Whip Me

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘Yes. Get out. Let’s go.’ I helped him out, though. The last thing I needed was for him to take a header in the driveway and knock himself unconscious.

  Inside, I set about making a pot of coffee in case he‘d need it. ‘There are towels in the linen closet. The bathroom is the last room down the hall. Get a towel, take a shower and brush your teeth. Use my toothbrush, I’ll get a new one.’

  Now I waited. Was he what I thought he was? Most men would tell me to fuck off. Or complain or try to hump me in the kitchen. He dropped his head and nodded. ‘OK.’

  I smiled. I could smell them a mile away. ‘Well? Why are you just standing there? Get moving.’

  By the time he came out of the shower, his skin pink like a baby, I was in my corset and boots. My big red boots. They make me feel like a superhero. I love boots. In a sexy pair of boots I feel like I can beat the devil.

  He gaped at me. His eyes skittering over the boots, the corset, the stocking, the thong. They settled on the thong, widened, shot back to the boots, widened further.

  ‘Better be careful or they’ll pop right out of your head,’ I said softly and then brought the whip from behind my back and gave it a crack. I made it snap and sing to show him what he was in for.

  He grew pale but his cock bobbed to life in an instant. I managed not to laugh but I did smile. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and swallowed hard.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Ah. A boy who had been raised with manners.

  ‘Rules,’ I said and cracked the whip again. ‘You give me a word that you will use if you want me to stop. My rule is, if I stop, then we are done. Not just for the day. For good. However, I will stop at any time if you give me the word. What’s your word?’

  He blinked and cleared his throat. ‘Pressure,’ he croaked.

  ‘Good. Now let’s go. Leave your towel on the floor and follow me.’

  In the living room, I pointed to my grand-mamma’s ottoman. Covered in faded brocade with a lovely sea green fringe, it was so very proper, and the perfect height for whipping a man’s ass a lovely cherry red. I pointed but didn’t speak and Joshua complied without direction. Had he done this before? I wondered. Either way, I would know in a moment.

  He draped his broad chest and flat stomach over the top of the ottoman so that the edge was flush with his hip bones. Instinctively, he gripped two of the legs on the ottoman. He thrust his ass high for me, knees together, feet flexed, head down. Nice.

  ‘Count them off. Be polite.’ Let’s see what he did with those directions.

  I went slow with the first one even though the crotch of my panties was already wet. Just the anticipation of hearing the whip slice and whistle through the air was enough to make me hot. It was the most sensual sound I could think of. With the toe of my boot, I forced his ass a little higher and took the time to run the soft leather low enough to stimulate his sac. He moaned and it made me want to moan.

  I reared back with my hand, gulped a deep breath and let it unroll through the air with a nice sibilant swish. The sound of the leather biting his skin beaded my nipples instantly.

  His head flew back and he grunted. Like magic the stripes appeared on the pale flesh of his ass. ‘One, ma’am.’ He sounded almost calm, number two was harder.

  ‘Two, ma’am!’ he barked and a flood of fire burned under my skin. I felt the flush of power creep across my breast and chest bone. I felt it snake around my throat and heat the back of my neck.

  I let the whip fly with its own ferocity. It knew what it was doing. The tendrils danced across his skin. The marks crosshatched white, red, pink. Little dots of purple in the mix. A shiver worked through me and my pulse beat between my legs. I rubbed my thighs together and felt the wet fluttering in my cunt.

  ‘Three, ma’am!’ Joshua threw his head back, teeth gritted, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. Beautiful, big green eyes. He looked tortured and serene. Ethereal and demonic. All those at once and then some.

  The breath tore in and out of him as the whip and I rained blows down upon him.

  Four…six…eight…

  I paused briefly, toeing his thighs apart some so I could see his balls. I pushed them hard with my foot and he arched back against my boot shamelessly. I nudged his perineum just enough to make him jitter a little. The sound that escaped him was that of a desperate animal.

  ‘How hard is your cock, Joshua?’ I demanded, stepping back and regaining my stance. We were about to finish up.

  ‘Very hard.’

