yes!"

"Everybody laughing, pointing at you. Staring at your tits, at your hairy, dripping cunt."

"Oh, god yes..."

"And forget the six of the best. Six for each offence. Cos you were the naughtiest girl in the school, weren't you? Swearing, smoking, cheating, drinking cider, all that stuff. At least two dozen. So hard you screamed.

Then stay bent over, so all the kids could file past on their way out and have a good look at you. Know something? No clothes afterwards. No. You'd have had to stay that way, all day long, till final bell. So everyone could see the marks. And smell you."

"Oh, god!"

"It would excite you, wouldn't it? You'd be sticky. And you'd be wearing these vicious red marks, the sort you get with a real hard caning."

"The only sort, yes," she sighs.

"And you'd be made to keep your hands on your head, so you couldn't cover up your tits, or your pussy, or your bum. And all day long, you'd have been aching to play with your twat."

She's stroking herself now, as I fuck her. I like that in women.

Determination to get off.

"You've always been a filthy girl, haven't you?" I murmur in her ear.

"Were you the dirtiest at school?"

"Oh, yes. Always."

"When did you start fucking?"

"Sixteen, I think."

"Lots? Or just one special boy?"

"You're kidding. Once I started, I couldn't get enough! I was a real slut."

"Tell me."

"I didn't used to wear panties. Still don't, quite often. I'd go to the local pub with boys, and just be wearing a plastic raincoat. Nothing else at all. Have a half-dozen of them, one after the other, out against the wall in the car park."

"Not what you call subtle sex," I murmured.

"I figured that out. Decided to ration it out, like 'less is more'. Know what I mean?"

"Absolutely."

I pump her, slowly and quietly as she raptly watches TV.

I wait a while, then comment: "Makes you think of rock music as a metaphor for masturbation, watching this. I mean, come on! George Michael posing as a stud, with all these models. A bumboy who hangs around pay toilets in LA?"

"I always thought he was creepy," she comments. "Some of these women are kind of unnatural too, don't you think?"

"Like they were dipped in french fry oil, you mean?"

"Salad dressing, maybe."

It gives way to Alanis. "Like these lyrics? You, you, you. On the new one, mind you, it's I, I, I. She's pretty good, though. Oh it's a skinny minny fest today. Is this her new one?"

"I think so."

"Is she naked all the way through this? May get some girls excited, perhaps. If it promotes slutty behavior, I'm all for it. Though with a shape like that, why bother?"

"She is kind of attractive..." she says softly. "But you don't get to see her tits or her pussy."

"Oh, so you do go for girls, too, huh?"

She giggles nervously. "Well, you know how it is. A few times."

"Tell me some more."

"Well, the usual stuff at school, but recently, with my room mate."

"Yeah? We should talk about that..."

"You get off on women together, then?"

"Most guys like it to a greater or lesser extent..."

"Greater in your case, I can tell."

I lick her neck, and pump a little more vigorously.

"Who's this old boiler? Oh, it's Cher! This is where the dinosaurs come when they can't even sell tickets in Vegas, huh? She looks like Jonathan Pryce's mum in Brazil. About six hours worth of make up. For the necrophilia set, this one. A real dick-shriveller, if I wasn't in your sweet hole."

She's giggling happily. I murmur: "You are a sweet girl, you know that? I want this to be really special for you."

She growls: "It is, okay? You started off the right way, with your tongue."

The video changes again. "Is this a hairspray commercial? Oh, the Corrs.

Duh. Hey, show the product. Prell, or whatever."

"They're good looking, but they're really in love with themselves, eh?"

Mercifully, it's short. "This one looks like a bloke, seriously!"

"Jewel, isn't it? Hey, you must know some rough-looking blokes. Like a club bouncer, you're right."

I guess we're not paying as much attention now, as I get her more excited. As we wriggle and sweat, we're treated to still more vacuous Europop. And pseudo shite rap with old American cars and preening hairdressers trying to look gangsterish. But it doesn't distract me so much, so long as I keep up my steady pace.

The screen leaps to life again after a couple of sepia-toned, trance music numbers. "Oh, retro cliches by the bucket! Is this a send-up? No?

Shit, it's Lenny Kravitz."

"Well, then it is a send up, by definition," she murmurs.

"See what I mean about masturbation? It's all posing and preening and mugging for the camera. Everything's jump cut, stop motion, so you can't figure out that they can't act, can't dance, can't mime. I mean, benefit of the doubt, maybe some can. But you'd never know. Mmm, good pouting. These flashing lights are giving me a headache."

"Masturbation is good, though," she gasps. "Don't knock it. Better than bad sex, huh?"

