Sweet Life 1

by Violet Blue

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Playing Doctor

  One on One

  Roger’s Fault

  Gerald

  Check Your Inhibitions at the Door

  Roaming Charges

  Panties

  Please

  Grenadine

  Spa Day

  Cast of Three

  But with Onions

  Double Vision

  Number One on the List

  Remembering

  Bob & Carol & Ted (But Not Alice)

  Getting Dirty

  Into the Labyrinth

  The Last Train

  A Walk in the Park

  Sailor Boy

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  Copyright Page

  For Todd, my love

  Introduction: La Dolce Vita

  La dolce vita—literally the sweet life in Italian—has come to represent a life filled with many pleasures. In Federico Fellini’s film of the same name, Marcello Mastroianni plays a gossip columnist forever idealizing that which is out of reach: a life of rich pleasures belonging to seemingly everyone but him.

  Who hasn’t fantasized about living the sweet life—or yearned for a life filled with pleasure and satisfaction? We, too, are always searching for that spark of excitement in life—and when it comes to sex, we want that spark to ignite fires.

  Between these covers, you will meet many couples who have embraced the sweet life as more than a lovely phrase. They have made their fantasies into reality—even if only for a delicious moment. Some of these fantasies will be delightfully familiar while others emerge as new and inviting. Each offers up a taste of forbidden need, finally unleashed.

  These stories are addictive, hot little reads. Girlfriends and wives try on schoolgirl outfits and strap-ons to discover what they’ve been missing. Boyfriends and husbands become doctors, headmasters, daddies—or simply do as they’re told and emerge more satisfied than ever. Lovers confess dark desires and inspire their partners to act on them; sweethearts scheme and take the upper hand. Couples add a woman, a man, or both to their already hot sexual encounters. Passion consistently takes precedent over taboo. There is nothing these lovers won’t try for each other, and it’s all here in twenty-one expertly crafted, arousingly explicit tales.

  The lucky characters in the stories in Sweet Life bring their forbidden fantasies into reality in any number of ingenious ways. In some instances, the couple has made a deal: a fantasy for a fantasy. In others, both parties have made a list of their hottest wishes, in order from one to ten, and they greedily start at the top. Others find that one of the pair is a little more gutsy that the other, engaging in subterfuge to make their lover’s—and their own—dreams come true in encounters of sticky, breathless success. There are nervous, sweaty, and gratifying first-time threesomes and sex parties. More than a few encounters include power exchange, including a spellbinding spanking scenario, sizzling role-playing and delicious role-reversals. Quite a few of these women strap it on and give it to their guys in charged scenes that practically burn the print off the page. And some outrageous encounters develop spontaneously—even by accident.

  I discovered, as I was assembling this collection, that I, too, yearned to find arousing stories that reflected my preferences yet shattered the mold. As I read the stories in this book, I realized that I was one of the folks in relationships who got hot thinking about sexual experimentation, wanted the thrill of the new , the taboo—and to get off reading about it. Suddenly I found myself reading submissions for Sweet Life to my husband over an evening glass of wine, or leaving a story suggestively where he likes to drink his morning coffee. The book began to stand on its own, and the stories, it seemed, had many destinies.

  The writers who contributed to Sweet Life are very hard workers and are seriously naughty for making these nice people do nasty things. Watch out for them. I owe a debt of thanks to my colleague, friend, and partner in crime, Thomas Roche, for advice given (often after the stroke of midnight). My gratitude goes to Felice Newman for support, for her wickedly dry humor, and for relishing an opportunity to take a chance. And to Frédérique Delacoste for being a sweetheart—your tireless work is appreciated. Thanks to Constance Claire for everlasting encouragement. And to my sweetheart, Todd, with whom I will share many moments of discovery.

  May you find a life filled with many pleasures.

  Violet Blue

  Berkeley, California

  September 2001

  Playing Doctor

  DANTE DAVIDSON

  “My fantasies are getting stranger,” Katie began. Her voice was low, even though it was only the two of us in the room.

  “Tell me about them.”

  “I’m embarrassed, Jack,” she said, before instantly correcting herself. “I mean, I’m embarrassed…Doctor.”

  “Nothing that the human mind produces should embarrass you,” I assured her. “There is a reason for everything, every thought, every desire.”

  This was a more poetic discourse than I usually gave, and Katie turned to look over at me for the first time since she’d taken her position on the burgundy leather couch. I hoped that my blue eyes suggested only an endless reserve of calm and patience and none of the lust that flickered restlessly behind them. Yet lust was what I felt more than anything else. Katie is twenty-four, ten years my junior, but she appears even younger than that. She lay flat on her back, her slender body held rigid, and my eyes lingered over her fine, honey-colored hair, her pert breasts, and the line of her long, bare legs seen through the split of her front-buttoned skirt.

  “I’m such a bad girl, Doctor,” she said, and her breath caught in her throat. I loved the way those words sounded in her sweet, lilting voice. I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly how bad she was, and I wanted to tell her how fucking hard it made me. But this was her show, and I let her take it at her own pace. Leaning back on the sofa, she explained, “I have these twisted fantasies about going to private school.”

