by Violet Blue
He gave me what I wanted, spanking me hard and steady as I rubbed my clit. My bottom felt swollen and sensitive, and I whimpered from the sting that lingered after each smack.
“Your ass is getting so red,” he murmured.
I could envision what he saw, my bottom thrust out for his pleasure, red from the spanking and shiny from the oil in the pan. I closed my eyes and moaned, grinding on my fingers as he spanked me.
“Fuck me.”
I heard the clatter of the spatula on the floor, then Adam’s cock bumping against my hand. I reached between my legs and guided him to my clit, stroking myself with the head of his cock before guiding him to my entrance. With one quick shove he was buried inside me, filling me up. I was so hot and wet for him, there was no need for him to go slow and take his time. The spanking he’d given me had been more than enough foreplay and now my body was begging for much-needed release.
He gripped my hip with one hand and my long hair with the other. I arched my back as he tugged at my hair, feeling the sharp tingle of pain at my scalp contrasting with the throb of warmth in my bottom. The sensations clashed in a tangle of pleasure as he pumped into me with hard, steady thrusts. I got off on the dual sensations of pain, strumming my clit in time with his cock going into me. Orgasm rushed over me in a powerful wave of heat and wetness that nearly buckled my knees. I held tight to the stove as Adam supported me with his hands and cock, thrusting hard into me.
My pussy squeezed the length of his cock, rippling with my long, slow orgasm. As wet as I was, he had a snug fit as my body gripped him. He moaned, curling over my back as he pumped into me. I dragged my wet fingers over the length of him as he started to come, reveling in the heat and weight of his cock. I tightened my pussy around him, feeling the last vestiges of my waning orgasm. Then, with a final thrust and a bellowing groan, he went still against me. I could feel the pulse of his cock buried inside me as my pussy milked him of his orgasm and I clenched around him, eliciting another moan of pleasure.
Sweat slick and hot from both the spanking and my proximity to the stove, I opened my eyes to see two charred pancakes sending up curls of smoke. I started laughing, nearly collapsing under Adam’s weight. He moaned, no doubt from the way my pussy undulated along his sensitive cock.
“I burned my pancakes,” I gasped, as he slid from me. “And I’m pretty sure the others are cold.”
He gave my tender ass a light swat. “I guess you’ll just have to make another batch.”
It didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
(S)pan(k)cakes
Ingredients
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1½ tablespoons sugar
3½ teaspoons baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1¼ cups milk
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons butter, melted
1 tablespoon cooking oil, for frying pan
Directions
In a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg. In a smaller bowl, combine the milk, egg, vanilla and melted butter. Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients and mix until nearly smooth. Set aside for 10 minutes.
Heat a lightly oiled frying pan over medium-high heat. Use a ¼ cup measuring scoop to pour the batter into the frying pan. Flip pancakes when small bubbles begin to form and brown lightly on both sides.
Serve warm, plain or with your favorite toppings.
Makes 6 large pancakes.
CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
Emilie Paris
Dress yourself up for me,” Cameron said on Monday night. “You know what I like, Charlotte.”
I did of course. After nearly a year together, I know exactly what turns on my man.
I have high-class tastes. That’s the way I like to put it. My boyfriend says I bask in the lap of luxury. But when he says that, all thoughts of diamonds and expensive footwear disappear from my mind. Because even if I do like to doll myself up like some Parisian runway model, the lap Cameron’s referring to is his own.
I looked at the clothes in my closet, the fur-trimmed cardigan, the red-sled Louboutins, and all I could see was me over Cameron’s lap, my panty-clad ass in the air, my stockinged feet kicking.
“I’m waiting,” Cameron said in a tone of voice that let me know he wouldn’t wait for very much longer. He was sitting behind me on the edge of the bed. I could feel his eyes on me. At the moment, I only had on a pair of scarlet knickers and a matching satin bra. If I wasn’t careful, he’d start before I was ready. And satin doesn’t offer much protection when a spanking’s on the menu.
The clothes blurred in front of my eyes. I keep my closet in color-coded order, from midnight black on the left through all the rainbow colors, ending with pristine white on the right. But nothing called out to me. Nothing screamed spanking.
“Charlotte…” His tone was growing more menacing by the second.
Frantic, I stuck my hand into the closet and reached for the first thing my fingers landed on. I had to laugh as I pulled out the hanger. I’d chosen a navy blue suit, formfitting, but cut in a man’s style. I turned around and held the outfit up in front of me. Cameron’s lips curled in a half smile.
“Wasn’t exactly what I was thinking.”
“I know.”
When he has spanking on the brain, he generally likes to see me in something more schoolgirl kicky: a little plaid skirt or a navy blue jumper, high-heeled Mary Janes and white kneesocks.
“But we could make that work,” Cameron continued.
He left the room while I got dressed, giving me privacy. I worked as fast as I could. Nearly in a trance, I began to set the stage. I lit rows of candles on the windowsill and on the edge of the dresser. I dragged the heavy-backed chair to the center of the room, my fingers on the leather, my heart starting to pound. I wanted to be over Cameron’s lap already, eager to be in the scene I was already so deeply entrenched in. But anticipation is an important part to our games. Absence doesn’t necessarily make the heart grow fonder, but waiting definitely makes my pussy pulse.