"Couldn't agree more," I murmur in her ear. "But when you say that, you're thinking of your jerky boyfriend, I hope."

"Oh yes. You're incredible. Don't stop..."

"I won't. Wanky girl, eh? Don't be ashamed. It's good practice too.

You're the kind of girl who masturbates a lot, I can tell. True?"

"Yes!"

"Every day?"

"Yes, I do."

"Tell me. Do you like to stand in front of a mirror and do it, see how you look?"

"Well, sometimes. When I lived at home I used to like that. Cos my parents were out all day, and I could skip getting dressed."

"Very good. Staying naked is a great thing, I think. You stayed naked all day, that what you mean?"

"Yes, all day. I like to do that, and I love looking at myself."

"Mirrors in the bathroom here are great for that stuff, eh?"

She giggles. "Oh, I had a good wank in front of them earlier. Kept thinking you might come in and catch me."

"Wish I had."

"So do I. I was really hoping."

"Actually, I watched a little, Sandra, but I didn't want to disturb you.

You seemed to be having a lot of fun. Big squat to open your cunt up, oh I saw it alright."

We're both grinning happily at this.

"But most of all I like to do it in bed, on my back or front. Legs wide apart, of course. I rub, but I like to put things inside me."

"Like?"

"Hairbrush handle. I've got a vibrator, too."

"And how many times do you come?"

"Many as I can."

"Your room mate must love that..."

"Jan? She wanks a lot too. Some nights, we set each other off. Usually ends up with her climbing in with me."

"Delightful. Your room must smell like heaven. And then?"

"More touching, of course. Vibrators. Lots of cuddling."

"You don't lick?"

She gasps. "Not when we're all dirty like that, no."

"Oh?" I chuckle. "It never stops me. I love licking sticky quims. As you've seen already. You need to be taught to like the taste."

She groans. "Oh, I'm so messy tonight. Can you smell me?"

"Ha! Are you kidding? But it's good."

"I've always been embarrassed by it."

"Don't be. And listen to all this squelching. Like a sinking ship.

Pumping you out, huh?"

"You're so filthy!"

"And don't you just love it?"

The videos are inexorable. "Oh my god, not another one with a New York skyline. Gimme a break!"

"It's cos you're from there."

"Uh, LA isn't New York. It's cos it's a cliché. What was that Frank Zappa line, in 'Be In My Video'? "the cheesy atom bomb explosion all the big groups use"? Hey, he wasn't wrong, very often."

"Don't really know him."

"Pity, that. You must think I'm negative, huh? Not true! I don't hate all of this. I mean, I like Garbage, Catatonia, Oasis, Pulp, all kinds of recent bands with some kind of clue. And lots of Eighties stuff. You know, I'm old enough to remember real rock? The Beatles, sure. But The Clash, Elvis Costello? We'll never do better, at this rate."

"I agree. I'm not contesting it, at all."

"And the sad thing is, it's just been stolen, and turned into this tripe.

These playground chants and gormless lyrics. Morse code synthesizer with one finger. Listen to that. Bit of echo, a standard dial-up MIDI voice.

Pointless. They're all pretty poseurs, basically."

"A lot does sound the same, you're right."

"Oh my god, we'll have to turn this off, now! Aerosmith. Grotesque old geezers. Older than me, I think. I actually preferred the pretty boys." I click the remote.

"Weren't you ever a pretty boy?" she teases.

"Oh, maybe. Not menacing enough to deter the Latin teacher, but I wasn't going to fall for his bullshit."

"Am I guessing right? This was an all-boys school?"

"Uh huh. Pervert's heaven. Nasty old bum stroker, he was."

"Did he stroke yours, then?"

"Yes, but I didn't encourage him."

"Meaning what?"

"Oh, he'd often keep a boy he fancied late, after detention class. You'd hear about it. We even got daring one day. Hung around, very risky. Climbed up on some dustbins to peek in and watch."

"And?"

"He'd talked this boy, from another class, into undoing his trousers, and letting then down. Pull his pants down too. Had him standing there with his willy showing, enjoying the hard on. Touching it, of course. We'd heard others say this was what happened."

"Was there sex?"

"Not that you'd recognize as such, no. But if a boy got too excited, and started wanking or something, well, you know... there was an equal risk of a caning, or being asked to unbutton teacher and kiss his cock. The time I watched, that's what I saw happen. Fellatio."

"My god! When was this?"

"Late sixties."

"Wasn't he ever caught, prosecuted?"

"No. But there was a lot of talk, over the years. He moved out of the area when he retired. I think he must have been nervous about the law. Or getting tracked down and beaten up."

"Amazing. We had some lezzie teachers, but they were very subtle about it, as you can imagine."