  “You attended one?” I asked, knowing the real answer, but wanting to hear where she was headed.

  “Yes, but these are made-up memories, none of these things actually happened to me.” She paused, and I caught the fact that she was blushing. As I made a few hurried scratches on my note pad to give her time, I thought about how much I enjoyed playing games with her. Yet this particular game was going far beyond our normal “doctor/naughty nurse” or “teacher/student” routine. I had the feeling that Katie was really going to tell me a secret.

  “I was an average student in real life, rarely praised”—she paused before adding “or punished.” Then she was silent once more, as if listening to that word reverberating within our large living room, echoing off the bookshelves and the windows that look out over Manhattan’s richest quarter.

  “Punished?” I asked her. We’d been circling around this for some time, and I’d waited for her to reveal the all-consuming desire that I sensed lay at the core of our role-playing fantasies. Fantasies that we acted out, but never to the point of no return, never to the proper finish. When she looked over at me again, her face registered the fright of a young child caught in the act of stealing from the cookie jar, or a teenager sneaking into the house late only to confront the angry visage of a waiting father.

  “Go on,” I said encouragingly. I prayed that she would be able to bring this secret to the surface, where we might both benefit from the revelation.

  “I have fantasies before I fall asleep each night,” she said slowly, obviously determined this time to get the whole story out. I was thankful that she did not look over at me right then because it would have broken the atmosphere, the magi
c spell of our game. I was completely unable to hide the stirring of desire for her that I felt deep in my stomach. And lower.

  “I imagine that I am called into the headmaster’s office for some infraction. He asks me if I like being a bad girl.”

  Do you, Katie? I wanted to ask. Do you like being bad? But that would spoil things, wouldn’t it? She had to tell me in her own way, had to explain what she was feeling.

  “He tells me that he is tired of having me sent to him, that I apparently have no respect for the school or my teachers. And he says that I will have to be punished in a more severe way this time, so that it may have a stronger effect on me.”

  “Is he the one to punish you?” I asked when she seemed unsure of how to continue.

  “Yes.”

  Another pause.

  “How?” I waited for her answer with my pen tip poised on the pad.

  “He stands up and walks across the room to a couch. He motions for me to follow, and when I come to him he bends me over his lap and raises my short, pleated skirt.” She took a breath, and exhaled with a rush of words. “He pulls down my white panties and gives me a hard, sturdy spanking.”

  Neither of us spoke during the fraction of a minute it took me to compose myself. The image of my nubile darling with her white cotton underpants down to her ankles and her bare bottom flushed from a thorough spanking affected me deeply. I willed my cock to lie still, painfully aware of the growing bulge against my zippered crotch.

  “Is that where the fantasy ends?” I finally murmured.

  “No,” she admitted. “There’s more. At first, I try to struggle against him, but he holds me over his lap with an iron grip. He spanks me until I sob—something I haven’t done for years. If I cry now, it’s silent and discreet,” she said, looking at me, and I nodded. I know exactly what she’s like when she cries. “But in the fantasy I understand that the headmaster will continue the spanking until my resistance is gone completely. There’s something important about that, as if the ‘giving up’ is as necessary as the pain and the tears.”

  I’d been scribbling nonsense words on my pad of paper, finding this role-playing act increasingly difficult to keep up. The image of her coming, of her delicate fingers working faster and faster in little circles around her clit while her mind played a wonderful X-rated movie behind her tightly closed eyelids—this image did not help me still my hardened cock. It felt huge, larger than it had ever gotten when we’d played like this before. I think, probably, because the whole encounter felt so real, and that made it feel intensely dirty. Inwardly, I sighed with relief when she kept on without waiting for me to give a response.

  “I have other fantasies, too, and I guess, since I’ve come this far, I ought to tell you everything.”

  “Yes, I think that would be good,” I whispered. She looked over at me, questioning the low, gravelly sound of my voice, and I nodded my head at her, letting her know how much I wanted her to continue.

  “Another version has me being bad once again, only this time the school has different rules.”

  I wrote down “bad” on the note pad, imagining what a real doctor would write in this situation, wondering if another listener would understand that this word was as important to Katie as “punishment” and “spanking.” I could guess the other key words from my own fantasies: “naughty,” and “discipline.” As I made those notes, I wondered how far Katie’s masochistic thoughts ran, and I wondered why we hadn’t gone this far before. We’d dabbled in domination, but not in serious discipline.

  Katie obviously hadn’t accepted this side of herself, or she wouldn’t be telling me, with that worried expression marring her comely features. “Confession” occurred to me, and I wrote it down in the growing list on my pad.

  She said, “Those caught misbehaving are sent to the doctor’s for an examination. The headmaster says that I am to go to the infirmary, and I walk down a long hall until I reach that part of the school. The nurse ushers me into a stark, white examining room and tells me that I should remove my clothes and put on the white cloth gown.

