Manhattan Kink: A Boxed Set

by Serafina Conti

  With the sixth set of blows I began to think the pain was getting to be a bit much; but I had a floaty feeling, as if my mind were separating from my body and looking on disinterestedly as Rob, still calm and dispassionate, whipped me. I whimpered a little, and tears ran down my cheeks.

  I was filled with a strange combination of longing and terror, wondering if the seventh set of blows would come, whether I’d be able to take it, whether it would end if I called a halt. I wondered if I should call a halt to it, but decided I’d wait. The seventh set did come, and it was harder than the sixth, and my ass felt like it was on fire—and yet I was almost overcome with the beauty of it all, of being tied to the wall, whipped by this fabulous man, still in his immaculately pressed suit, not quite so calm now, but panting a little with excitement. My bottom must be all red welts, like the back of the man who’d run into the bar. I hoped it was. The intensity of this moment exceeded what my life had taught me to expect of lovemaking the way the sun is brighter than the moon.

  The eighth set of blows came with a swish and a loud slap, and I cried “Oh!” with the first; and with the second I sobbed; and with the third, fourth, and fifth I wept for the pain, for the beauty, for the savage pleasure I could sense he was taking in my agony, and for the intimacy of this moment—the bond between us, of pain given and received with passion.

  At some times during the whipping I’d wanted it to stop, and at others I’d longed for more—but now all such desires had left me. I desired only him, and I was indifferent to my own pain and well being. I waited on his will, ready for more blows if it was his pleasure to give them to me.

  No more blows came. Instead, he untied my ankles, then my wrists, picked me up, and carried me to the bed, where he laid me down tenderly. I closed my eyes and savored the residual pain while he busied himself about the room.

  After a couple of minutes I felt a cool touch where he’d whipped me. Without opening my eyes, I understood that he was applying some soothing lotion to the raw skin of my bottom. I don’t know whether it was the lotion or his tenderness that took the pain away, but the stinging and heat did subside.

  Then he eased the butt plug back into me, and—Oh!—I knew my body and soul were his absolutely, and I wanted nothing more in the world than for him to command me so I could know his will.

  6. Butt Slut Kitty

  He lay down beside me and gathered me into his arms, into a full-body embrace; and I realized from the feel of his naked skin on mine that he had taken his clothing off. I opened my eyes, met his direct, frank gaze, and waited for him, ready to desire whatever he desired.

  He held me with one hand on my bottom, where the tail still spouted absurdly from my ass, and one arm around my shoulders, and kissed me long and lovingly. Then he placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed downwards, briefly and lightly, towards his chest, his stomach, his cock, which was hard with anticipation. I kissed my way downwards, taking my time to explore, lingering over his firm chest with its spray of hair, his hard stomach, his narrow hips, his muscular thighs—all tan and perfect—his calves, feet, toes, each of which I sucked; and upwards again, between his legs, where the skin was tender and the nerves close to the surface. I lingered inside his thighs, teasing us both, making us groan. When I couldn’t stand it anymore I sucked and licked his balls, teasing the underside and farther down, though not quite going to that place—

  And then I licked up the middle of his balls, up the underside of his shaft, up to the frenulum, where he was so sensitive. I kissed the head of his cock, looking up to catch him watching what I was doing, and drew him into me, tasted his living, pulsing manhood, took him deep now, mouth wide open around his thick shaft, tonguing his balls—sensing his pleasure, I reveled in his desire.

  “Cocksucker!” I thought. “Slut!” Soon we’d part, and we’d never meet this way again. We’d smile in the hallways of the Chemistry Building, silently sharing our secret memories of this one thing we’d done together. But I’d carry away an amazing treasure—the knowledge of what I could do, what I could be for a man and what a man could be for me—and my life would be better and richer.

  He seized my head and thrust his pelvis sharply upwards, three times, and I choked and drooled down his shaft, thinking I’d come sucking him if he kept this up. But instead he sat up, raised me to him, kissed my damp mouth, and laid me on my back with a pillow under my head. I lay there squirming with impatience, butt plug moving inside me, while he fetched a condom from the nightstand.

