My Heart Belongs To...: A Novel of Age Play

by R. Greco

  “But he pulled it out, stared at me again,” I continued, “made me masturbate for him, but made me stop and go, you know, pull my hand off just as I got close then…”

  I had to stop this, what the fuck was I doing?

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said, sat back and patted my friend’s forearm again.

  Jack gulped the last of his beer.

  “Kay, you definitely got to see this guy again.”

  “Ya think?”

  “I knew, I mean I know you’re a horny girl. Paul alluded to as much … ya know boy talk,” he said and we both chuckled. “But girl, this man has got you all discombobulated and you are loving every single second of it! It’s like you finally met your match and are getting the comeuppance of your life.”

  “But the little girl thing... Where does that come from?” I asked leaning back and taking a breath.

  “I have no daddy issues. You know me. No matter where Paul and I went wrong that was never a thing between us.”

  “Who knows, who cares?”

  “I’m jealous for sure,” Jack continued and we both laughed again.

  “You know I have wanted your fine white ass even before my shit-for-brains buddy up and married you. But I have never seen a man or woman get to you like this. It might all dissipate with time. I mean you have three thousand miles between you, but I say as one of your best friends … you got to get that man in bed again and let him have his way with you!”

  “I know, I’m gonna explode. I can’t take this. I feel so vulnerable to him and I like how that feels and I never liked that feeling ever before.”

  I fixed Jack with a stare just as something happened on the screen over our heads and the few remaining tavern patrons reacted in mumbles. I felt a tear come and I didn’t stop it.

  “I loved Paul, you know that. I mean, I still love him. Our sex life was perfectly fine. In fact it was damn good.”

  Jack began to squirm again. Talking about my sexual desires and little girl moments was odd for him, but including specifics about his friend’s sex life might be a little too much. I smiled and shifted the focus as just a single tear trickled and I breathed deep.

  “But with Jon…” and I realized I hadn’t yet said his name aloud, “…I am totally lost, totally sexually upended. I can’t explain it.”

  “And you don’t need to,” Jack said patting my arm again. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here, the fresh air will do us both good.”

  3

  They say confession is good for the soul. I had no idea if this was true. I only knew I was scared and thrilled to confess that to Jon Tuesday night.

  I figured Jon’d get off on what I was going to tell him, but I was also hoping he’d punish me for it in some delightful way. I hadn’t done what I’d done with Jack to incur Jon’s wrath but I was hoping the story of my admission to Jack then my seduction of him might lead to an interesting comeuppance from my east coast paramour. I was truly being a naughty little girl and my out-of-control pussy was burning deep with the thought that in the few short weeks I’d known him and the few days I had spent with him, Jon had not only made me admit what I was but wanted to ‘turn-me-out’.

  “I’m going to show you off to my friends,” Jon had snickered, his hand in my puss, his sweet breath hot in my ear as he brought me off two quick times that Thursday night. He was pressing his considerable erection against my bare thigh and I couldn’t tell what excited me more, the fact he was getting me off over and over or that he seemed to be excited by the fact he was getting me off over and over.

  In ten minutes I’d be up on Jon, riding that thick erection until I came hard down between his tight little balls, but early that evening Jon was controlling me as he had the night before, making me whimper, finding and using that little scared voice I was coming to love so much, relating his future plans of embarrassing me, to make me expose myself in front of his friends.

  “I’m going to tie you to chair, just in panties and bra,” he continued, “spread your legs wide.”

  “Nooo, Jon, nooo,” I said feeling a third orgasm roiling up through my quivering hips.

  “Yes, yes,” he said and dipped the tip of his middle finger into me as I sighed. “Make my friends all come in the room and ogle you, maybe tickle the front of your panties or grab a tit.”

  “Noooo,” I said bearing down.

  “Naughty little girls must be taught lessons, right? To train their pussies, right?”

  “Yes, yes,” I whimpered in that frail singsong.

  I knew this was what Jon wanted, what I wanted.

  “And you have to learn,” he said, humping my leg then, his voice cracking slightly as he got up as horny as I was, “your pussy is mine to play with, however I want to play with it, with whomever I want to play with it, right?”

  “Jon … nooooo,” I thrashed, trying like hell to hold back that orgasm.

  He rose, his hand still on me, and looked down hard into my eyes.

  “I am going to turn you out, Kay,” he said and I began to shiver from both excitement and true fear. “Your pussy’s gonna be turned out for the world to know how out of control it is.”

  Whether that scenario would come to pass was irrelevant to Jon saying what he had, having the desire – if only a fantasy – to display me, have me admit, make known I wanted it.

  The time difference is a killer, but the next day, at six my time I called Jon’s cell and he answered on the first ring, just his hello making me wet. What the fuck was going on with me?

  “Busy?”

  “Nah. Just watching TV.”

  “I wanted to talk.”

  “I’m glad, I was hoping we’d catch up tonight. How was the game?”

  I had called Jon Friday night when I got in to SFO and had been Iming him all weekend but we had not spoken until this call.

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” I said.

  “Yours, too. How’s your pussy?”

