by Violet Blue
When I returned at nine, the store was closed. The sign said so, hanging off-kilter in the door. But I didn’t believe the sign. I saw a light on in the back, and I opened the door, the bell overhead jangling to announce my entrance. Tommy walked in from the rear, and he didn’t seem surprised to see me, but he did seem pleased.
“What did you mean about the shave?”
On the table was a bottle of wine and two glasses. I hadn’t noticed that before. He lowered the shades and I poured myself some red. The Playboys were gone, too. He’d cleaned up the place for me.
“I mean,” I said, “a shave.” I sat on the leather couch in front of the coffee table, and I spread my legs.
“This isn’t happening,” he said.
I hiked up my skirt. “You do shaves,” I said. “I need a shave.”
“You need to put some panties on is what you need to do. This isn’t how girls are supposed to behave.”
“I’m not the kind of girl who behaves,” I said.
He seemed torn for a minute. And I was thrilled when he walked to my side and dragged his thumb roughly between my pussy lips. Swollen. Juicy. He licked his thumb and looked at me, and then he said, “This isn’t how things work.”
“No? Not in the boys’ world? Where the men call the shots?”
“Not in my world,” he said, defensively. “I’m not used to a woman being in charge.”
“What are you used to?” I was thinking of the world I’d grown up in: men smoking out on the stoop and the women in the kitchen. Lace doilies on the backs of armchairs. Framed pictures of faraway places that nobody would ever visit on the walls.
He was the one to surprise me. He sat at my side on the sofa and pulled me over his lap. “I like to take the first step,” he said. “Ask the girl out. Take her on a date. Bring her flowers. See if there’s chemistry.”
“Clearly, there’s chemistry,” I said to the sofa. “You tasted for yourself.”
“But you’re so forward,” he said. “That can’t go unpunished. I mean, I don’t even know your name.”
My pussy clenched. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned the fantasy at all. I’d thought I would shock him, that he would appreciate a girl with a little spunk. But I hadn’t expected this—his hand on my ass, delivering a blistering, over-the-knee spanking within moments of me entering his shop.
“Every time you walked past,” he said, and he punctuated each word with a slap, “I thought of doing this. Your skirts are too short, do you know that?” He was tanning my hide with his big, strong palm and I couldn’t respond. The way my clit felt bumping against his knee was sublime. But finally I managed, “Too short for what?”
“Too short for you own good,” he said, and he pushed me from his lap so I was on the floor, looking at him. His erection was outlined beneath his slacks. I started to come forward, so I could undo his fly, release his cock. I wanted to suck him. I could practically feel his cockhead in my mouth. So I was shocked when he pushed me away.
“You know what you need?”
“Your cock.”
He grimaced at me, and I said, “Oh, what? Girls in your world don’t say the word cock? Or maybe they don’t suck it. Wouldn’t want to spoil their lip gloss.”
“Behind the shed. I was right before. That’s what you need. A long hard session with an old leather belt where nobody could hear you cry. Tune you up in no time.”
“And then what?” I asked, though my pussy was responding to his words, juices dripping down my thighs. “Then I become one of those airheaded girls with the perfect flip? Someone you can control with a look?”
He shook his head. “I can’t see you ever being under control,” he said. “I’m sure you’d need a pretty steady diet of discipline.”
Had I thought I was wet before? I was making a silky puddle between my legs. But I would not lose my moxie. “And you think you’re the man for the job?”
“I’m dead sure of it,” he said.
“But what about the girls you date? Those princesses.”
“I have a theory about that,” he said, and he stood and pulled me to standing, then led me toward the back of the shop. “You know what you can’t do?”
I shook my head.
He stopped me in the hall, tilted my chin so I was looking into his eyes. “When I ask you a question, you answer.”
“Yes,” I said quickly.
“That’s not how you answer.”
“Yes, Tommy?” I tried, feeling less sure of myself now.
“Oh, so you’re clever. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.”
“I’m Janie,” I said. “Jane.”
“All right, Janie.” He looked stern, like I’d disappointed him. “You, with all your tricks, all your fancy plans. You don’t even know what you need.” He pushed me down then once more, so I was on my knees gazing up at him. “When we’re alone, like this, I’m going to be in charge. And you’re going to do what I say. So you say, ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir.’ Shall we try again?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, and he continued down the hall with me following after in a crawl. When we’d reached the lounge in back, Tommy stood me up again. “The problem with princesses is that you can’t fuck them the way you’d like to. You can’t tie them up at night. Or use handcuffs. Or a butt plug. You can’t spank them when they’re naughty or flog them when they need it. You can’t wash the bad words from their mouths with a bar of soap—because they never fucking say bad words.”
He was stripping me as he spoke, and I saw that there was a basin of water back here and a stack of towels.
“So I’ve been thinking—as you have pranced by all spring in those too-short skirts of yours—that I don’t need a princess.”
And then he had me up on the table on my back and he was spreading thick lotion over my pussy using one of those sexy bristle brushes.