"So 'the usual school stuff,' what was that?"

"Crushes, little games in the showers, stuff like that. Girls like to show each other, you know. To reassure themselves their bodies are normal.

That they're not strange in some way. But it's all kind of innocent. 'Does yours look like this?' 'Is this right, getting this sticky?' "

"Excellent. But nothing memorable?"

"Oh, sitting in the library with my friend Claire, the last week I was there. Legs up. With our knickers off. Playing with each other. Taking turns rubbing, sitting side by side, watching out for other girls. She was sad about some boyfriend she was losing. I was just feeling sexy, myself.

God, we came so many times!"

"But it didn't become a thing?"

"No, her boyfriend came back. Shame, really. Who knows, eh?"

"Have you ever licked another woman, the way I did it for you?"

"Not like that, no. Just kissed..."

"So no tongue in her cunt, no sitting on your face, none of that funky stuff? Oh, you don't know what you're missing!"

"I don't," she whispers. "Maybe I should."

"You'd like it. I'll have to show you how, with some other girl. Your Jan, or someone else."

"Would that turn you on, having two women?"

"Always has."

"You've done it then?"

"Not much I haven't. So, that appeal to you, being taught how to lick pussy?"

"God, yes. I don't think I'd need teaching, just encouraging. You're so kinky."

"Like you. And you know you'd love it. Just the way you like a good long fuck. Like this."

"Yes," she gasps, her hips lifting again, her vagina pulsing strongly.

"Ready to come?"

"Yes, don't stop!"

Our synchronicity is perfect. And loud, oh yes. She's pounding her hips against the bed, thrashing like a speared fish. I have a half-dozen more spasms before my aching cock calls an end.

I slip out of her. We sprawl there for several minutes, not speaking. I'm the first to speak. Romantic as ever, I say: "Hungry, by any chance?"

"Hmm? Actually, I am."

"Let's do some room service."

"I'll have to get dressed."

"No, there are dressing gowns in the closet."

"Oh," she says, finding them. "Nice ones too."

She wraps herself in the white toweling gown, and I grab the second one.

Call down for some sorbet, and a tray of assorted snacks.

We flick the TV back on, and wait for a few minutes. "We'll need this too. I'm parched." I open a couple of bottles of beer from the mini-bar, and we both light cigarettes. "Talking too much," she giggles.

"Oh, I can fuck quietly too," I rejoinder, smiling.

"Not a criticism. That was gorgeous. Unbelievable," she smiles sweetly.

There's a knock at the door, and she wanders into the bathroom while the tray is brought in.

"My god, the state of these sheets," she observes after the waiter leaves.

"So what? Included in the price. That's why they have staff and laundry service at hotels."

I lock the door again, and brutally rip the dressing gown from her.

There's adoration in her eyes as I seize her shoulders and kiss her hungrily.

"I love it when you're rough," she gasps.

"Good. Now, on the bed. I've not done with you yet."

She stretches out, blinking seductively, her ass lifted invitingly.

"Roll over, let me look at your pussy." She flops on her back, legs inelegantly spread. I examine her, sniff her. "You smell great, Sandra.

Very female."

"Well, it figures, eh?"

"Uh huh."

"You like boyish girls, though. Don't you?"

"No, I don't think so. Doesn't apply to you, does it?"

"Not really."

"Nice big ass, you have. For a little girl. I like it."

"I can tell."

"You still want that spanking we talked about?"

She smiles coquettishly. "You bet I do. Over your knee?"

"That might be the best way. Very personal."

"Isn't it? Will you spank me hard?"

"How else? And after, you're going to be a good little video slut for me, and let me watch you wanking. Okay?"

"Sure. Will you spank me till I come?"

"You bet I will. Think you can?"

"I'm sure."

I grin. "Well, I think I'd better tie your hands so you can't play with your pussy. That way we'll know it's genuine."

She gasps: "Oh, I've always wanted to be tied up by a man."

"Meaning, you've been tied up by a woman?"

"No, I didn't mean that. But it's such a sexy idea."

"Isn't it?" I growl, forcing her wrists together behind her back, and tightly knotting a nylon strap round them. I kiss her, long and hard, stroking and squeezing her breasts. "Like a slave girl, in the market, aren't you? Just need some make-up and jewelry."

She sighs, shivering in my arms.

"A fantasy of yours, eh?" I tease.

"That, or being a stripper."

"Or a hooker, maybe?"

"I've though of that too. Kind of dangerous, really. Pays well, though."

"Can do. No guarantee. You're pretty enough for either. Stripper would be good. You like being naked, after all."

"Thank you. But for me it'd have to be some really dirty hole, some vile place where I could wank and do anything that appealed to me."

