by Violet Blue
“Each cane stroke equals a stroke of my hand on your ass,” I tell her. “How many do you want?”
I see her struggling with the fear, fighting to count how many spanks it usually takes her to come. She’s rarely in any state of mind to count accurately when she’s over my lap, but I am. I know it’s usually twenty.
“Twenty-five,” she says, her voice quaking.
“Good choice,” I say. “Are you sure you can take it?”
She nods. “I’ll try, Daddy.”
I start out slow, hitting the sweet spot of her ass firmly but without too much intensity. She whimpers and squirms against the restraints, pulling hard as I increase the intensity. When I give her the first truly hard cane stroke, she’s warmed up, but it still makes her whole naked body explode with shudders. Soon she’s writhing and moaning, her ass swaying back and forth and making a difficult target. Nonetheless, I hit her right on the mark every time.
“Count down the last five,” I tell her.
I can hear the tears brimming in her voice as she whimpers “Yes, Daddy. Five more.”
I hit her hard, the cane leaving an angry stripe across her pale ass. She shrieks and moans in agony, “Four more, Daddy,” her voice choked with pain.
By the time she reaches “One more, Daddy,” she can’t hold the tears back any longer. They explode from her and she collapses against the St. Andrew’s cross, weeping. I come up behind her and run my hand over the textured stripes with which I’ve adorned her ass.
“Just one more, Sarah. Ask for it. Remember, you decided how many you could take. You asked for twenty-five.”
“Please, Daddy,” she sobs. “Give me one more. Hit me one more time.”
Her body twists and spasms as I land the final blow on her ass, and she hangs limp in the grip restraints. I unbuckle the panic snaps and carry her over to the leather sofa tucked into a corner of the basement.
“Still want your spanking?” I ask her.
“Yes, please,” she sobs. “Please, Daddy. Spank me.”
I go slow at first, making sure to hit her in places that won’t drive her over the edge. She squirms in my lap and moans, her belly rubbing against my cock, which has gotten rock-hard despite my recent orgasm. I build gradually, hitting her sweet spot when I’m sure she can take it. The feel of the raised welts is erotic to me, and as Sarah’s sobs turn to whimpers and moans of orgasm, I grind my hips against the smooth flesh of her belly and tits. I’m so hard that I know I’m going to come again, maybe without even fucking her. She knows it, too. I’ve passed twenty-five long ago and I’m hitting her sweet spot passionately with my open palm. Sarah is edging into her orgasm, getting closer and closer, her climax ready to overtake her when I give her the rapid series of strokes right on her sweet spot. She bucks like a mare, thrusts her ass into the air, pushing it back against my hand. Her legs spread, pussy exposed, she shakes back and forth, screaming as she comes. I grab her hair with my free hand and push her down against me, both to increase the contact of our skin and to exert my dominance in this, her final moment of surrender. And there’s a third reason: because I’m damn close to coming myself. I grind my cock against her tits and keep spanking her as she keeps coming. I shoot hot, thick come all over her tits and she hungrily rubs her breasts against the slippery liquid as it erupts all over her.
When she’s finished coming, her breath comes in great ragged sobs, her whole body aglow with warmth.
“How do you say ‘thank you’ to Daddy?” I ask her.
She climbs down off me, her breasts slick and glistening with semen, her face flushed with orgasmic release. She bows down before me and presses her face to my high leather boots, starting at the tops and licking her way hungrily down to the toes, polishing me all over.
When she’s finished, she licks her way up my legs and kisses my cock, lapping at the oozing remains of my semen. She puts her face in my lap and says three words I’ve wanted to hear for as long as I can remember.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
I stroke her face tenderly and say, softly, “You’re welcome.”