Then I got dressed: crisp white shirt, the navy suit, a red tie, black oxford shoes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over our dresser, and then (at the very last minute, hearing Cameron’s steps out in the hallway), I had an idea.
“Wait…” I called out.
His footsteps halted. I could imagine him standing right outside the door.
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
I could imagine him standing there, interest piqued, cock hard. I went to my dresser and pulled out a toy, fixed the rest of the scene, then opened the door.
“Bad girl,” he said softly, “making me wait.”
“Bad boy,” I responded, just as softly, watching as Cameron tilted his head at me. I saw confusion in his deep blue eyes, and I acted immediately. Before he could grab me, before he could say a word, I sat down in the leather chair. “Bend over, baby,” I said, patting my thighs. “Time for your spanking.”
“Charlotte…”
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
How many times had he spoken to me like that? How many ways had I found myself positioned for his firm hand, or his leather belt, or his paddle? Why had I never thought to respond in kind? What had the suit brought out in me?
Of course, Cameron didn’t have to obey. He could have told me to get my ass out of the chair. He could have refused to take even one step forward. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked toward me, then bent himself over my lap.
I grinned to myself. I couldn’t believe the rush of power that flared through me. Without hesitation, I slapped my hand against his ass. I knew I hadn’t hurt him. My palm met the resistance of his blue jeans, and I know from many past experiences that a hand spanking through denim doesn’t do much harm. But I wanted to see how far he’d let me go.
I smacked
him again, and then I said, “Stand up and take down those jeans.”
When he stood, I saw the look in his eyes, a look I recognized from seeing the same expression in the mirror so many times before. He was loving this. He was needing it.
Cameron pulled down his jeans and bent back over my lap. He even raised his hips, begging with his body for me to continue.
I smacked my hand against his boxers, and I could feel how hard his cock was. I gave him five strokes like this before pulling the waistband of those striped boxers down to his thighs. Now, I took a moment to admire his naked ass. God, he had a beautiful body. I thought of how many times he’d admired my curves from the same position of power. Then I let my hand land on his bare skin. The rush of pleasure was amazing to me. My palm meeting his naked ass sent a electrifying jolt through my whole body. Why had we never done this before? Why had we never even tried?
I spanked him over and over, delighting in the handprintshaped marks I was leaving on his previously pale skin. Cameron took the spanking like a pro. He didn’t squirm. He didn’t beg. He didn’t make any sound at all. But I could feel his cock against my thigh, and I knew he was turned on. Maybe he was as surprised as I was by this new facet of our relationship. Maybe he was stunned into silence.
I wanted to help him make noise.
Deftly, I reached behind the chair and gripped the paddle that had been lying on the floor, the one I’d hidden right before he walked in the door. I didn’t tell him to steel himself. I didn’t warn him what was coming. I simply slapped that glossy weapon against his ass and waited for his response.
The tremor that ran through him was immediate and intense. But he didn’t tell me to stop and he didn’t try to get up. That gave me all the information I needed. I spanked him again, and again. Each time I let the paddle land on his naked ass, I imagined what the pain was like for me when I was in a similar submissive position. My pussy grew wetter with every blow, and I could tell that Cameron was growing even harder. His cock was a solid pole against my leg.
“Such a bad boy,” I murmured. “Getting all hard from a spanking. Clearly, it’s been far too long since your last punishment.”
Who knew I could talk like that, that there were words like those in my head, words that came easily to my tongue? I’d never even fantasized about a scenario like this one, and yet disciplining Cameron felt surprisingly natural.
I heated his ass good and proper for him, and when I was right on the verge of coming from the thrill alone, I pushed him off my lap. Cameron stared up at me, waiting. He looked like a puppy dog, his golden hair messy, his cheeks flushed. Sure, I understood what he wanted. I’d taken the front seat. He expected me to drive us to the finish line.
Quickly, I kicked off my shoes then unzipped my slacks and pulled them off along with my knickers. Then I positioned myself on the edge of the bed, my thighs spread wide.
“Eat me,” I told him, and he crawled forward immediately, kicking off his jeans and boxers, so that he was now half naked, wearing only his white T-shirt. Pressing his face to the split of my body, he began to lick my clit in delicious, dreamy circles.
Oh, god that felt good. I leaned back on my arms and pushed my pussy right into his handsome face. I locked my legs around him, holding him as close to me as I possibly could. And then I let myself come, bucking hard against his lips and tongue, taking every last bit of pleasure from the ministrations of his mouth.
I couldn’t remember ever coming so quickly, but spanking him had brought me right up to the brink.
When I was done, I looked down at Cameron. His lips were all glossy with my juices, and his eyes had that hungry glow in them. He wanted his own release. But I wasn’t ready to let him get there yet.
“On the bed,” I told him, as I slipped my slacks back on, naked now underneath them. Cameron looked horrified. I think he believed I was going to let him fuck me. But we weren’t there yet. We weren’t even close.