"Dirty girl. Well, of course, there are such places."

"Yes, but..."

"They tend to be the low-paying places, right."

She sighs. "You've been to a few, no doubt."

"I have, I admit. Maybe I'll take you to one as a treat, let you see."

"That's sort of interesting," she murmurs. "Kind of lezzie, but rather exciting."

"So, how about being something better? Forget stripper, or hooker. How'd you like to be my mistress? Same sort of gig, in a way. Only a few minor restrictions? Be as filthy as you want?"

She gazes into my eyes, and says: "Yeah? Beat me first."

Pulling her across my lap, I stroke her bottom lovingly. Massage her cheeks, and let her anticipate the impending spanking. Play with her drooling vagina, probe her anus with a fingertip.

"You're so eager," I mock.

"Hard, and don't stop till I come," she implores.

I begin to spank her, with no attempt to be gentle. Good loud open-handed slaps to both cheeks until I've gotten them glowing pink.

"Harder!" she groans, kicking her legs in delight.

Soon she's yelping with pain as I carry on, reddening her buttocks and upper thighs. She's grinding her hips against my lap, and breathing fast.

There's no faking when a quick flurry of slaps sends her over the edge.

"Thank you!" she splutters, slithering to the floor and kissing my feet.

I free her wrists, and she rubs them, then starts to touch herself.

"You know something? I don't think that hurt enough. Maybe I should take the strap to you," I growl.

She looks up, adoringly. "Can I be your mistress, like you said?"

I nod, reaching for the belt of my pants. Doubling it over, I order her:

"Bend over, and touch your toes. Over there, where I can get a good swing at you."

She positions herself, her backside enticingly raised. "Like this?"

"Spread your legs a little. You're going to have to learn to keep your quim open when you're around me. I think the belt wants to kiss your crack a little."

She shivers in anticipation. "Will you slap my pussy, too?"

I smile. "Nice idea. Yes, later. After I've seen you rub it. That'll be a good punishment, won't it?"

She gives a low moan. "Please, yes."

"How do you feel about being photographed?"

"Nude! Is that what you mean? Oh, I don't know really...." She's looking concerned, anxious. "What if...?"

"If someone else saw them? No, this'll be just for us. See, I have a digital camera with me, plugs into my laptop."

"Oh." She's blinking nervously, but she's intrigued.

I'm pulling it from the bag, checking the batteries are charged. I click it on.

"So, a little bit of wanking, that would be nice, huh?"

"Where?" she says looking around.

"How about in that chair? Get your knees up, show your vulva off properly there. Should we turn it so you can watch in the mirror? Yes, we ought to."

She spreads a towel on the overstuffed chair, then sits as I suggested, opening herself with no modesty at all. "Is that good?"

"Legs over the arms. And scoot down a little lower."

"Right, so you can see my arsehole, you mean?" She's rubbing, fidgeting.

"How's that?"

"Not bad. Try wider, though. Let's make this unsubtle, shall we?"

"Like this?" she growls, spreading herself even more, tugging on her labia.

"Much, much better," I agree, clicking off the first shots. "Now, get rubbing, real hard. It looks all sore and swollen, but let's not neglect it. Rub it like you would if you were doing it for your Jan. You let her watch, don't you?"

"Like this? Uh, once or twice, when I've been feeling really filthy."

"Well, you're should be feeling filthy now, Sandra. Let's see it dribbling, come on."

She's rubbing frantically, a demented look on her face, her eyes narrowed, mouth frozen in a tight little 'O'. Her chest is heaving with excitement, her breasts jiggling. I move round her, capturing this debauchery from various angles.

"Come," I order. "Don't hold back."

And she doesn't, grunting and gasping and muttering incoherently, her face turning red. Dribbling from her mouth just as much as from her pussy.

"Okay, stay like that," I tell her, putting the camera down. I find my belt. She's panting, and looks up to see me standing over her.

"Are you really going to do it?" she gasps.

"You want it, don't you?"

"Yes," she breathes. "But hold on." She wraps her hands round the back of her knees, drawing her thighs even wider. Her vulva is gaping, her lips swollen. Her clitoris erect and fat. Her hair is matted with juices, and I can see her anus and vagina both squirming and winking with excitement.

"Now, yes," she pleads.

I bring the strap down, quite forcefully. Not as hard as I hit her buttocks, of course. Sandra lets out a strangled cry, and shakes her head in pain. "Oh, blimey! That's terrible."

"More?"

"One or two. Let's see."

I use a six-inch length of the belt, just the loose end, and direct it so it follows the pouting crease. She cries out weakly, but this time it's from pleasure. Her hands fly to it, as soon as I've given her two or three strokes and stood back. In no time, she's coming again.

