Whip Me

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘How would you like me to fuck you here?’ he asked. ‘Want me to bugger that tight little hole of yours?’

  I gasped, wondering if he was serious, and then he said, ‘No, we’ll save that pleasure for another night.’ While the thought that this might not be a one-off was beginning to sink in, I felt Marc’s cock pushing at the entrance to my pussy. I reached behind me and helped guide him in. I had thought he might be too large for me, but I took almost all of him before he began to thrust into me. As I’d hoped, he set the pace – even now, he was firmly in control – and when he finally gave me permission to start rubbing my clit, I did so gratefully, more than ready to come given all the physical and verbal stimulation I’d received.

  It seemed like only moments before he was speeding up and his hips were jerking in the unmistakeable manner of a man who is about to come. That was the point at which he ordered, ‘Come for me, Lisa. Come for me, now!’ and I felt my pleasure peaking again and again, caught up in the sensations of my orgasm and his.

  Minutes passed before I finally regained anything approaching composure, and when I untangled my body from Marc’s, it was with regret.

  We kissed, and he hugged me to him. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’d better go downstairs before people start wondering where we’ve got to.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, ‘I’ll just tell them you were arranging my overdraft for me.’

  ‘I have not come as a bank manager!’ Marc protested. ‘And if you keep insisting that I have, you’re just going to have to be spanked.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I said, in the brattiest tone I could manage, already thinking of how that particular scene might play itself out, and eager to find out if it was as good in reality as it was in my imagination.

  As we walked back into the party, which was already beginning to wind down, I saw Darren in the corner, chatting up a girl who had come dressed as Jessica Rabbit. He was running his hand through his hair in the gesture which I had initially found so sexy but now realised was just one of the tricks in a very limited repertoire. Suddenly, I was so very glad that I had done the right thing. I had held out for a hero, and found one where I least expected it. I raised my water pistol to my temple in an ironic salute to the plastic warrior, and let Marc lead the way home to bed.

  I Spy

  by Jean-Philippe Aubourg

  ‘Oh yes baby! Swing those hips baby! Shake that booty!’ Ben peered through his window at the highlight of his day. The lithe large-breasted blonde who worked in the next-door office block arrived and left within minutes of the same time every day. He had no idea what her name was or what she did for the eight hours Monday to Friday that she spent in the building, but he did know that her figure floated his boat.

  Slim, without being skinny, her hips tapered up into a wide bottom. She favoured trousers, which Ben thought showed off her arse perfectly. Her breasts seemed to be a mirror image of her bum, large and round. They bounced beautifully as she walked past Ben’s booth in the car park. One morning she had been late, and he’d found himself wondering where she was. Then she appeared, running. She had both hands clasped to her breasts to keep them under control as she jogged from her Ford Fiesta. It was one of Ben’s briefest glimpses of her, but also one of his most exciting.

  Never the most eloquent of men, Ben had nicknamed the object of his affections ‘Blondie Big Tits’. He had precious little intellectual stimulation in his job as the car park attendant, and he looked forward to seeing her jaunty little walk at the start and end of his boring days, plus two more sightings every lunchtime. If only he could find a way of taking the image home, to replay it over and over again?

  The answer came during one of his long periods of boredom. His new mobile. It had a built-in camera which would even take videos. He had nothing else to photograph or film, and how difficult could it be?

  He practised a few times, keeping it on standby, then picking it up as a nondescript pedestrian passed, quickly pointing and pressing the button. The results improved with each attempt, until finally he felt ready for the big challenge.

  The first day he got it completely wrong. She was early, he wasn’t ready, and by the time he had fumbled with the phone she had vanished. The second day she was late, and he was distracted by a query from another driver, which Ben dealt with in an even less enthusiastic manner than usual.

  Finally he got it right. Blondie arrived at her usual time, wearing tight trousers and a short tailored jacket plus heels that gave her a little bit of extra bounce. As she passed, Ben picked up the phone. His hand followed her movements and he watched with pleasure, as her image appeared on the screen. His hand trembled a little as he watched it getting smaller and smaller, until she had vanished round the corner, and he pressed stop.