  “Who talks like that?” I said and we both laughed. Our catch phrase in NYC whenever one of us made a salacious suggestion or an off-color remark had been: ‘Who talks like that?’ as if we were or could be shocked at one another’s boldness.

  “I figure you’re home a few days, that’s enough time for you to get it into trouble.”

  Damn, could he read my mind?

  “I … Jon I…”

  “Geez, girl, already?” he asked snickering. “Really, can’t you control that thang?”

  “It’s all you. You turned a switch here and I can’t get enough. I am alive. It’s alive!”

  “Do I have to get you one of those chastity belts?”

  “Jon.”

  “I mean it Kay, if I have to mail order you one off the Internet, I will.”

  “Fuck, Jon, Jon.”

  “Shit, it’s wet already, huh?”

  “Yes,” I said and whimpered in that high light voice.

  “Okay, before we go any further, you need to say the magic phrase.”

  “Jon.”

  “Say it or we’ll just talk about the weather and shit, I won’t let you come.”

  “Jon, please,” I was trilling now from the back of my throat.

  “Kay.”

  “Jo…” and I took a breath and whispered, “I’m a naughty little girl and I can’t control my pussy.”

  “See, now was that so hard?”

  ‘No, but you know what was hard?’ I wanted to spit into the phone. ‘My friend Jack’s big cock as I sat on it in his fucking Accord last night in the tavern parking lot. We were both so fucking horny from me telling him about us!’

  “So, anything new … other then you can’t keep your hands outta your pants?” he snickered.

  “Last night I fucked my friend, Jack.”

  “Really?”

  Was that jealousy, delight, indifference in Jon’s voice? Not being able to see him I couldn’t really tell how he felt about my admission, but really not knowing this guy all that well, I might not have bee
n able to read his handsome face anyway, had I been in the same room with him.

  Despite his dominance in bed, Jon was a very smiley guy. I know that’s not really the best way to describe someone, but Jon indeed had a great one; dimples, thick lips, deep brown eyes that would open wide when he joked or threw out a witticism, making him smiley in the best sense of the word. From what I had observed of him he was a very even-tempered funny man, talkative like me, quick on the uptake, knowledgeable about the references I spat and even offering a few I had to dig deep to place. He was bright and bubbly and simply had been a joy to be around, not to mention really adorable, seemingly ten years younger than his forty-eight years, with a unlined slightly chubby but handsome face. He was a close cuddler when walking side-by-side, and slightly dangerous with his touches, but oh so sexy and fun, fun, fun. Jon really had been and was a darling.

  True, there was a whole host of stuff I didn’t know about the guy nor he me, but as I was coming to learn Jon wore his heart on his sleeve, though he wasn’t a mush about it. He was confident in a way few men are, self effacing, willing to listen, but with a slight tremor of ‘I-know-I-am-sexy’ ‘tude that made his step just a little bit bouncy. Given all this, I wasn’t sure how he did feel about my admission, but knew he was surprised not dejected by it, even if there was a hint of jealousy (which I was more hoping for then actually detected). In fact, I almost expected his next question.

  “Is his cock big?’

  “Yeah, it is actually.”

  “And this is the first time you two have ever been together, right? Didn’t you tell me he was your ex’s best friend?”

  “Yeah, they were. Paul did some fucked-up shit to Jack, far and beyond what went down with Paul and me, so Jack stuck around me and we are now closer then he and Paul ever were, though they are still kinda friends. But no, we were never intimate.”

  “Until last night.”

  “Until last night.”

  “Why last night?’

  Fucker, he knew why last night! Not that Jon yet knew I had related my tale of us to Jack or how horny doing so had made Jack and me. Still Jon was smart enough to sense my pussy was ripe and ready because of what we had shared.

  He was fishing for the compliment he knew I’d soon give him.

  “Oh you know why, puppet master,” I chuckled. “My pussy is outta control because you made it that way.”

  “Nah, Kay, you’re pussy is outta control, because…”

  Shit, he was going to make me say it again! I was soaking wet now, what more did he want from me?

  “I’m a naughty little girl and I can’t control my pussy.”

  “Only a weekend with me, and we already have you trained, huh?” Jon snickered and with the mention of the word ‘training’ I thrust my hand down my open jeans and into my panties.

  “But I taught you how to say it and I want you to say it in that voice I love so much.”

  “Jon,” I moaned getting the tip of my middle finger on my hard clit.

  “Come on, we both know you want to.”

  “I hate this. I hate how horny you make me. How you have such con…”

  “‘Cunt-trol, you mean,” he said and we both chuckled.

  “Who talks like that?” we both spat in unison.

  “Well?”

  “I am a naughty girl and I can’t control my pussy,” I sighed.

  “Very good.”

  “I wanna … I wanna come so bad.”

  “I know…”

  Jon hung up! He fucking hung up!

  4

  Okay, so he called back, but not until eleven my time the next morning. (Jon knows how I often work from home and how if I am I can take his call no matter when he chooses to call). I had of course masturbated pretty much the second he clicked off that night, tried to ease myself grabbing a quick bite with my friend Sandy and stayed more or less juicy while sleeping, willing my I-Phone to ring in my fitful slumber cuddled up to and roiling my hips against one of my better stuffed pillows.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, daddy, daddy,” I squealed into the phone.

