‘Oh, one thing sort of led to another,’ I remarked casually. ‘You know, sometimes girls like to play rough.’
‘Uh-huh. It looks like it must’ve hurt – a lot.’
I turned around to face him, a mischievous smile spreading across my puffy lips. ‘It did…at first, but once I got into it – really got into it – it didn’t hurt at all; it felt good. Would you like me to demonstrate?’
He retreated a few steps when I drew one of Marianne’s yardsticks out from under our bed and advanced on him. ‘Hey, wait a minute, Kate! What’d you think you’re going to do with that?’ he babbled.
‘Naughty boy!’ I said fiercely. ‘Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to talk back?’ After Marianne had helped me ice down my flaming bum, she’d taught me how to use her various instruments of obedience – for maximum enjoyment.
Jim laughed nervously. ‘C’mon, Kate, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you –’
‘You come on, Jim!’ I responded angrily, then moderated my voice. ‘Do you want to spice up our sex life, or not?’
He mulled that over for a moment, watching me warily as I slid the long, hard, wooden ruler back and forth in my hands. Then he abruptly unbuckled and unzipped his pants, let them fall at his feet. ‘I’ve been a bad boy,’ he said with equal parts contrition and inquiry.
‘That’s better. Your underpants, too.’ I smacked the measuring stick across my hand.
He stepped out of his jeans and tugged down his Jockeys, never taking his eyes off of me and my spanking device. His thick cock sprung out, already partially inflated. I ordered him to bend over and place his hands on the edge of the bed, and he quickly complied. His big, bare ass presented an excellent target for my erotic anger. He gripped the bedcovers and spread his legs, then had the audacity to wiggle his bum at me.
I smacked his pale ass lightly with the yardstick, giving him a taste. ‘Don’t get cheeky with me, mister,’ I intoned, getting in position on the left side of his exposed bottom.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry!’
I swatted his round butt, harder this time, and an inch-wide line of red flashed across his taut buttocks and then winked out. I hit him again, and again and again, the three-foot ruler making a cracking sound as I whacked it against my husband’s ass. He moaned, and began tugging on his now fully-engorged cock as he clung to the bed with one hand. He thrust his bottom even higher into the air, begging me to hammer him all the more.
I walloped his jiggling buns repeatedly as he fisted his cock and groaned with a mixture of pain and pleasure. The yardstick whistled through the air and crashed into his derriere over and over, his cute caboose flushing as red as my face. His cries got more and more urgent, telling me that he was close to coming – too close, too soon, in my opinion. ‘You’re not going to get off that easy!’ I yelled at him, and halted my sensual ass abuse. An idea had occurred to me – an extremely nasty, dirty idea.
He twisted his head around and dropped his rock-hard erection, gingerly touched his overheated backside. ‘Please, Kate,’ he whined. ‘I was almost there.’
‘Oh, you’ll get there,’ I assured him. ‘But you’re going to have a little more help.’ I tugged open the bottom drawer of my bedstand, rummaged around, and plucked out the eight-inch red dildo that I’d been relying on far too often lately.
Jim stared unbelievingly at me as I slowly and sexily tongued and sucked the big, plastic faux-cock, getting it all nice and wet. Then he squealed with alarm when I suddenly shoved the bulbous head of the spit-slick pussy-pleaser hard against his clenched pucker. ‘It’s not going to fit, Kate!’ he shrieked.
I thumped his ass with the yardstick. ‘I warned you about talking back,’ I sternly warned him again, then laid another hiding on his cooling posterior with the wooden sex toy. Once his ass was violently ablaze again, I retrieved the container of lube Marianne had generously given me, and sprayed some of it on my old faithful, and Jim’s starfish.
‘You’re such a baby,’ I said contemptuously as he whimpered. Then I prodded the head of the slippery dildo into his asshole.
He desperately tried to reach back and spread his twitching, tenderized pillows as I relentlessly jammed the unbending cock into him. Inch by hardened inch I slowly sank the dildo into his virgin anus, until all but the base was securely lodged in his chute. I wiggled it around, and he grunted and buried his face in the bedspread.