  He spent the morning replaying the clip, enjoying Blondie’s sexy walk over and over. He became so absorbed he almost forgot time was pushing on to twelve-thirty, when his target would be off for lunch. He put the phone on standby again and waited. Sure enough, her swaying figure came past, heading back to her car, before climbing in and driving to wherever she went for her break. Ben caught it all on camera, only a few seconds, but enough to double his enjoyment.

  An hour later it was trebled when she returned, and Ben captured another lingering shot of her retreating bottom. He spent the afternoon watching the clips and dreaming of the summer months, when he knew Blondie would wear tight tops with low cleavages, imagining how her heavy breasts would look wobbling towards the camera again and again.

  Five o’clock came round much more quickly than usual, and Ben was poised with his mobile again. But there was no sign of her. Disappointed, he put the phone down. Quarter-past, but Blondie still failed to join the exodus from the car park. Five-thirty, and still her car sat in an ever-emptying concrete space. Five-forty-five, and by then it was virtually the only vehicle left. Just before six, and it was.

  Wondering what on earth had happened to her, Ben thought about calling security. He was on duty till seven, and he was supposed to take an interest in any cars left after hours, even though employees could use their passes to get in and out without him. He was about to reach for the phone when the familiar click of heels checked his hand and made it scrabble for the mobile.

  There she was, an hour late and evidently peeved about it, as she seemed to be stamping her feet as she walked. Not Ben’s concern really, he just wanted a fourth angle on that superb arse.

  And he got just that, with her bottom at first filling the viewfinder, then getting smaller as she headed to her car. But then Blondie stopped, turned around and walked back, but not to the office. She was heading directly towards Ben’s cubicle.

  It so happened that Ben had chosen this opportunity to test the camera’s zoom facility. He had been having some success too, and had managed to get the shaky image homed in on Blondie’s bottom. So, when she turned around, it was suddenly focussed on her breasts, which quickly became blurred as she stalked towards him.

  Ben quickly dropped the phone, to find Blondie’s face framed in his window. Her pretty features scowled straight at him. ‘What the fuck are you up to?’ she demanded.

  Ben opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t get any words out. Taking his silence as an admission of guilt, Blondie yanked open the door and strode in. Grabbing the phone from his paralyzed fingers, she pressed stop, then play. She watched the footage he’d just shot, then flicked through the gallery, finding the rest.

  The furious woman held the phone up. ‘Did you seriously think I wouldn’t spot you, making your clumsy little videos? As a peeping tom you’re absolutely hopeless.’ For a second Ben thought about leaping through the window and running away across the car park – he was that embarrassed.

  ‘I saw you the first time this morning. I hoped you’d be happy with one film, even though the thought creeped me out. But then you did it again at lunchtime, twice! I don’t like being stalked by a pervert with a camera, so I waited till everyone was gone, t
o see if you’d do it again. Which you did!’

  All the time Ben could feel his face throbbing with shame and humiliation. He ran through all the options he might be facing, and even to a man of his limited imagination, none of them seemed particularly good. They all involved unemployment, and at least one had him standing in court. But none of them were close to the actual sequence of events.

  Pocketing the phone, presumably as evidence, Blondie closed the door and pulled the blinds. She looked directly at Ben. ‘Trousers and pants off,’ she said.

  Ben did not believe what he had heard. Evidently that was what Blondie had expected, so she repeated the order, and added an explanation. ‘I could report you, get you fired, maybe even get the police to explain the stalking laws to you, but I don’t see why I should go to all hassle for a worm like you. On the other hand, you’re not getting away with it – I’m taking the law into my own hands. Which is why I need your bum bare.’

  Ben was bewildered, but knew he was out of choices. If he wasn’t going to lose his job or be prosecuted, how bad could whatever Blondie was planning be? Trembling, he fumbled with his belt and trouser buttons, unzipped the fly and let them drop to the ground. ‘Pants too’ Blondie barked. He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with an angry glare.