  ‘Very hard, what?’ I growled and gave him the hardest lash yet. His body did a dance that looked like a seizure.

  ‘Very hard, ma’am! Nine,’ he sobbed, his forehead pressed deep into the cushion.

  ‘Don’t forget your manners, boy.’

  I delivered the final lash. So hard and fast my wrist ached from the force.

  ‘Ten…’ he said in a whoosh of air. His body bucked and he sobbed openly as I stared at the vibrant marks on his bone white ass.

  Power and need sizzled through me. And I fingered myself as I watched him. Broken and weak but humping my grandmother’s ottoman for all he was worth. Mindless at this point. Lost somewhere in that gray area that lives between extreme pain and extreme pleasure.

  I pulled Grand-mamma’s chair up to the ottoman. The old fabric threadbare in some spots. As far as design, the chair was perfect. I took off the thong but that was it. After all, this was our first time. I sat, threw a leg over each cushioned arm and bared myself, opened wide.

  ‘Slide that up here, Joshua, and eat me. And this better be good.’

  He scooted forward eagerly, pushing the ottoman across the hardwood floor. His face was pale and drawn but his eyes were burning fiercely in his face. He pushed into me without preamble. Tongue seeking my clit blindly, suckling, swirling. Slow licks, fast licks, broad tongued and pointed. His mouth was a blur of hot, wet movement over my clit and lips. I let my head fall back and in my mind I heard the sinister whisper of the whip during descent. The echo of remembered sound mixed with his exuberant, noisy, ministrations. I grabbed his smooth, shiny head and fucked his mouth until I came. The muscles of my legs jumping from the force and intensity of what that tongue could do.

  ‘Who’s my good boy?’ I said softly. My eyes finding his and holding his gaze.

  He looked away, blushing the same lobster-red shade he had been when I met him. ‘I am, ma’am.’

  ‘Joshua is,’ I corrected.

  ‘Joshua is your good boy,’ he amended.

  ‘He is. And my good boys get rewarded.’

  I moved around behind him and covered his body with mine. His cock was hard and long in my hand. He had as much girth as length and my mouth watered at the thought of sucking him. My cunt thumped at the thought of riding him. My ass ached to feel that much filling me. But I don’t do things that way. Not the first time. All of those would come. Most likely before I dropped him off at his car later. But the first time, they never get what they want.

  I wet my hand with my own juices, and, with my palm slick from my orgasm, I started slow and easy. Stroking him, jacking him off. I squeezed and released. Alternated fast and slow. Kept him just on the edge as I ground my naked pelvis against his sore ass.

  Joshua tensed under me and I said softly, ‘Not yet. I haven’t told you that you could yet.’

  He stayed tense, his breathing harsh. He moaned off and on as if he were in pain. Maybe he was.

  I rolled my thumb over the sensitive crown, gathered the drop of pre-come from his weeping slit. When I couldn’t stand it any more, I started a fast steady pace and when his body signalled to me I shouted, ‘Come now, Joshua.’

  So well-behaved. He covered my hand with thick, hot ropes of his come. The bleach-like scent of semen filled the air. I raised my hand to his face and I didn’t have to say a word. He licked it clean. His tongue warm velvet on my skin as he tongued my hand clean. I shivered when he sucked my finge
rs into his mouth and moaned.

  Now that he was sober, we had the rest of the day ahead of us. ‘My good boy,’ I cooed, ‘we‘re just getting started.’

  Bathtime

  by Gwen Masters

  Melissa lies back into the warm foamy water, sighing with pleasure as she feels the silky wetness gliding over her body. She takes a sip of her wine and closes her eyes.

  It’s a rare treat; Mick is out for the whole day and she’s already done all the housework she intends doing. The bathroom curtains are closed, softening the late morning sunshine to a lovely golden glow. Gentle music carries from the sitting room.

  Melissa has scented the water with ylang-ylang; she adores the warm sensual aroma. She slides her hands slowly over her breasts, smiling at the prompt reaction of her nipples. She reaches over the edge of the bath for her towel and dries her hands before picking up her mobile. On her contact list it just says ‘C’; she presses the call button.