  Kneeling between my legs, he held the condom in one hand and let the other rest lightly on my thigh. “Play with yourself, kitty,” he said.

  My self-consciousness had gotten lost in my desire to please him. Looking at his face and firm body, I put my right hand on my pussy and my left on a breast and started to masturbate the way I sometimes did at home to relax before sleep, stroking my closed lips with little circular strokes.

  “Open yourself,” he said. “Show me your wet cunt.”

  For a second I was shocked by his language, but then desire surged in me: I wanted to show him my cunt. Two-handed, I opened myself for him, and he reached down and touched me—such a confident touch! He knew my body was his, now, to use for his pleasure. “Touch your clit,” he said.

  I touched my clit gingerly. “Rub it!” he commanded, sliding his middle finger into me.

  I rubbed my clit—it was too intense, and I meowed at him unhappily.

  “Harder!” he said, sliding a second finger in and fucking me.

  “Meow!” I whined, but did as he said. It was painful now, and I mewed pitifully.

  “Fuck yourself,” he said, taking his hand out of me.

  I rubbed myself with one hand while I fucked myself with two fingers of the other—masturbation had never been like this! Meanwhile he was rolling on the condom.

  He batted my hand away, mounted me, and thrust into me—now my pussy was hot, gaping, and extremely wet—and it suddenly came to me that the rough masturbation had had a purpose, because the sensation of his cock in my sensitive pussy was magical after all that stimulation.

  And, oh, it was all magical—his firm body on top of mine, his cock thrusting hard into me, the butt plug stimulating my ass with every thrust. I willed my body to be a little calmer—I didn’t want an orgasm, not yet—but he was determined to turn me on more. He raised himself up on one arm and squeezed a breast, then slapped it, just enough to sting a little, and when I twitched he thrust harder and deeper, and my whole body sang with the pleasure and pain of him, his thrusts, his slaps, the aura of happiness that seemed to surround him.

  “Meow!” I cried, and then lost the fantasy, lost all my words, and just said “Ah!”—a drawn-out, breathy syllable. My body was all sensation and I was seconds from coming.

  Suddenly he pulled out of me, climbed off, flipped me over, set me on my knees, and pulled the butt plug out.

  “Ow!” I said—but the pain lasted only a second, followed by a burst of pleasure as my anus closed up. The lubricant he poured into my crack was cool, and he massaged it into my hole. His fingers probed into my ass again, and, oh, it was good, and I didn’t even bother to be scared by what I knew was coming. Endorphins and epinephrine were running riot in my body, my pleasure centers lit up like Times Square, and—

  With one hand on my shoulder, he pressed into my ass, slowly, slowly: some pressure, then the first penetration—it was okay, pure pleasure, since the butt plug had already stretched me—then more pressure, more stretching, pleasure blending into pain that soared into a howling, wild pain that took over my whole body. I gathered up two fistfuls of bedspread, shoved a bunch of the cloth into my mouth, and bit down hard to keep from screaming. I keened behind my makeshift gag as pain detonated in my ass.

  And then he was in all the way, and, slowly and gently at first, he pulled out and thrust in, taking his time, giving me bursts of pain and pleasure in delicious counterpoint, till I was whining to urge him on—faster, harder!

  S
oon he was fucking me—oh, how he fucked me! He was above me now, on his feet, clutching my neck in one strong hand as he grasped the bed-frame with the other. And it was neither pleasure nor pain, but pure fiery intensity, yet not enough, and I was feverish, needy, wanting more, more, more, an alley cat now, caterwauling, yowling, hissing.

  He wound his fingers into my hair and yanked my head back, leaned close to my ear, and hissed, “Butt slut kitty! Masturbate! Rub your cunt!”

  “Ow, meow!” I cried. “Eeeowwr!” I let myself fall onto one shoulder and reached between my legs, and it was more intensity, a spiral of flame burning all through me, up and up, till I howled again, my orgasm a conflagration, beyond sensation, beyond mere pain and pleasure, consuming my body.