‘Hold it in your ass!’ I commanded, and let go of the pre-formed prick and took a step back. I whipped the yardstick around in the air a couple of times to limber up my arm again, refresh Jim’s memory, and then slashed it across his beet-red butt cheeks, started flogging him all over again.
‘Fuck, yeah!’ he screamed, grabbing his enraged dick and pumping it.
I smacked the ass-mounted dildo and his bum at the same time, sending shivers throughout his charged body. He frantically jacked his meat, his hand a blur, his legs shaking as I spanked and spanked his violated ass. Then he bellowed my name and jerked thick ropes of semen out of his pulsating cock.
I kept right on smacking his inflamed, dildo-stuffed ass with my borrowed tree chunk, as he sprayed a huge load of sperm onto our carpet and bed. He was punished for that, as well.
Blame It On The Champagne
by Gwen Masters
I blame it all on the champagne.
Or maybe I should blame the high heels. I wasn’t accustomed to them, after all. I don’t go to things like that awards show every day. I’m a quiet, simple kind of girl. I don’t go for the glamour and flash and glitz of the celebrity thing. How I found myself smiling for a camera and signing autographs is usually a bit beyond my realm of comprehension. I just write the songs.
And last night, I spilled champagne on Mitch.
Actually, it wasn’t just spilling champagne. It was running into him out on the carpet (not the red one, silly, the green one – it was the after-party-party, you know) and then landing in his lap. Well, almost. He wasn’t sitting down when I ran into him. But by the time I was done with him, we were both on the floor.
Later we were on the counter. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
So there I was, dressed to the nines and my date was nowhere to be found. Alan wasn’t a date in the first place, not really. He was more of an escort, a guy from a record label who just happened to need a cutie on his arm and I was a cutie who just happened to need an arm. Perfect. I didn’t even know his last name.
The show was over and I had a choice: go home and go to bed or go to the after party and hope that I met someone to go to bed with. I’m not one of those prudes who think that emotion has to accompany the sex. Hell, no. Give me a good-looking stud and a few shots of choice alcohol and I’m bound to do damn near anything. Then I might write a song about it. Fucking doesn’t pay the bills, but it does make for good inspiration.
So that’s how I wound up in the middle of the party with a glass of champagne in one hand and the other fiddling with my little clutch purse. I was talking to some up-and-coming artist with an independent label, one of those whose dreams are bigger than any bank account could ever help satisfy. He was getting around to asking me if I would write a song for him. He wasn’t interested in anything more than that, and that certainly wasn’t what I was looking for. The evening wasn’t all about business, was it?
I drank my champagne and smiled and said that I would come up with something. His manager could get with my publisher and they could talk it over. He smiled and immediately started looking for other people to talk to, anyone who might be willing to talk business and give him that oh-so-important step up the music industry ladder.
I downed the glass and when the waiter came around, I plucked another from the tray.
I wandered from one little group to another, mostly eavesdropping on conversations, finding nothing of interest. I plucked olives and cheese cubes from the catering table. There was sushi, and I had a bit of tha
t, not because I liked it but simply because it looked good to act like I liked it. Sushi bars were all the rage around town, God only knew why. I always preferred a good cheeseburger.
I thought about switching to something else to drink and then changed my mind. Wasn’t it true that if one mixed one’s liquor, one wound up with a hangover? Or was that mixing liquor and beer? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I wanted to get laid but I wanted to remember it.
After another thirty minutes of wandering aimlessly, I gave up. Everyone was in the mood to talk business. It was almost one in the morning, and I never understood those who wanted to talk business long after the time for business had passed. So far as I’m concerned, anything after midnight should be strictly personal, not professional.