  ‘Hi, Mel. Good to hear you. How’s things?’

  ‘Good; things are very good. He’s out. Come round; the door’s unlocked and I’m in the bath. Remember what I told you?’

  ‘Damn right I do – I’ll be round in ten minutes.’

  ‘Good boy. Remember everything I told you, now.’

  ‘I will. See you soon.’

  Melissa turns the phone off and drops it onto the bath mat. She picks up the sleep mask and puts it on, fitting it carefully. She tries to relax. With one hand she caresses her breasts gently, keeping her nipples firm and wanting more. Her other hand moves down, down over her tummy, sliding smoothly in the foam. She traces the edges of her labia, trying not to think of when he might arrive – what he’s going to do.

  Was that a sound in the hall? Melissa strains her ears, holding her breath to keep silent. The music and her own pulse is all she can hear. She is so tense that she might burst with excitement; her hands are still. No further sound comes; she cannot hold her breath any longer and has to make herself lie back again, to breathe normally.

  There is a moment of uncertainty – what if someone else were to come in? The unlocked door was the only thing she didn’t like about the arrangement. She’d thought of giving him a key but there was no way he’d be able to get in silently that way.

  Surely more than ten minutes had gone since she called him? Any moment now he’d be with her. He could be there now, looking through the open bathroom door, watching the back of her head.

  Melissa wonders for a moment if she shou–.

  His hands are big and strong and he holds her wrists together easily with one while covering her mouth with the other. She has barely realised what is happening before he has wrapped something silky around her wrists, tying them tight. She opens her mouth to object, this wasn’t part of the plan, only the blindfold, but before she can find words he’s wrapping a gag around her face; it pulls between her lips and he ties it firmly.

  She is bound, unable to see or speak. His big hands roam across her back, up and down her spine. She is suddenly in a panic – this isn’t exactly what she expected – can she be sure it’s him? Anyone could have . . .

  No, don’t be stupid, of course it’s him. He says nothing but she can hear him breathing heavily, excited. She sits tensely upright in the warm water. Those big hands caress and coax. Of course it’s him; she relaxes. As her body loses its tension his hands move down, under her breasts. He lifts them comfortably, caressing and stroking. She anticipates the feel of his fingertips finding her nipples.

  He releases one breast and lifts the other one more firmly, pulling the under-skin tight and pushing the nipple upward without touching it. His other hand touches her again, sliding down from her shoulder, down onto the upper slope of the lifted breast. Melissa is holding her breath as his fingertips reach the outer edge of her nipple. She can feel it is erect, hard as a nut, aching to be touched – no, not just touched – pulled, rolled hard between strong finger and thumb-mauled.

  His fingers move all around her nipple, nudging the edges of the engorged flesh, pushing towards the centre but . . . she cries her frustration through the gag as he releases her breast.

  He lifts her other breast in the same way, pushing up the nipple. It responds eagerly as his fingers slide down towards it. Now, oh now, please, touch it! But he teases even more mercilessly this time; he circles and nudges with finger and thumb, taking tiny pinches of the skin of her areola.

  He dips his hands into the bath, and lifts handfuls of warm water, letting it run over her breasts. Then he leans close and blows across her wet nipples. The sudden chilling is delightful for a second and then a torture. Her nipples are so tight she can feel the pulling in the surrounding skin. She chokes back a sob of desire and feels the swelling of her labia, slippery now with their own moisture.

  His hands are on her shoulders again and slide down her chest and this time – at last – he captures her nipples, tugging them firmly, gradually increasing the pressure. After the long build-up her pleasure is intense; her body quivers and she realises that the rapid panting she can hear is her own.

  Melissa’s nipples are hot and tender before he stops. He finally releases them and with his hands under her armpits he lifts her up out of the water, turns her, and pushes her hard against the cold tiles. Her breasts, so sensitive from his touch, are chilled and flattened. The sensation is fierce, almost painful, and it sends a spasm of need rippling from her nipples to her groin. Her screech – a howl of pleasure and frustration – escapes the edges of the gag.