"Thank you!" she gasps.

"So, let's e-mail that lousy bastard Patel," I suggest, as we look through the various shots. "Know the address you used?"

"I can remember it. It's like a family account he shares with his sister, and some of the family. They own a shop, I think."

"Even better, then. Oh, yes."

"E-mail him what? How will you hide it's coming from you?"

"Use one of my AOL smurf accounts. Send him some 'glad you're not here'

mail. Like a dripping, wide open wet beaver shot."

"Why?"

"Listen, that's just number one."

"I really hate him, so why treat him to something that?"

"Here, then. Let me find it. A pic of you with a mouthful of cock. Shot from an angle so it's not clear it's you. But he'll know. This one, right.

My big prong, right to the back of your throat."

"That's much better!"

" 'Thinking of you', eh?"

"Right, and yeah, doing a lot better. With cum on my chin, yes?"

"Maybe we'll do it again, use some of this vanilla sorbet, so you look like you've really had a hose job."

"Yeah, and a note saying, 'wank off to this, you limp-pricked rat-faced wog bumfucker.' "

"With you looking all dewy-eyed, satisfied, smug even, that classic well-fucked look."

"Oh, I am, aren't I?" she sighs.

"I haven't started yet, sweetheart."

"Hmm? You're doing really well," she says earnestly.

"We'll skip Mr.Patel, though. I was just teasing," I tell her, flicking a few more tasty images open.

"Why?"

"Doubt if it's even his real name, Sandra. You were had. But I'll see what I can do about sorting him out."

"Oh, how?" she says curiously.

"I've got some old school friends I can call for a favor. We'll see if we can't track him down and give him a wee headache."

She looks at me with that flat, MTV generation expression. "Police, you mean?"

"Similar. Hey, listen, don't worry about him. He's toast. Worry about you. Can you stay the weekend?"

"Well, I'd planned to. If that hadn't happened, you know."

"So, want to stay with me?"

"Here? Sure!"

"Actually, I'd planned to hire a car, and drive to Ostend, take the ferry on Monday. Lots of nice places on the way. Ever been to Bruges?"

"No. But I could. What about the passport and all that stuff?"

"I can bullshit them at the local office, just as easily. And I'll buy you a ticket, and all that. Give you some money, if you like."

She nods, then says: "That feels like prostitution to me, sorry."

"Hey, don't think of it like that. You need a few quid in spending money, don't you?"

"Well, yes. He cleaned me out. All my bloody money from my poxy part-time job."

"Oh?"

"In a horrible little fast food place."

"Not the kind of thing I'd expect my girlfriend to do." She grins, then says hesitantly. "You meant that stuff earlier, about being your mistress?"

"If it suits you. There's only a few rules."

"Like?"

"I don't share with other guys. Women, I'm not so bothered about."

"Okay. Celibacy, apart from Jan."

"Good girl. And with her, as debauched as you like, alright?"

"I'm warming to the idea," she agrees, licking her lips.

"I only get over about every few weeks. But, when I do, I'll expect some coordination. Yes? You have to be available when I want you, so keep up with your coursework, or get ahead."

"Alright."

"And the rest, you know. Naked whenever I want, submission, all the usual stuff. And in return, I'll pay all your bills."

"All?"

"Well, what could that come to, in a year?"

She names a price.

I shrug. "Okay. Maybe a little allowance too? So you can dump the part-time job? Oh, not for nothing. Can you program in C++?"

"Sure, real well. But..."

"Then I can get you a few bits of freelance, on metric standards and stuff. Euro-standards drive my guys cross-eyed. We've been talking about using some local programmers. Maybe I'll get you a better flat, and take you clothes shopping, too. Actually we should do some tomorrow, spruce you up. You're okay for student chic, but we need to smarten you up a bit."

"My god, you really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Am I that attractive to you?"

"Wouldn't offer, if you weren't."

"Well, uh, thank you. I...yes, I think I could. Do I get a good TV?"

"Good TV, good PC and a decent stereo. Have to. Hey, you're my MTV generation girl, aren't you?"

She bows her head. There are a few tears on her cheeks, suddenly.

"I feel such a slut, talking like this."

"Sandra, don't be silly. Feel positive about yourself. I want you as a slut, of course. Sluttiness is a very positive thing, in my mind. But it's more than that. You really make me feel good. Think of it as a little down payment, an advance on our future. But you have to finish college, and get good grades."

She looks up. "Are you in love with me?"

"Not quite yet," I admit, quite honestly. "But I like you a lot. And I could be, real easy. And I don't want to let you slip away."

"Bob," she says, choking on her words, "I won't. Slip away, I mean.