Paying Customer
THOMAS S. ROCHE
I slip into the booth and put a five-dollar bill in the slot. I feel a quickening of my pulse as the screen slowly goes up; for a moment, I think I’ve miscalculated and chosen the wrong booth—it’s not you. It can’t be you. You look so incredibly different on the other side of this dingy glass panel, in your black G-string and hot pink go-go boots with your JUST DO ME baby tank stretched across your teacup breasts, pigtails dangling around your shapely shoulders, sex toys fanned before you like an array of forbidden fruits offered for twenty-five-cent temptation. I feel my cock start to stir before the first wave of recognition flickers through your eyes, before you grab the telephone and press it to your lips.
You say my name, incredulous. Part of me thought you might not recognize me, that I might just be a faceless trick on the other side of the glass. But the masquerade is incomplete, and I take off the baseball cap and sunglasses, tuck them into my jacket.
I pick up the telephone, smiling.
“Hi, baby.”
“You know this is against the rules,” you say with a faint, mischievous smile on your face.
“I’m a paying customer, aren’t I?” I take a twenty out of my jacket pocket, hold it up so that you can see it, and feed it into the slot, seeing the glowing readout change from 3 to 25. “And here’s something else to make it worth your while.” I stuff three more twenties into the tiny slot under the glass pane.
You look strangely young as you smirk and sigh, tugging on your pigtails coquettishly.
“I can’t take your money,” you say, whining a little.
“Why not?” I ask you. “You’re going to put on a good show, aren’t you?”
You laugh behind your hand. I could see this any day of the week at home, but lately you’ve been talking a lot about your job. How it sometimes turns you on, but it annoys you that there aren’t more guys coming in that you’re attracted to. I figure this will take care of both the positive and negative aspects of this.
“Show me your pussy, Candy.”
“Fuck, it’s weird to hear you call me that,” you say.
“Why? It’s posted on the door right outside. That’s who you are here, isn’t it?”
“Kind of,” you say.
“Then show me your pussy.”
You sigh, half defeated, half excited. You wriggle out of your G-string and spread yourself wide, pointing your glistening, smooth-shaved pussy at the plastic panel. You start to stroke your cunt, your fingers working smoothly up and down in your gleaming slit.
“Yeah, you’re nice and wet, aren’t you?” I growl into the telephone. “It really turns you on to show a stranger your pussy, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you smile. “The lube I put in there before I started work doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Hey!” I laugh. “I’m a paying customer. I don’t need to know that. Tell me it makes you wet.”
You roll your eyes. When you speak again, your voice is transformed, the day-to-day girl I see at home become a flirtatious, barely legal slut, begging to show her pussy for a stranger.
“Yeah,” you whimper. “It makes me so fucking wet to show you my pussy.”
“That’s more like it,” I say. “What does it make you want to do?” My cock is hard now, throbbing in my pants. I unzip and take my cock out, standing up so that I can show it to you as I lean against the panel. “It makes you want to get down on my knees and suck my dick, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you moan.
“Do you suck your boyfriend’s cock real good?”
That catches you off guard, but it brings a slight flush to your neck. You’ve told me more than once that the one thing that always turns you on is when guys ask about how your boyfriend fucks you. It always makes you think of me, and that turns you on as you give them every detail of our kinky games—details they no doubt think you’re ma
king up, but are absolutely true.
“Yeah,” you tell me, your voice thick with arousal. “Especially when he ties me up and makes me.”
“I would have thought a slut like you would want to suck your boyfriend’s dick,” I say. “Show me your tits, Candy.”
You pull up the tight baby-T, obscuring the PLEASE DO ME message and replacing it with the sight of your perfect apple-round tits, B-cups looking just large enough on your slender frame. I see I was right about your being turned on; your fair skin always flushes deep red when you get aroused. Your nipples stand out firm and hard from your breasts.
“I want to,” you coo into the phone. “But it turns me on when he forces me.”
“He can’t force you if you want it, can he, Candy?”
“No,” you moan, your hand going to your pussy and starting to stroke it. “I can’t.”
“You just want it that way so you don’t have to admit how bad you want it, Candy, isn’t that right?”