  Burning with shame, Ben pushed his hands into the waistband and pushed his boxers to his knees. He stood, feeling the air blowing around his genitals, which were shrivelled with apprehension. The irony of how many times he had dreamt of undressing with Blondie in the room wasn’t lost on him, but in his imagination his member had always been proud and erect. The situation wasn’t helped by her staring straight at them. ‘What?’ she sneered, ‘don’t my tits and bum give you a hard-on? I thought that was what all the fuss was about!’ Ben could feel tears welling up in his eyes. ‘Right, bend over, hands on that desk, bum well out’.

  As she spoke, she pulled the chair away to make room for Ben to do as he was told. When he was in position she slipped her jacket off. Looking at her over his left shoulder, Ben saw the swell of her chest, and could not help but admire it, despite his predicament.

  Rolling the right sleeve of her blouse to her elbow, Blondie stood on Ben’s left side, and placed her palm on his right cheek. By now he had worked out what she in mind, even if he could not quite believe it.

  ‘So, you like spying on women, do you, you filthy little pervert? Well, I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry!’ She quickly pulled back her arm, and brought it down hard, slapping his bottom hard. Ben let out a cry of shock and pain, and moved to stand, but a firm push in his back from Blondie’s left hand sent him back over the desk. ‘We can go and discuss your behaviour with human resources, if you prefer? No? Thought not!’ A second slap landed on Ben’s other buttock. So ashamed was he at being caught red-handed, it never occurred to him to suggest discussing HER behaviour with human resources!

  The spanking continued apace, Blondie clearly angry at the liberty Ben had taken. He groaned at each stinging slap, and at the growing heat in his bottom. But something strange was also happening down there. He had no idea why, but he could feel his penis becoming hard.

  Whether Blondie had noticed or not, it had no effect on her stroke. Slap – slap – slap – slap! Her palm alternated from one buttock to the other, the spanks getting harder each time. But as they got harder, so did Ben.

  Eventually she stopped. Standing back with her hands on her hips, she ordered Ben to stand up and turn around. He did so, and was faced with the sight of her heaving breasts, as she brought her breathing under control. That was all too much for him, and his erection rose to full power, twitching and pointing directly at the object of his lust.

  ‘Good God! You have no shame! Well I’m not doing this for your weird pleasure! Get rid of it!’ Ben looked at her, not understanding what she meant. She clarified herself. ‘I mean, with your hand! Like I assume you always have to!’

  It was almost a relief for him. His brain had passed control to his member and now, no matter how embarrassing his position, he had to give it attention.

  He began to masturbate, groaning and sighing almost as much as he had done under punishment. Blondie obviously wanted him to get it over with quickly. ‘Come on! Come for me! Imagine getting your hands on this for real!’ Turning her back to him, she wiggled her bottom, the root cause of this whole bizarre situation, now being flaunted just a few feet from Ben.

  His hand flew up and down his length at astonishing speed. She ran both hands over the seat of her trousers, tightening the material against the ball of flesh, and he was gone. His seed blasted from his rod and splashed onto the vinyl tiled floor.

  About a minute later he looked down at the sticky mess, then back up at Blondie. He was astonished to see she was facing him again, now with the thick leather belt that had been looped around his own trousers. ‘Back over the desk!’ she snapped.

  Ben obeyed with a sob. ‘I wasn’t having you enjoying this’ she told him. ‘I’m giving you twelve, and they’re going to bloody hurt!’ Taking hold of the belt half-way up its length, she tapped the red bottom she now intended to make redder. Raising her arm, she brought it down with a whipping movement, cracking it across the raw meat.

  ‘Aaagh!’ he wailed. She showed him no mercy. The second blow landed almost straight away, burning its way to the core of his being. He was not keeping count, but Blondie obviously was. After the twelfth stroke had slapped across his agonised bottom, she threw the belt down with his discarded trousers and boxers.