You're very kind. Kindest man I've ever known."

"Even if I beat you?"

"Because," she sniffs. "Because you understand me."

"I do, yes," I agree. "Hope I do anyway."

"So, what are all these marks?" Faint white lines on the insides of her arms, up around the elbow.

"Scars, really. Uh, I did that in school."

"Accident?"

"No. With an X-Acto. On purpose. I liked it for a while, cutting myself.

Watching it bleed. Rubbing it with salt. Vinegar sometimes."

"Really?"

"Yes, you look shocked."

"Only slightly. I've been around. Had a girlfriend once who used to stick pins in her nipples, and in her pussy lips. Used to burn herself with a candle, too. Made her feel really intense, before she started wanking herself."

She nods, wide-eyed. "I've thought of that."

"Pins?"

"Candle, too. Dripping hot wax, anyway."

"You like to be hurt, then?"

"I loved being spanked, didn't I?"

"Yes, I guess that answers the question. And being tied up? Other stuff?"

"Try me."

"You mean that?"

"You bet I do."

"So what should I do with you?"

"It's up to you."

I ponder for a moment then suggest: "I have some safety pins, and a razor blade."

She licks her lips nervously. But I see the excitement.

"So, shall I take you into the shower?"

"Tied up?"

"I think so..."

"Yes! And what will you do?"

"Just some pinpricks. A few nicks and slices?"

"So you leave marks. Please? I'll tell you if it's too much."

"I don't want to have to take you to some Belgian hospital, and make all kinds of explanations."

"You won't. We'll be sensible. But I want you to cut me, yes."

"Tell me where."

"My arms. Then, my tits."

"Pins?"

"In my nipples, yes. And lines with the razor."

"Okay. And?"

She stares at me, follows my eyes. "Down there?"

"Thighs, pussy lips. Why not?"

It's just a whisper. "Please."

Know something else?"

"Tell me."

"Luxury hotels are great for some things. You know, if I call room service here, I bet I can get a cane sent up."

"No!" she gasps. "Really? Won't they know what it's for?"

"Of course they will. My ass or yours, that's the only question that'll cross their minds. But if you want it, we can do it. A nice flexible, cutting cane. We can make you very sore, sweetheart. Are you feeling brave?"

"A cutting cane? Oh please, yes."

"You accept the consequences? That you may not be sitting for a few days?"

"Yes, but promise not to go too crazy?"

"I'll only go as far as you want me to."

"Okay," she grins. "Do it, yes."

"It may seem a little bit greedy, but I want to slap your tits."

She swallows. "Well, sure. If you want."

I have her kneel on the bed, and slap her breasts for a while. There are tears in her eyes, but she doesn't cry aloud.

"Feeling a bit more like O?" I tease.

"Yes, some. God, I've never given myself to a man as completely as this!"

I smile, and slap her left breast, hard. "Does it feel like slavery?"

"Not yet."

"But you're willing to be punished some more?"

She stares intently into my eyes. "Don't give up now. Cut me. Hurt me.

Then I'll be your slave."

"Is that what you want?"

She's masturbating again, a frenzied look in her eyes.

"Yes, to be like O. The whole thing."

"You want the chains? The branding? The rings through your cunt lips?"

"If only I could," she croaks.

"You can. Do you want to be flayed with a whip, until you faint? She did."

"Oh, don't tease me, do it...please?"

"You think you can be a slave?" I say, digging my nails into her nipples, and staring into her eyes.

"Yes, I want it," she splutters.

"Then you can have it. Monday, we'll go to my lawyer in London. She's very tolerant, don't worry. And you can sign a contract. Swear yourself to be my slave. Yes? Naked, in front of a couple of witnesses."

"Yes!"

"Then, we can get on to the piercing and branding. I have a friend in Liverpool who'll do a lovely job on you. Busy, Tuesday?"

"No, I can be there. I want to do it. Is he good?"

"She."

Her eyes are bright with excitement.

"And she may want to be paid."

"You know, I'm kind of broke."

"Who said money? I know her tastes. Well, you'll pay her in kind, then."

"How?"

"Lick her cunt, grovel in front of her. Be a total slut. Just submit, and do as she wants. Does that disgust you? I'll be watching."

"No, I'll do it, cos you want me to," Sandra croaks.

"Good girl. Yes, no need to be subtle, then. The full treatment. You'll know you're my slave afterwards. My possession. It's going to hurt."

"God, please."

I pour a couple of glasses of cognac.

"It's kind of unusual to do a lot of stuff at once, most women get quite hysterical and weepy. But you're a tough little bitch, aren't you? So for you, let's skip the formalities. How d'you feel about having a ring in your clitoris?"

She stares at me.