  After an excruciating moment he turns her round to face him. He holds her back against the wall and his lips and tongue take their greedy turn at her breasts. She can hear his ragged breathing betraying his own extreme excitement.

  She shudders with anticipation as his head moves downwards.

  He does not delay; his hands cup her buttocks, pulling her forward, and he pushes his face between her legs, sucking in the whole swollen mound of her sex. His tongue squirms between her inner lips and slides up to find the hard bud of her clitoris.

  She almost faints with the sensation. His hands squeeze and knead her flesh, holding her up and pulling her close to him as he ravages her with his mouth. His lips narrow their attention to her clitoris, and pull at it while his tongue flickers lightly over the very tip.

  Melissa cannot hold it back; wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure ripples out from her clitoris, charging and clenching every muscle in her body. Finally she is spent and her weight slumps in his arms.

  He lowers her back down into the water, and unfastens the gag. As her mouth falls open to take a deep breath he turns her head towards him.

  The end of his cock is hot in her mouth, already slippery and salty, close to coming. She has never done it like this before; she’s always been in control. Now, with her hands still bound behind her she feels him take a handful of her hair and set the pace. He moves her head back and forth gently – slower than she’d have done it – and he gives her only the swollen head of his cock. She sucks, and moves her tongue on the turgid flesh, feeling the energy of it, the tight, about-to-burst vitality.

  He holds back, gasping, pulling her mouth away. Melissa strains forward against his grip, wanting him back in her. He submits, releases her hair. The only contact between them now is this concentration of tense pleasure, yet she senses his every nerve focussed there between her lips, on her tongue.

  She holds him, his whole being, body, mind and soul, right there between the edges of her teeth. The lightest pressure is all it takes to hold him absolutely still. She flickers the tip of her tongue, barely touching him, teasing, threatening, promising.

  After only a few seconds he can bear it no longer, Melissa hears him gasp – almost sob, ‘Please!’

  She moves slowly, as he’d done, sucking gently, then harder, then gently again. She hears him moan and then feels it too, vibrating through his cock, a deep animal note of pleasure.

  His cock hardens and swells to that final urgent engor
gement and Melissa’s tongue feels the pulsing flow of his semen. The musky male taste fills her mouth. She continues to suck gently, giving him the longest pleasure she can as he grunts his satisfaction. He lays a gentle hand gratefully against her cheek – moves her slower, slower, slower – back and forth on his still-pulsing cock until at last he sighs and releases her.

  He bends down and kisses her. His teeth nip gently at her lips; his tongue slips into her mouth, gently probing. His hands slide easily down her body again, smoothing and settling her. She feels his fingers tugging at the bonds round her wrists; once they are free she feels nothing more of him. A minute or two later she hears the faint snap of the latch as he leaves, locking the door behind him.

  Melissa sits quietly in the bath, listening to the music. Eventually she reaches up and pulls off her blindfold. Barely opening her eyes she reaches for her wine and takes a sip.

  Melissa lies back into the warm foamy water, sighing with pleasure.

  The Motor Mechanic

  by Stephen Albrow

  Juliet liked to look her best in every situation – even when she was only picking up her car from the mechanic’s. She threw open her wardrobe, then put on her favourite red blouse, before reaching for her black satin miniskirt. She had already put on some black hold up stockings, but she wasn’t quite sure if the mini would be long enough to cover the lacy tops. A quick check in the mirror said the skirt was long enough… but only just! It was just the effect she was looking for, so she slipped on her stilettos and then went downstairs.

  Juliet’s handbag was lying on the sofa, so she picked it up and checked what was in her purse. The mechanic, Peter, had told her it would cost roughly £80 to fix the dent in the bodywork. She smiled as she remembered how handsome he had looked in his greasy, navy-blue overalls. He was tall and dark, with a well-defined torso. He was the type of man who could completely overpower a girl, so she decided to leave her purse at home.

  As she walked to the garage, she wondered how Peter would react when she told him she couldn’t afford to pay him. It would be obvious to him she was lying, because he had guessed straightaway that Juliet was very wealthy. The expensive pink convertible gave the game away, as did her stylish, designer clothing.