  As the sensations subsided I became aware of him again, hand on my throat now, hammering my ass—and it hurt, but now it was his pleasure that overwhelmed the searing pain. It was the joy I sensed in his hot cock, his heavy breathing, the way he held my shoulder and yanked my hair, lost in himself—and then with violent thrusts that tore screeches from my tired throat, he came.

  He fell off me and rolled onto his back. I sat beside him, peeled off his condom, leaned down, and kissed his cock—the very tip, where it was slimy with his cum. Doing that, I knew I was his slut.

  7. His Kitty

  We didn’t say anything for a long time. Then I said, “Thank you.”

  “For what? Calling you names? Whipping you? Humiliating you?”

  “Yes, all those things,” I said. “And showing me how amazing sex can be. You’ve changed my life in a few hours. I’ll always remember this night.”

  He sat up, alarmed. “What do you mean, you’ll always remember? You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

  “I assumed—”

  “For years I’ve been enthralled by you, and I’ve been planning my whole life around this night for months. You seem so invulnerable, so indomitable, so impenetrable. But I’ve always sensed there’s more to you than that, and I studied you till I could see the kitten inside the lioness, mewing for attention, longing to be dominated, disciplined, commanded, and fucked. When I finally spotted your kitten I knew I loved you, and I could give you your heart’s desire. You can’t say I wasn’t right about you.”

  “Yes,” I breathed. “You had me right.”

  “Stay with me,” he said urgently. “Let’s spend Thanksgiving break right here in this room. You won’t believe how much pleasure and pain is waiting for us there in that closet, in that cross over there, that hook up in the ceiling—and here’s a man who worships you, body and soul, the way you deserve to be worshiped.”

  “There’s Thanksgiving dinner, I promised to go to a—”

  “Tell them you can’t get away from the lab. They’ll understand.” He pulled me onto his lap—I had no will to resist him. But he had turned me so I was staring again at the chained woman above the bed.

  I asked, “What’s going on with that woman in the picture? How is her bottom attached to that chain? Why is she standing on tiptoe?”

  “Stay with me,” he said, “and I’ll show you. Tomorrow.”

  “It’s something painful, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  I looked into his eyes—they were blue and earnest, and I felt his gaze, freezing hot, in my nipples, thighs, clit—and my ass, where the cold steel would penetrate me the next day. I shivered and said, “You’re a dangerous man, you know that?”

  “Wild kitty,” he said, “feral thing, come take a bath with me. I want to wash your fur.”

  He was soaping my back. His hands felt good on my skin.

  I asked, “Would this night have turned out differently if I’d given you better news over dinner?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a little. But it’s not that big a deal, you know—making a living is easy, but love is difficult. I’m not worried about my future, as long as it’s got you in it.”

  About the Author

  Serafina Conti has written numerous books and articles over a long career; she’s been writing erotic stories for more than two years. Her specialties are dark romance, raw humor, and adaptations of ancient stories. She lives in the Northeastern United States with her husband Daniel and a tank of tropical fish.

  Other Books by Serafina Conti

  The Abduction of Aria

  A troubled twenty-three-year-old is kidnapped on her way to a rave, hauled across the country in bonds, and delivered to a remote desert shack to be a sex toy for a mysterious millionaire. As the true horror of her situation becomes clear to her, she finds herself developing feelings for her captor. Can love bloom in this parched wasteland?

  The Polyerotic Reader

  A collection of three novellas and four short stories, each featuring at least one group sex scene, the number of participants ranging from three to twenty-two. Most of these pieces are lighthearted, and some are even romantic; but beware! some are dark and disturbing. Things can so easily get out of hand when a woman finds herself alone with a roomful of hungry men.

  Olivia and Owen

  An anthropologist stays with her brother in the Virginia hills while investigating reports of a pair of ghosts—a brother and sister born on the same day in 1908—who haunt a secluded graveyard. As she observes the couple and establishes communication with them, she makes discoveries that will change her own life, and that of her brother, for all eternity. Laura Lovecraft says, “This book is a must read for fans of sibling romance.”