“What I need is a bad girl, like you.”
He started to shave me. I closed my eyes. I was in heaven, the way he pinched my nether lips as he worked. The way he paid such careful attention to whisking away every last stray bit of hair. My fantasy had definitely come to life.
“Why do you think I’m a bad girl?” I panted.
“Because you’re the exact opposite of every good girl I ever dated. You know, I came this close to getting married last fall.” He kept working. I watched him as he focused on me.
“It was…” he said slowly, “a close shave.”
I was surprised as he spoke, because I’d almost married a man who wanted a Barbie girl. I’d escaped. Like he had.
When he was done, he used a wet towel to rinse me, and then he used those fluffy towels to dry me off. He tested his work with his tongue, and I said, “If you keep doing that, Sir, I’m going to come.” I thought it was the right thing to say.
“Fine,” he said, looking up at me with his chin wet with my glossy juices. “And then I’ll punish you.”
My whole world seemed to freeze as he slid two fingers into my pussy.
“How? How will you…Sir?” I managed to tack on at the end.
“We’ll start with my belt.”
I sighed. I wanted to feel his belt. Desperately, I wanted to, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?” I needed to hear the words.
“Why will I punish you? Because you’re such a forward, pushy tart. Demanding that I take care of you. Not waiting for me to make the first move.”
“You didn’t. You never did.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. But I had waited. God, I had waited for months.
“I would have,” he said. “I was biding my time.”
“You were driving me fucking crazy.” I didn’t care that I’d forgotten the proper words. I was telling him the truth.
“Maybe that was part of my plan,” he said, and then he refocused his attention on my split and I came in a flash; the way he made sweet circles over my clit was too dreamy.
In seconds, while I was still lost in that haze of bliss, he had me flipped and bent ove
r the table. I heard the sound of his belt pulling free from the loops of his slacks, and I tensed my thighs in anticipation of the first blow. My ass was still warm from the hand spanking he’d delivered in the front room. I was pretty, pink and primed.
“What I need,” he said, and he stung me with a fierce stroke from the start, “is a girl who can put on a princess act every once in a while so my family will get off my back. A girl who can stifle the four-letter words over a Sunday-night dinner. What do you think?”
“What do you mean, Sir?” I was having a hard time responding.
“Most people I know playact in the bedroom. They try to be all kinky when they’re so fucking vanilla. I know who you are. I’m asking you to playact out of the bedroom. Pretend you’re vanilla when we go have a dinner at my grandmother’s house. But be the kinky fucking bad girl you are the rest of the time. Do you think you could do that?”
He was landing the blows steadily now, and I was moaning and writhing, my hips beating against the edge of the table.
“Can you do that, Janie?”
I sucked in my breath, because he’d dropped the belt, and I anticipated what was going to happen next. To my delight, I was right. He had unzipped his fly and he was pressing his cock against me.
“Yes,” I said, to two things at once. “Yes, Sir,” I said to his query and to his cock. “I can do that.”
He was in me then, pushing forward so I felt his cock hammering all the way through me. I was so turned on I could hardly think. His cock was thick and hard and seemed to reach places inside me that hadn’t been touched before. And all the time Tommy fucked me, he had his hand wrapped in my hair and he kept whispering the things he was going to do to me. The things he couldn’t wait to do to me.
“Oh god,” I whimpered. “Oh my fucking god.”
“You know, I’ll have to wash your mouth out when I get you home.”
“Why, Sir?”
“Because you can’t seem to go two seconds without saying the word ‘fuck.’”
“No, Sir, I fucking can’t,” I said as he made me come a second time. Tommy slammed into me even faster after that, thrusting so hard he moved the table, and us with it, several feet forward. Then he pulled out and came all over my backside, rubbing his semen into my heated skin with the palm of his hand.
After, he washed me with a damp towel and dried me once more. Then he cleaned up the back room while I got dressed. I followed around after him, watching as he returned the shop to normal. The faded Playboys in their place. The blinds up.
“Let’s go to my place,” Tommy said.
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
“That’s right.” He smiled. “Whenever we’re with my family, you’ll call me Tommy,” he said as he led me to his car. “And you’ll wear a decent-length skirt and a pair of panties. But don’t worry, little girl, when I get you home after, I will take care of you. Exactly how you need.”
He stopped at his car and lifted my skirt. He ran his palm over my mound and smiled.
“What do you think?” he asked. And I thought about everything I’d gone through to make it to this point. The waiting. The hoping. The near-disaster of an almost-tragic marriage. I’d survived a close shave, only to be given a kind I’d never truly believed possible.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, as I got into his car.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
NIKKI ADAMS lives amid the quiet fields of southern New Jersey. Her work has also appeared in Best Lesbian Erotica 2013.
VALERIE ALEXANDER lives in Arizona. Her work has been previously published in Best of Best Women’s Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica and other anthologies.
LAURA ANTONIOU (lantoniou.com) has been writing erotica for over twenty years. Best known for her Marketplace series, she has also lectured at over 100 events worldwide. Her most recent novel, The Killer Wore Leather, is a comedy murder mystery set within the leather/BDSM world.