“Oh God, yeah,” you moan. Your hand lingers over the largest of the dildos arrayed before you. “Can I fuck myself, Mister? Please let me fuck myself. I’m getting so fucking wet.”
“Yeah,” I tell you. “But shove it into your ass.”
I see the flush between your breasts deepen, glowing hot and red. “But Mister,” you whimper. “It’s too tight back there. I’ve never done it that way.”
“You want to fuck yourself, Candy. I want to see that cock in your ass. Now put it in there.”
You pinch your nipples. “Can I slide it in my pussy first?” you beg. “To get it a little wet.”
“Your pussy looks more than a little wet,” I tell you. “It’s fucking dripping, isn’t it, Candy?”
“Yeah,” you whimper. “Please, Mister. Please let me get it wet in my pussy before I put it in my ass. I’ve never been done that way before.”
“Two strokes,” I say. “Just enough to get it wet. Two strokes in your pussy, Candy. I don’t want to see you fucking yourself.”
“Please, Mister,” you moan. “Please, I’ve got to fuck myself….”
“Just get it wet and then put it in your ass.”
Two strokes is all it takes. When I see you slide the big dildo into your pussy, I recognize the sign of impending orgasm. You always come quickly when we play this game, and my suspicion that you’d come even faster if we played it here was correct. On the second stroke your body shudders and I hear you whimpering into the phone. Then the phone is gone, dropped as you twist and writhe in rapture.
“You just came, didn’t you, Candy?”
You grab the phone and cradle it sensuously. “I don’t know, Mister,” you whimper. “It felt kind of funny.”
“Put that cock in your ass.”
“Do…do I have to?”
“Yeah,” I growl. “Shove it in there.”
You roll onto your belly, lifting your ass high in the air and reaching behind you, your dancer’s flexibility showing itself as you position the dildo at just the right angle. I know you do lots of anal shows, so I know you’ve probably inserted a squirt of lube into your ass before the curtain went up. But when we play at home it turns you on to pretend it’s just your pussy making the cock so wet. You work the dildo into your rear hole, wriggling your butt back and forth as you force it in.
“It’s so big, Mister!”
“Shove it in,” I demand. “Shove it in harder, Candy!”
With a great trembling rush, you push the dildo all the way into your ass. Your moans rise in volume as you hump your body back onto your hand. Then you inch your ass back and press the suction cup of the dildo up against the panel, where it suctions firmly even as you start to hump back onto it, rubbing your cunt.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, Candy?” I murmur into the phone.
“Oh god, yeah, Mister,” you moan. “Feels so good. It’s so fucking big….”
“Fuck yourself onto it. Harder!”
You obey, pushing your ass back onto the shaft of the dildo so that I can see it stretching the tightness of your ass. From this angle, it looks so much bigger than my own cock, which I’ve watched and felt stretch your ass numerous times.
“It kind of feels like I’m going to come again,” you whimper into the phone.
“Yeah,” I say. “Make yourself come again, Candy.”
Your fingers zero in on your clit in exactly the way I’ve seen them do so many times before—I know you’re not faking. This is the way you make yourself come at home, in our bedroom, whether I’m watching or not. As you pound yourself back onto the dildo, I start to pump my cock rapidly, watching your beautiful ass separate around the long hard dildo as you shove yourself onto it again and again. Then, as I hear you moaning into the phone, moaning in orgasm, I quicken the pace. Just as you finish coming, you look back at me in time to watch my cock explode, shooting streams of hot jizz all over the plastic panel.
You tug your body forward, slipping off the dildo.
“Did you like that, Candy?”
“Yeah,” you whimper. “I love it when I make you come.”
Without warning, the dark panel goes sliding down. You blow me a kiss just as your face disappears.
I tuck my cock back into my pants, zip up, buckle my belt, and hurry out of the booth. I’m already late for work, so I’ll have to take a cab.