I took my glass with me as I walked the other way down that green carpet. It was always odd to walk out of a high-class party like that. When you came in, there were flashbulbs everywhere. When you came out, there was nothing but trash along the sides of the carpet and all the well-wishers and reporters were long gone, probably sitting in front of their computers and coming up with ways to edit what you just said into something more interesting. It was a sad and lonely time, to come walking out of one of those things, especially if you were alone.
I took a deep swallow of the champagne. I wasn’t paying much attention. That’s when I ran into Mitch.
He was walking into the party, more than a little fashionably late, and I walked right into him. It was like running into a brick wall. My champagne splashed all over me, all over him, all over the carpet. He was just as surprised as I was, and didn’t have a chance to keep his balance. He went down on his rump with a surprised groan, and I landed right on top of him. My little purse went flying, and so did the champagne glass. It rolled across the carpet but didn’t shatter.
He looked right into my eyes. His were a deep blue, and they were filled with amusement.
‘Howdy,’ he drawled.
Then he laughed out loud. The man was soaked with champagne, and that suit looked like it had cost a fortune. His hair was curly and a little too long, and in his ear was a diamond stud. He smelled great. His face was covered with stubble, the kind of stubble that is intentional. He might as well have had the word metrosexual written on his forehead in neon paint.
He was sexy as hell, and I was sitting right in his lap.
I started to get up. It was hard to do, considering I was wearing fuck-me pumps with three-inch heels. He reached out to steady me, and instead of doing that, his hand wound up on the curve of my calf. He was holding me right where I was.
‘I’m Mitch,’ he said conversationally, as if we were sitting at dinner instead of sitting on the floor. I was very aware of the presence of something hard underneath my thigh. Whether it was his keys or something else, I had no idea. I ground against him a little bit, just to find out. The amusement in his eyes darkened into something else, and I had my answer.
‘I’m Carrie,’ I told him.
‘Carrie,’ he said softly, testing the word on his tongue. ‘It’s good to meet you.’
‘You’re covered with champagne,’ I said, and he laughed. I blushed.
‘That gives us something in common.’
I made a move to stand up, and this time he put his hand on my hip. There was no mistaking what he was doing. I gave him a look that said so, and he gave me an apologetic smirk.
I wanted this one. Yes, indeed.
He looked at me closely, then his eyes grew even wider. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re the songwriter. Right?’
I nodded, and suddenly I realized who he was, too. ‘You’re the new guy with the record label.’
‘Well, well.’ His smile broadened. He had a strong, square jaw, but his lips were full and soft. ‘Guess we’ve already made the acquaintance. What comes now?’
He looked at me openly, as if saying I could have anything I wanted. I knew what I wanted. I made a move to get to my feet and this time he helped me up. He watched my legs as he did it. When I reached out a hand to help him to his feet, he made sure to trail his hand all the way up my thigh. He settled that hand lightly on my waist, even as he looked down at his suit jacket. There was a splash of darkness across the left lapel. It was going to be a horrible stain, and for a moment I forgot all about my horniness.
‘I will definitely pay for that,’ I said, even as I thought about the low numbers in my bank account. A songwriter’s income is an iffy thing, determined mostly by radio airplay, and things had been slow lately.
‘No bother,’ he said. ‘The cleaners will know what to do.’
And then that part of the conversation was over. We stared at each other.
‘But I guess I do need to blot this a bit,’ he said softly.
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe over there in the bathroom. That’s the best place, right?’
I looked around slowly. The hallway was completely empty. The sound of revelry still came from the party – it was obvious that somebody had opened up a bottle more potent than the champagne.
‘Probably so.’
‘And you need to clean up, too,’ he said. He ran his hand over the front of my dress. It was wet with champagne, and my nipple was poking at the fabric. His light touch made me shiver. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. His eyes were suddenly very serious.
‘You’re all wet,’ he said, and there was that smirk again.
‘Yes…’
‘Let’s go clean up, shall we?’
He turned on his heel, the movement as fluid as that of a dancer, and held out his hand. He insisted that I walk before him. I knew he was watching my ass, especially when I bent to pick up that little clutch purse that matched my dress. When I got to the outer doors of the restroom area, I paused. One side was for men and the other for women.