"Painful, I guarantee it. Very painful. You'll be screaming. Well, you would be if you weren't gagged properly. Struggling, if you weren't tied down, good and tight. No anesthetic, that's for sissies. It'll hurt, Sandra. It'll be quite bloody, but I think you can deal with that, somehow.

You know, rather than mess around, I think I'll have your fanny lips pierced properly. Several times. So I can lace you up, tight, put a padlock and chain on. Agree, slut?"

"Yes," she shudders, as I slap her breasts again, quite harshly. "So like poor little O. Oh, please, do it. Will you shave me?"

"Shave you, wax you, whatever," I assure her, picking up my razor.

"You can pluck it out, hair by hair, if you want to. I don't fucking well care!" She gasps. But her eyes are following the shining blade.

It's an X-Acto, probably just like the one she is familiar with. Her eyes follow my hands, blinking back tears. "Now, drink your brandy. Then, into the bathroom and step into the shower. Time to slice you a little, isn't it? And we don't want to make too much mess here, do we?"

"Not too much, but don't chicken out, please?" she asks anxiously, knocking the brandy back, and scurrying before me to the bathroom.

Sandra stands in the shower, and I order: ""Run it, not too warm."

She puts herself under the deluge, her hands instantly going to her pussy.

She rubs busily, staring at me with a hungry look in her eyes. I open my clenched fist to show her a handful of tiny brass safety pins, scavenged from hotel bathroom kits. She gasps with delight.

"Yes?"

"My nipples first!" she groans. I douse them with hydrogen peroxide from my shaving kit. Sandra waits, eyes half-closed. One pin for each nipple, just lightly pricking her. A bubble of bright blood that trickls down her, and turn the water round her feet a faint pink. She groans. I run the X-Acto over her, barely breaking the skin. Breasts, belly, thighs, a quick stroke along each lip. She's shuddering with excitement. "My back? A cross, something big?"

A nicely defined zigzag, from shoulders to waistline, that seems right.

I climb in the shower, winding it to a warmer setting, pressing her against the wall. My tongue is in her mouth, and my revived erection is prodding at her. I bite her shoulders in turn. Incoherent with excitement, she grunts: "In me! Fuck me, oh fuck me!" My prick slides home, relieved to find her as slippery and open as ever.

This time it's a short, hard slamming she gets. A frenzied fuck. All through it, she's crying and gasping for me to be rougher. Her orgasm is intense, her nails clawing at my back as hard as mine are at hers. She falls heavily to her knees, spluttering, as I release myself from her.

Staring up through tear-filled eyes, her body lightly streaked with red, she groans: "I love you."

Later, treating her cuts with cotton wool and peroxide, I'm pleased to see she's gasping with pain. "It's good for you. Heal the cuts, and stop you making a mess on the sheets," I tell her.

She sighs: "You are a complete animal, aren't you? So cruel."

"Well, I try to do what a woman wants, and that's what you wanted, sweet.

Needed."

"I wasn't complaining, honest. No, I meant it the right way. Do you really want me?"

"Yes, Sandra. I do. You're a very crazy girl. I think we might have quite a future," I assure her. "There's lots I can teach you, I'm sure."

Combing the hair out of her eyes, she sighs: "I think so too. Be rougher next time."

"Next time, my girl, I'm taking a whip to you."

She grabs one of my hands, kisses it fervently.

"Promise? I need that, so badly."

"Pleased to hear it, because I agree. You desperately need to be whipped, Sandra. It'll seal our bargain, won't it? Then you'll be my mistress, and my slave."

She kneels before me. "Yes. And that's exactly what I want. I'm yours.

Money, or no money. Understand? It's what I've been waiting for. A proper whipping."

"Open your mouth," I tell her. She eagerly engulfs my prick, which is fattening up again. Stares up longingly at me, sucking gently as I pledge:

"It'll be a proper whipping, alright. I saw how excited you got about the cane. Well, there'll be a cane. Well, there'll be several. Of various severities, getting way beyond school standards. Some riding crops. A birch. A strap or two. A tawse. A cat 'o' nine tails. A proper whip. And I'll use them all, Sandra. There'll not be a square centimeter of your body, from your throat to the soles of your feet, that won't feel one of them. You'll be striped all over. A very sore and sorry little girl."

She's bobbing her head up and down, moaning with delight. "And your arse is going to be black and blue. What my little cocksucker needs, isn't it? A merciless thrashing, so she knows her lover really cares. That he really needs her."

I tug on her hair. "Back into bed, Sandra. We have things to do."

Reluctantly, she releases my cock, licking her lips. I steer her into bed, and snuggle up close. I don't think her cuts are going to make much of a mess now. And if they do, so what? Clicking the lights off, I begin to kiss and fondle her. She gasps as I handle her nipples. Yes, they're very sore.