  “Within moments, the door opens up and a handsome doctor, about forty years old, enters the room. He immediately requests that I lie flat on the table on my back, and he puts on rubber gloves and proceeds with a full pelvic exam. I am frightened because I’m turned on and know that he will be able to tell from the wetness, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “That done, he asks me to turn over. He tells me that he must take my temperature, and that he will do it with a rectal thermometer because that’s what he does for naughty girls. This part of the fantasy is so real. I know the feeling of the cold glass thermometer being inserted, know the pressure there… I start to cry silently during the long minutes that he leaves the thermometer in place.”

  She stopped and took a deep breath, and I watched her profile. Her cheeks were flushed the dark red of true shame, and she nervously bit on her bottom lip before she began speaking again. “When he removes the thermometer, he tells me that my temperature is normal, and that I am quite healthy. Then he has me sit up, straightens my gown for me, and asks me if I know what that means. I say that I do, that it means I am in for another spanking over the headmaster’s knee. But I’m wrong. He says that he is then required to purge the naughty thoughts from my body and that these thoughts are best gotten rid of with an enema.”

  She seemed to want to sink into the couch as she told me this, and I wished I could go on my knees before her and stroke her gossamer hair and kiss her cherry lips and tell her in my most soothing voice that everything would be OK. And then, I would like to tell her how very much I was dying to examine her and spank her and join her in each and every naughty, forbidden act that gave her so much pleasure in the private safety of her mind at night, yet brought her guilt in the sunny daylight on the mornings after.

  When she didn’t continue with the fantasy, I cleared my throat again and asked, “Does he give you an enema, Katie?”

  “He gives me the choice,” she said, “Whether I would prefer the spanking or the ‘purging.’ ”

  “And you choose—?”

  She actually turned her head toward the wall when she answered, and I had to strain my ears to hear her tiny voice. “The enema.”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t stop the stream of images that flooded through my mind, visions of this anonymous doctor telling Katie to turn on her stomach again and inserting the tip of the black rubber nozzle into her asshole. I longed to part the cheeks of her sweet, heart-shaped ass myself, to spread K-Y Jelly in that split of her body, to administer the “purging” enema to my sweetheart who so desperately wanted to be bad, and to be punished for her naughtiness.

  When I realized that she was through talking, at least for the moment, I put my note pad down and stood and walked over to the couch. She was startled and began to sit up, but I shook my head and said, “No, stay there for a moment. Let me talk.”

  Sitting next to her on the edge of the sofa, I took one of her hands in both of mine. I was aware of the heat radiating from her slim body, of the shine to her eyes, the color in her cheeks. I thought quickly about what I was going to tell her, and I tried to formulate my response into what I imagined a real doctor would say.

  “These fantasies worry you.” This was not a question, but she nodded anyway, her gold-flecked brown eyes wide open and staring at me. That was a good sign. She was no longer blushing, no longer turning away. She felt what was coming—I intuitively knew that—yet I kept stroking her hand and talking to her in my deep voice, using as soothing a tone as possible.

  “They needn’t cause you such distress,” I told her, hoping that she could see the smile lines crinkle in the corner of my eyes, although my face remained serious. “As I said at the beginning of our session, nothing the mind produces should frighten or embarrass you. These are only thoughts, only fantasies. And you can use them to your own benefit. To your own joy.” I could tell from her expression that she liked what I was saying.

/>   “This is not conventional, what I am about to suggest, but I would like to explore your fantasies with you.”

  Katie smiled. It lit her face from within, and her entire countenance seemed to relax. When she finally spoke, it was in barely more than a whisper, and I realized that she had truly been frightened to reveal her secret to me, no matter that we’ve been married for four years, or that I’ve always tried to make her comfortable with her darkest desires.

  “Then it’s come true.”

  “What, darling?”

  “My fantasy. Because you always play him in my daydreams—the doctor, the principal, the headmaster. Jack, you always play ‘the man.’ ”

  I couldn’t turn back now. After all this time, we were on the verge, ready to plunge into a world where her fantasies melded with mine. I kept her hand tight within my own as I asked, “Katie, tell me the truth. Have you been a bad girl?”

  She didn’t really need to say the word. I was so ready, ready to move her from her comfortable reclining position on the sofa to a much more suitable one over my knees, her skirt pulled up, her panties down. But I wanted to hear her answer, and I waited until she nodded and in that same, hushed voice said, “Yes, Jack.”

  “There’s only one way that we deal with bad girls, here,” I told her, helping her to find her place across my lap. “With a bare-bottomed spanking,” I continued, feeling the warmth in her skin as I slid her skirt up her thighs, taking the time to admire her pale bottom cheeks as I lowered her pristine white panties. “You understand,” I said before my hand met her ass for the first time. “You do understand, don’t you, Katie?”

  Her words, “Oh, yes, Jack,” were almost orgasmic in quality, a rush of breath as she prepared herself for the feeling of my hand connecting with her skin. I started then, and my cock strained up to press hard against her body as I spanked her. Christ, the feel of it was almost unreal, my hand smacking her blushing skin, her body squirming, rocking hard against my cock. I could have come from that movement alone, the whole image of it, her harsh breath catching in her throat, the clapping sound that my hand made as I continued to spank her adorable ass.