I walked into the women’s restroom. He walked in right behind me.
‘Mitch –’
His hand landed on my shoulder. He spun me around. I almost lost my balance. Then his lips were on mine, and I was holding on to his shoulders to keep from melting into the floor. There was no hesitation as his tongue swept into my mouth and took possession of what he wanted. He pushed me against the counter of the long, wide sink. My purse fell from my hands with a clatter. His hands delved into my hair. Hairpins pinged on the floor as my upsweep unravelled and my hair tumbled down.
I unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it open. The shirt underneath it was silk. I unbuttoned that too. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his chest was covered with fine, blond hair. I ran my fingertips through it and found two hard nipples. He groaned when I touched them. I kissed him harder, until he pulled back to catch his breath.
‘You sure?’ he asked.
‘Do I feel sure?’
He grinned down at me. The next kiss was on my shoulder as he found the zipper on the back of my dress and slid it down. He spread his fingers wide on my naked back. The heat of his hand was almost startling. He slid his hand down lower, until he was caressing the curve of my ass. His kiss trailed up my shoulder and across my collarbone.
By then I had his shirt open and pushed off his shoulders. He was deeply tanned but, even so, his skin was covered with a fine sprinkling of dark freckles. His arms were hard as steel as I put my hands on them and pushed the shirt farther down. He moved back long enough to allow me to open his belt buckle and unzip his pants – then he was against me again, slowly moving up and down, grinding against me in a way that made us both moan aloud.
‘This is going to be good,’ he whispered in my ear.
He grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the counter. The porcelain was cold as hell. He kissed his way down the centre of my chest until his hands reached my ankles. Then he started caressing his way up my legs, pushing my dress up as he went. I wiggled closer to the edge of the counter as he started kissing the inside of my thighs. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder. I leaned back against the mirror.
I was amazed t
hat he wanted that – what I thought would be a quick fuck was turning into much more playtime than I had dared hope to find. He licked his way up my thighs and then he was pushing my legs wide apart, holding me open for his tongue.
I groaned when he started to explore. He moaned in response. His hands tightened on my thighs. He was sweeping that tongue up and down, tasting everywhere. He found my clit and pressed down on it. He didn’t strum it or flick it, but kept up a steady pressure, slipping his tongue from side to side and up and down. This was a man who had been around the block with a pussy or two.
‘Oh, God,’ I groaned. I held on to the counter so hard, my knuckles were white. I looked down at his blond curly hair as he moved between my legs. I was right on the edge, and from the motion of my hips, he knew it.
Then he stopped.
‘Fuck!’ I hollered in protest. He calmly stood up and pushed his slacks down. What he had behind his boxers looked delightful, indeed – and it was more than enough to make me forget about his tongue.
‘I want to feel it,’ he said simply. He bent quickly and picked up my purse. ‘I’m willing to bet you were ready for this,’ he said.
I nodded and took the purse from him. Inside it was a tube of lipstick, a credit card, a small amount of cash and a tiny compact mirror. In that compact a condom was nestled, just in case a time like this might come along. I held it up in front of him and he snatched it out of my hand, ripped it open, and let me watch as he rolled it on. It was almost too small, and that fact made me want him even more.
‘Give me a good ride, cowboy,’ I said, and he pushed my legs wide apart. One long stroke was what I got, and by the time he was fully inside me I was gasping for air and clutching at his shoulders. ‘Fuck, yes!’
‘You like that?’ The smirk was back.
‘Fuck me,’ I said. ‘Fuck me hard.’
Mitch did exactly as I asked. I wrapped my legs around his hips and rode every stroke with him. I had my hands in his hair and my ass was being pounded hard against the porcelain counter, which was now just as hot as we were. His hands were on the small of my back, pulling me toward him. It also pushed my breasts up toward his mouth, and he was sampling first one nipple and then the other, paying equal attention to each one.
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