Soon I have her spread out, and climb on her. I'm stiff enough for one more try, so I let her feed my prick into her, warning: "This is going to be a long, slow one, Sandra."

"That's what I want," she groans.

I begin to tease her: "So, should I call for that cane? We could use it in the morning, to wake you up properly. Any icy cold shower and the cane, just right to get a dirty sleepy girl back to normal."

She murmurs: "If that's what you want. Did I hear you say, they might think it was for you? What did you mean?"

"Just that I've been known to let women beat me, when the fancy takes me.

I told you, I've done lots of things in my time."

She mulls this for a moment, and says: "You have a few scars on your back.

>From that?"

"Yes. The sort my little slut is going to get," I promise.

She's getting excited quickly, wriggling and moving under me. "So that's how you know how to treat me so cruelly. You've been there yourself," she gasps.

"Minus a few anatomical differences, yes."

Her hips are pumping now, matching the thrust of mine.

"Shall I suggest something, sweet? Something you may enjoy a lot?" I whisper.

"Yes!"

"Let's go for a little expedition tomorrow, away from the hotel. To visit a woman I know here. She's a dominatrix, Ingrid's her name. Someone who has been good to me in the past. She's a dominatrix, and I think she would find it amusing to have a young girlfriend of mine at her mercy."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd be jealous, I think. She's someone who has beaten you, you're saying?"

"Let me get her on the phone, and we'll see what we can do."

It's a number I know by heart, can dial in the dark.

"Ingrid? It's Bob. Yes, it has been a long while. Listen..." I tell her the story, with Sandra wriggling excitedly under me. "... Now, here's the thing. She needs to be taught how to perform cunnilingus properly. And she also rather urgently needs some more serious whipping, cos I'm a bit limited on hardware here."

I listen to Ingrid's reply, and say, "Okay, in the morning. Usual fee? Okay."

As I hang up, Sandra's urgently asking: "What'd she say?"

I kiss her on the mouth, then explain: "Well, she's rather busy tonight, as you'd guess. But tomorrow, she thinks she could squeeze you in. She lives out in the Waterloo area, in a country house, surrounded by trees, almost a private park. Very exclusive. Anyway, she's curious to see you, for a brief interview. You understand what I'm getting at here?"

" 'See me', meaning I'll be naked, of course," she says with a contented sigh.

"Very good, Sandra. Yes, I'll strip you in the taxi on the way there."

"Oh, I'd love that," she moans.

"So will the driver."

"Please."

"Now, she just wants to ask you a few things, see for herself what kind of submissive I have chosen. She doesn't disapprove, by the way. Thinks I should have switched a long time ago. There'll be some very personal questions, and you'll have to open your legs wide, but I don't think she'll want to torment you herself. Just an inspection. A dildo in your cunt, maybe a finger in your asshole."

"Does she dress in all that leather gear?" Sandra asks.

"Rarely. That's so clueless. Most times I've seen her, she's been in a business suit, or very minimal workout clothes. Or naked, of course."

"She's beautiful?"

"For someone in her forties, yes. But ice-cold, and breathtakingly cruel.

So, here's the good news. Ingrid has a constant stream of young protegees, trainee dominatrices really, and she thinks that one of her new ones, Ivana, would be very well suited to you."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, she's about your age, maybe a bit younger. But quite experienced. She'll be perfect for teaching you how to use your mouth on another woman's pussy. An hour or two of licking her out, with the riding crop right at hand, you'll get very good."

"Yes!"

"And then, she'll drag you to the torture chamber."

"Oh, no! Do you mean that?"

"Wait till you see it. Very scary, up in an attic room. So well equipped.

She'll strap you to a whipping frame...something huge and solid, with your arms and legs spread wide. For me to fuck and whip, while she offers suggestions."

"Baby, please..."

"I won't be gentle, you understand? A long harsh whipping is what you need, just like I told you."

"No! Don't be. Rape me and whip me, please?" Her eyes are wide, bright with tears. "I want to be your slave. No limits. Just take me, promise?"

Pages: 1


This site does not contain sexually explicit images as defined in 18 U.S.C. 2256.
Accordingly, neither this site nor the contents contained herein are covered by the record-keeping provisions of 18 USC 2257(a)-(c).
Disclaimer: This website contains adult material. You must be over 18 to enter or 21 where applicable by law.
All Members are over 18 years of age.
Terms of Service  |  Privacy Policy  |  FOSTA Compliance Policy
 
Copyright © 1998- DashBoardHosting, LLC., and/or its affiliates. All Rights Reserved.