  I had used the ‘D’ word about as much as I had said master to Jon, neither of which seemed to delight or repel him. That late morning, though, I was so aching for his call, so scared when he would, and so still pussy-flooding horny, I figured the best way to answer and not have him even think of hanging up was to placate Jon from the get go with the little girl stuff.

  “Daddy, I didn’t mean to disappoint you last night. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m so…”

  “You didn’t disappoint me sweetie. I just needed to teach you a lesson.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I growled.

  It was getting to the point that all the guy had to do was say certain words or phrases and I feared I’d come. ‘Punishment’, ‘teach you a lesson’, ‘training’ from the night before, anything that even hinted at my little naughty girl-ness and Jon’s solution for it made juice drip down my inner thighs without me even touching myself.

  “I know, Daddy, I know,” I squealed in as soft and lilting a voice I could manage. “I need to be taught a lesson. I do, I really do.”

  “I’m very glad to hear you say that,” Jon snickered. “You need to get undressed and get your hairbrush.”

  The chill that went through me was deep. I didn’t want to protest but as I scissor my thick thighs I found I couldn’t help but squeal.

  “No, Daddy, no! Please! I haven’t been that bad.”

  “You need to let me determine that, little one.”

  Fuck. I could hardly stand from my desk, I was quivering so much. But I began to gulp and moan as I stripped off my sweats and T-shirt.

  “Daddy, please. Please don’t spank me hard, please.”

  “Are you naked?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You need to get the brush.”

  I actually began to cry slightly as I padded across the wooden floor of my office to the hallway and into my bathroom beyond. Along the way Jon kept with me taunting.

  “The way little girls learn is to be spanked from time to time, even when they haven’t specifically done anything wrong.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I reached for my wooden-backed hairbrush. “I have it, Daddy.”

  “Good, good,” Jon continued. “Get your little buns back to your room.”

  I did as told, not saying a word as I felt my eyes welling and my heart pounding. I really had been aching for a spanking ever since Jon had given me the rosy cheek swatting he had managed when we had been together. That I would now do so to his order was slightly unnerving, but not enough of course that I wouldn’t obey him. That this would be the first time I’d be hitting myself for Jon, for anyone, did blip across my radar, but as I went into my room and sat on the bed, I tried not to face the flushed-face, chest-heaving girl in the mirror.

  Taking or giving spanking is not on everyone’s menu. Love taps are one thing, happening across a lover’s knees for a few moments of over-the-knee fun is another. I’m sure most couples have tried a swat or two, but true spanking for a sexual thrill, to either seek one out or wish to give one, definitely walks the kinky side of the street. And for me personally, spanking of the bare-assed, hand-bun warming variety was kinkier then full-on leather, whips, role play.

  For lovers to get into a master-slave dynamic, complete and replete with the accoutrements of outfits, props and poses bespoke of theater to me, a premeditation that personally did not get me wet. A spanking on the other hand could happen without plan or provocation and therefore could lurk deep in a couple’s mind (in this case Jon and mine) as a purely intertwined tapeworm of the psyche. The act itself, so simple and quick to execute, harkened back to youthful naughtiness and classic time-honored ways of dealing with same. Whipping someone with a cane while dressed in head to toe leather was a big leap to take, for me an out-of-body pose. I regarded spanking as a purer kinky form of kinky eroticism.

  And I was about to spank myself for Jon.
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  “Where are you now?”

  “Bedroom,” I managed.

  “I hope you’re not sitting down.”

  “Not now,” I said popping up off the bed, “not now.”

  “Good,” Jon continued. “I want you to turn your ass to the mirror, stick it out a bit, lay the back of the hairbrush on your right cheek and prepare for a swat.”

  “Oh God, Jon,” I said, turning my back to the wide wall mirror and reaching back of the brush against my wide right cheek.

  “Are you wet?”

  “Very.”

  “In position?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Ready for the first swat? There’s gonna be lots more.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Ready, Kay?”

  “Yesssssssssss.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I moaned as my pussy squished with all the liquid jettisoning out of me.

  “Okay, one high hard hit baby, let me hear it.”

  Smat.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I panted as the quick sting ran round my fleshy ass and up my spine.

  I felt a quick shallow orgasm crest and take me just as the sting of the swat dissipated.

  “Left, ready now?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Does my little girl want another?”

  “Yes, Daddeee,” I said and felt the tears again.

  It was amazing how perfectly they managed with juice now sluicing down my inner thighs.

  “I don’t think you need me to instruct you on how to hit your ass though. Just go cheek-to-cheek hard, back and forth,” Jon said. “Just do it and I will tell you when to stop, okay?”

  “Daddy, no, please. Please!”

  The idea that I had spanked myself to Jon’s taunting was something I’d be ruminating over in the coming wee hours. How I actually obeyed Jon and enjoyed hitting myself was something I’d have to work out in my newfound submission. To spank myself as he simply waited the requisite, self-prescribed time (and swats), listening as I commenced was unbelievably humiliating.