  Ben sank to his knees, desperately rubbing his cheeks with both hands. He was vaguely aware of Blondie pulling down her sleeve, putting her jacket on and picking up her handbag. She took Ben’s phone out of her pocket, looked at it and pressed a few buttons. Then she tossed it onto the desk beside him.

  ‘All evidence of your pervy lechery erased’ she said. ‘The evidence of how pissed off you made me could take a little longer to disappear’. They both looked at the livid weals, growing more vivid on Ben’s cheeks by the second. ‘And if I EVER catch you so much as looking at me again, I’ll…well, just don’t!’

  As the door slammed behind her, Ben struggled to make himself respectable, and wondered why something so dangerous, painful and humiliating had been one of the most intense and exciting experiences of his life.

  My Good Boy

  by Chris Skilbeck

  The first time I saw Joshua he was stumbling down the Avenue at twelve in the afternoon. Snookered, drunk, high as a kite. He was wearing a three-piece suit that any fool could tell cost a pretty penny. I’m not one for suits but even I wanted to run my hand over that dark grey fabric. I just knew it would feel like liquid silk. His shaved head radiated a lobster-like glow from the alcohol and he was smoking a cigarette in that way. The way an extremely plastered person smokes. Not just smoking it, but drawing on the filter so hard I half expected him to suck the entire smouldering cylinder into his mouth.

  I was drawn to him. I admit it. He positively radiated submissive. This was a man who felt out of control and he needed some help. Some tender loving care. Or a good whipping. It was a toss-up.

  My feet carried me to him before I could reconsider. I was hoping I had struck gold. A man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but craved a woman who would push him. And push him around. I get off on power. I get off on men who can be broken. For whatever reason, I wanted to get off with this man.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I said down to him. He was sitting on a concrete planter that held a sickly-looking palm tree. ‘Why are you fucked up at noon?’

  I figured it best to let him see exactly who I was right off the bat. If he was going to be mine, then he had to see the real me from the get-go.

  He squinted up at me and took another severe drag on his cigarette. ‘I am not drunk,’ he said very carefully. The caution and slow speech obviously earmarked him as a completely bombed individual.

  ‘You most certai
nly are,’ I sighed and planted one of my black stiletto heels on the planter. His eyes were level with my crotch and my short skirt rode up with the movement. No doubt he had a perfectly wonderful view of my crotch. That was good.

  ‘OK, so I am,’ he said directly to my pussy.

  ‘Good. At least you’re being honest. Now tell me why,’ I barked. Oh, if only I had a whip. Hell, I’d settle for a ruler.

  ‘I am…’ he slurred, ‘…having a bad day. I have too much stress. I feel like I might…’ he trailed off and took a final drag of his cigarette, practically licking the fucking thing. I snatched it out of his fingers and flicked it into the street.

  ‘Explode? Cry? Jump off a large building?’

  ‘Yesh,’ he sighed. ‘All of the above.’

  ‘Come on,’ I said and grabbed his hand. I hauled him to his feet and stood there waiting for him to fall over or fall on me. He did neither.

  ‘Where’re we going?’

  ‘You’re coming home with me and we are going to get you straightened out.’ I marched him toward my waiting Jeep.

  ‘You don’t even know me!’

  I stopped turned and said, ‘Diane. And you are?’

  ‘Joshua Davies.’

  ‘Good. Now I know you. Get in the fucking car,’ I said and pointed to the door. He nearly broke his neck getting in but he managed.

  I could not wait to get him home.

  He slept the twenty-minute drive to my house. He was snoring to the point of annoyance and I knew the first thing I’d make him do was brush his teeth. Stale beer breath is not a turn-on.

  I pulled into the driveway and unbuckled. Went around and opened the passenger side door. ‘Joshua!’ I barked.

  He came awake in a series of grunt and snorts. He blinked at me and wiped his mouth. ‘We here?’