There’s going to be hell to pay when I get home, I know. You’ll tease me mercilessly, maybe even be a little bit mad that I dropped in to see you without letting you know I was coming.
But then, you have only yourself to blame. After all, you were the one who gave me the idea, showing up at the All Male Theater like that, wearing your stupid fake mustache and baseball cap, sitting there amid the sleazy, closeted bridge-and-tunnel queens while they watched me strut my stuff on stage. That night you were so wet, you fucked me so good, how could I bear not to give you a little payback?
Payback’s a bitch, hon. And you’ll always be mine. I’m sure you wouldn’t have it any other way.
About the Authors
XAVIER ACTON—“X” to his friends—has written for Gothic.net, Necromantic.com, and the first edition of Sweet Life. He lives in San Francisco and is at work on a horror novel and more erotic short stories.
PETER ALLEN wrote “Aftercare,” inspired by his polyamorous lover’s experience of being pierced by another longtime lover while Allen watched. Although it didn’t turn out exactly the way it does in the story, it certainly was fodder for ongoing fantasies, and helped convince him that not only can polyamory work, it can also be hot.
ELIZABETH COLVIN’S nonfiction writing has appeared in Sinister and Good Vibrations magazine. This is her first published piece of erotica.
FELIX D’ANGELO is an East Coast drug program counselor who writes erotica in his spare time. Although he’s been writing for years, “Special Occasion” is his first published story. It was written for his girlfriend, Katrina.
DANTE DAVIDSON is the coauthor of the best-selling anthology Bondage on a Budget and the self-help guide Secrets for Great Sex After Fifty. His short stories have appeared in anthologies including Sweet Life, Bondage, and Naughty Stories from A to Z, and on the websites www.goodvibes.com and www.tinynibbles.com.
ERICA DUMAS’S poetry and fiction has appeared in Allusion, Calico, Broken Dances, Fear Time, Seduction, Sweet Life, Best Bisexual Women’s Erotica, MASTER, and Slave. A native Californian, she now lives in New York. She is at work on a collection of short stories.
SEAN EVANS is the pseudonym of a well-known erotica author who saves his most taboo fantasies for private consumption. “A Very Naughty Girl,” though embellished, is a description of a real-life relationship. Evans’s stories have appeared in the anthologies MASTER and Juicy Erotica.
ELLE MCCAUL’S erotic short stories have appeared in collections including Girls on the Go and Naughty Stories from A to Z. Currently, she is working on her first novel.
JASMINE HALL is the pseudonym of a journalist who writes for several
national magazines, including Parenting and People. Her celebrity interviews have appeared in several Los Angeles weekly papers. She lives with her boyfriend and their video camera.
KC is the pseudonym of a San Francisco Bay Area erotic writer who believes that some things are too naughty even for the usual nom de plume.
ROSE KELLEY works in a café in San Francisco by day, and by night she writes for local zines, goes to bars, and has hot affairs (in person and via the Internet). She believes that the ways you can express erotic ideas are infinite. This is her first published story.
ALEXANDRA MICHAELS has had her short stories published in various Penthouse publications. Her work has also been published in People magazine.
JULIA MOORE is a coauthor of the best-selling The Other Rules: Never Wear Panties On a First Date. Her short stories have appeared in Sweet Life and Naughty Stories from A to Z and on the website www.goodvibes.com.
N.T. MORLEY is the author of ten erotic novels: The Parlor, The Castle, The Limousine, The Contract, The Office, The Circle, The Appointment, The Nightclub, The Library and its sequel Borrowing Privileges. In progress are volumes 2 and 3 of the Office trilogy, volume 3 of the Library trilogy, and a volume of short stories.
JESSE NELSON lives in Santa Monica where he spends too much time surfing and not enough time working.
JULIE O’HORA’S stories have been featured in the Erotica Readers and Writers Association Gallery, Adult Story Corner, and Amoret. She spends most of her time writing screenplays for romantic comedies and looks forward to being produced someday soon.