While he spread himself out on the bed, I pulled his leather belt out from the loops of his discarded jeans.
“Wrong way,” I told him. He was faceup on the bed. I wanted him facedown.
Meekly, humbly, my sweet boy rolled over. I could just imagine how the mattress felt against a cock so hard.
“We’ll start with ten,” I said, and Cameron groaned. The noise twisted something deep inside of me. I was getting to like this new partnership. The new me.
With ease, I doubled up the leather and slapped the belt against Cameron’s ass. His cheeks were already rosy from the paddle. Now, I wanted to see the welts bloom. Cameron kept himself entirely still, but that wasn’t enough.
“I didn’t think I’d have to say,” I began, “that I expect you to count.”
“One,” he said.
“Good try. We’re going to call the first one a practice blow.”
I struck him again.
This time, when he said, “One,” I said, “Now, ask me for another.”
There was silence from the bed. He didn’t want to ask. But from the way his hips were shifting on the mattress, I could tell he craved more pain.
“Ask me, Cameron, or I’ll put a ball gag in your mouth, and then I’ll determine exactly how many strokes you’ll take. Let me warn you that what you think you can take and what I think you can take may be wildly differing numbers.”
“May I please have another?” he murmured.
“Louder.”
“May I please have another?”
I hit him again.
“Two,” he said, and then, without being prompted this time, “May I please have another?”
“Mistress.”
Silence.
“Ball gag,” I threatened.
“May I please have another, Mistress?”
I hit him a third time. This was fun. I could do it all night. Together, we made our way up to ten, and then I saw Cameron’s body relax. He thought we were done. He thought he’d made it to the end.
“Did I tell you to stop asking?”
“But…”
“Did I tell you to stop asking?”
“You said…”
God, he was slower than I’d thought.
“Did I tell you to stop asking?”
A deep sigh, then, “May I have another, Mistress?”
I hit him fiercely. He didn’t hesitate to say, “Eleven. May I please have another, Mistress?”
We went to twenty, so that his ass was crisscrossed with plum-colored lines from the belt. I don’t think I’d ever seen something so beautiful before. I’d created those lines. I’d done this to him. I’d give him something he needed.
I made sure the last stroke hurt. He cried out, for the first time, and then I knew he was done.
“Roll over.”
Grateful, with tears in his eyes, Cameron rolled over on the bed. His cock was hard, and my pussy was so wet.
Quickly, I stripped off my clothes once more—all of them—the suit jacket, white shirt, slacks. I was me once more when I climbed onto the bed, and Cameron seemed to know that. He gripped my hips and pulled me down onto him, and then he let me ride him. I fucked him as hard as I could, swiveling my body, getting his cock so deep inside of me, then pushing up with my thighs before sliding down once more.
At least, I was almost me. A remnant of the Mistress side of me remained.
“Next time,” I said, “I’m going to get a strap-on. Next time, I’m going to be the one who fucks you.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cam? You’d like me to split apart your asscheeks, pour on some lube, and fuck the shit out of you.”
“God, yes.”
Cameron didn’t seem to even feel the pain from his recent whipping. He drove up inside me with such fierce force, and when he came, I came with him, reaching down to touch my clit as the shivering pleasure flickered through us both.
Afterward, Cameron pulled out of me, and then held me in his arms. He seemed to want to know that I was his
girlfriend once more—that I’d shed my skin, that we were equals, partners. He stroked my hair from my face, kissed my lips, kissed my palms, and my wrists.
“How’d you know?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t.”
“Then what made you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
His mouth to my ear, his voice a whisper, he asked, “Will you do that again?”
“Whenever you need,” I told him. “Whenever you want.”
“But how will you know?”
I smiled at him, and looked down at the crumpled suit on the floor. “You just leave my suit on the bed,” I said. “I’ll do the rest. Because you know what they say? Clothes make the man….”
PLAYING ROUGH
Kat Black
Click, clack, click…
The woman’s heels spike the concrete floor, staccato beat rebounding off the hard, straight lines of the subterranean tunnel. Each step echoes, a solitary sound in an otherwise oppressive silence. Overhead, badly spaced strip-lighting runs the length of the walkway, casting intermittent pools of brightness among dark, dingy shadows.
The hour is late, yet the woman’s appearance remains as immaculate as when she’d arrived shortly after dawn. Makeup flawless, hair shiny and sleek, tidy in a French twist; tailored jacket and pencil skirt virtually crease free despite hours of corporate grind. Her look is polished and professional, conservative but for the stacked, black patent ankle boots adding a hint of fetish and six inches to her diminutive stature.
Briefcase in hand, the woman heads toward the far end of the tunnel, to the door marked STAFF CAR PARK. On the other side her sports car awaits, compact and shiny, the only vehicle to be found in the executive parking bays at this time of a Friday night.
Thud.
At the top of the stairwell behind her, the walkway’s only other access door closes heavily. The woman starts, surprise flashing across her composed features, the expression transforming into a questioning frown. Pausing, she turns to watch the stairwell with alert, uneasy eyes.