LAILA BLAKE (lailablake.com) is a linguist, currently working as a writer and translator in her hometown of Cologne, Germany. She has yet to find a genre to settle down with, but is most dedicated to romance and erotica. Her first novel By the Light of the Moon was released in April 2013.
Author and award-winning editor ELIZABETH COLDWELL lives and works in London. Her stories have appeared in numerous anthologies including four previous volumes of the Best Women’s Erotica series. She can be found at The (Really) Naughty Corner, elizabethcoldwell.wordpress.com.
LUCY DEBUSSY lives in Edinburgh, where she writes vintage-style smut and sailor porn from a garret in the center of the city. Her writing has previously appeared in Erotic Review. She loves circus, dance, sailing, food, silk clothing and good unwholesome erotica.
ROSE DE FER’s story “Snowlight, Moonlight” appears in Red Velvet & Absinthe. She has published a novella, Lust Ever After (Mischief Books) and stories in the anthologies Underworlds, Submission and Forever Bound. Rose lives in England with her husband, who keeps the chains tight when the moon is full.
As a thoroughly bad girl on a journey of self-discovery as an erotic writer, TAMSIN FLOWERS (tamsinflowers.com) is as keen to entertain her readers as she is to explore every aspect of female and male sexuality. She is published by Cleis Press, Go Deeper Press, Xcite Books and House of Erotica.
ERRICA LIEKOS finally realized she could write whatever filthy things she wanted so long as she used a pseudonym. Don’t tell her kids. She occasionally Tweets @_Errica and blogs at cumis-notaverb. blogspot.com.
INGRID LUNA is a painter, musician and writer who lives in a little cottage covered with flowers, art and dirty dishes. She loves her kinky husband, the smell of old books, conversations that keep you up all night and hosting parties where everyone gets naked.
SOMMER MARSDEN’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue) and “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler). Her erotic novels include Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, Learning to Drown and the Zombie Exterminator series. Current addictions include strong coffee, sweet wine, yoga and things that give her goose bumps. Visit her at sommer-marsden. blogspot.com.
CATHERINE PAULSSEN’s (catherinepaulssen.com) stories have appeared in Best Lesbian Romance 2012 and 2013, Best Erotic Romance 2013, Girl Fever, Duty and Desire (all published by Cleis Press), in Silver Publishing’s Dreaming of a White Christmas series and in anthologies by Ravenous Romance and Constable & Robinson.
OLEANDER PLUME recently made the transition from writing conventional fiction to erotica, and hasn’t looked back. She was recently surprised and delighted to find out that one of her creations has been accepted into a collection of gay erotic short stories, which will be published later in the year.
RUBY RYDER pursues her passion for pegging on her site Pegging Paradise. She lives in Southern California, teaches pegging classes to interested couples and is immersed in exploring dominance and submission in conjunction with pegging. She watches porn on the Internet to get in the mood to write her stories.
ALYSSA TURNER (alyssaturnerwrites.blogspot.com) writes erotica and erotic romance in all lengths, having previously been featured in Best Women’s Erotica, edited by Violet Blue, and several anthologies from Rachel Kramer Bussel. Alyssa has several full-length novels under her belt and no two of her stories are the same.
ALISON TYLER (alisontyler.blogspot.com), the “Trollop with a Laptop,” has written twenty-five erotic novels and edited more than sixty erotic anthologies including Twisted, Torn and Smart Ass. In all things important, she remains faithful to her partner of seventeen years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume.
JADE A. WATERS (jadeawaters.com) began her literary naughtiness when she convinced a boyfriend that the sexiest form of foreplay was reading provocative synonyms from a thesaurus. She’s been penning erotic tales in Northern California ever since. Her latest piece, “The Flogger,” can be found in The Big Book of Orgasms from Cleis Press.
ABOUT THE EDITOR
VIOLET BLUE (tinynibbles.com, @violetblue) is an a
ward-winning author and editor, CNET reporter, CBSi/ZDNet blogger and columnist, a high-profile tech personality and one of Wired’s Faces of Innovation. She is regarded as the foremost expert in the field of sex and technology, a sex-positive mainstream media pundit (MacLife, CNN, “The Oprah Winfrey Show”) and is interviewed, quoted and featured in outlets ranging from ABC News to the Wall Street Journal.
Blue was the notorious sex columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle. She has been at the center of many Internet scandals, including Google’s “nymwars” and Libya’s web domain censorship and seizures—Forbes calls her “omnipresent on the web” and named her a Forbes Web Celeb. She headlines and keynotes at global technology conferences including ETech, LeWeb, SXSW: Interactive and two Google Tech Talks at Google, Inc. and received a standing ovation at Seattle’s Gnomedex.
The London Times named Violet Blue “one of the 40 bloggers who really count.”
Copyright © 2013 by Violet Blue®.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, Inc.,
2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.
eISBN : 978-1-627-78016-2
