The room got quiet and Paul, looking at the floor, started playing with his cock. It got longer and thicker and I started licking my lips, and getting wet. I'm sure I wasn't the only one. I secretly hoped Marcie was in the mood to share.
Marcie then told Paul to come and stand in front of her. She was sitting in one of the chairs pulled in from the dining room for the meeting. She leaned over, and started tonguing his cock. From my angle, I watched his ass tighten and relax, over and over again. If I were alone with Paul, I'd have some plans for that ass!
Marcie stroked him a few more times, and then told us, "We're going to play Pass the Paul." She laughed at her own silly phrase. "Whatever I do to Paul, you get to do, too!"
Paul moved to his right and the next gal took her turn, licking the tip of his cock, but not putting the entire thing in her mouth. She's pretty small. I doubted she could get it all the way down her throat anyway.
Each minute or so, Marcie would clear her throat and Paul would move to the next girl. When he got to me, I tried to outdo the others, pulling and sucking on the tip of his cock with my tongue and teeth. I heard his sharp intake of breath and he moaned briefly when I bit down ever so gently. Before I had a chance to find my rhythm, he moved on to the next girl. Damn.
When he got back to Marcie, she wrapped her lips around his cock, and pulled him toward her. He fucked her mouth while she roughly held and squeezed his balls. I couldn't wait for my turn, too!
By the time Paul got back to me again, I was famished and I sucked hard. I could taste his precum in my throat.
Paul was clearly having a hard time holding his load but he knew there would be hell to pay if he came before Marcie allowed him. After the circle suck (okay, I came up with that one myself), Marcie ordered him to get on his knees by the coffee table, and to lay across it. She put a chair to his left, sat on it, and started smacking his ass with her bare hand. The sounds were loud and I knew her hand had to have been stinging along with his ass. Before long, his ass cheeks were turning a nice, dark pink and I could not wait to have my turn once again. Nothing turns me on more than a man's blistered ass.
A few other gals took their turns and then it was mine. I sat on the chair and started walloping him good. He was grunting, and occasionally crying out. I even managed to land a few smacks on his tender thighs before my turn was over.
I was so excited that I kept wondering, 'Why didn't we think of this long ago?'
During the next "circle", Marcie made Paul lie on his back on the table with his legs spread to each side. She positioned herself between his legs, and started smacking his thighs. He was hard as a rock and her hand occasionally skimmed his cock. He would strain, and cry out, which was a huge turn-on for the rest of us. The more he resisted, the wetter we all got. I was pretty sure my pussy was soaking through to Marcie's furniture. If things kept going the way they were, the entire room would soon reek of pussy.
When it was my turn, I made sure to slap his thighs AND his balls. His erection started to diminish. Mission accomplished. You know you're inflicting pain when their cock stops doing its job. That's when I know I've taken my slave to the next level.
After that round, Marcie reached into her large purse, and pulled out a huge rubber cock, along with a bottle of "warming" lube—the kind that sets your ass on fire. She approached Paul, and told him to sit up. He started to complain and cry. She smacked him hard across the face, and told him to get on his knees again, and to bend over. She then instructed him to grab the other side of the coffee table, and to hold on TIGHT.
She lubed up the dildo and his asshole, and gently inserted it just a bit, and then farther and farther. He started crying again and she told him to shut up. She motioned for Luanne to come over, and told her to ram it in and out as fast as she could. Paul suddenly started moaning and panting. He was really enjoying this, the slut. As we all took turns, I couldn't believe Paul didn't come over and over again with the way he was grinding his ass back against the dildo, and making all that noise. I could see his cock between his legs and he was grinding that against the side of the table. If Marcie wasn't careful, Paul was going to lose control before we all had a turn!
And, I was right. That's exactly what he did. He came all over the side of the coffee table and the carpet.
Marcie was furious! She screamed at him, telling him he'd humiliated her in front of her friends, what a slut he was, etc. I sat there smugly, my pussy and thighs wet, wiggling in my chair.
I knew I was a much better dom than Marcie. At least I could control my sub. I couldn't wait until next week because then it would be MY turn. I would show my friends the proper way to train a sub to hold an orgasm.
Punishing Cheaters
by Lauren
I hate men. Weak, sniveling children is all they are. Whenever I feel the need to blow off some steam, I pick up a stranger at a bar, go to my place, and punish that man in the name of all men.
There's a neighbor of mine who comes around almost every day to "say hi." He's an ass. Married. Kids. He doesn't care about them. He only cares about dipping his wick in me, which will never happen. I try to keep my peace with my neighbors because, well, that's the wise thing to do. While I usually just don't answer the door when the asshole stops by, sometimes he catches me as I'm leaving or arriving. I swear he sits out there, and waits for me. Like he has a snowball's chance in hell. A man with no respect for women, especially no respect for his wife and children, is vermin.
So, the other day he walks up just as I'm getting out of my car. I tell him I'm busy but he keeps yapping his mouth off. Narcissistic jerk. I try to be polite but that doesn't work. He has one foot in my front door and I shut that door on his toes while firmly saying, "For the last time, I'm busy!" Then, he has the gall to knock again! I ignored him. I was so pissed at married men in general by this time that I knew what I had to do.
I put on my LBD (little black dress for those of you who were born yesterday), and went to a local bar. Familiar scene. Half the slobs at the bar wore wedding rings and all of them stared at me as I walked in.
I chose the richest looking one, and sat beside him. I let him buy me a shot and I downed it. My first two words to him were, "My place." He followed me out like a lapdog. We got in my car and I didn't say a word to him on my way home.
When we got to my house, I let him in, and pointed to the bedroom. He obediently walked that way. Once inside, I slammed the door, and started taking my clothes off. His eyes got wide and he started doing the same. I pointed to the bed. He laid down. I walked to my closet, and retrieved two pairs of handcuffs, two scarves, a ball gag, and my crop.
"Turn over on your stomach, and spread your arms and legs wide." The loser already had a huge hard-on. He did as he was told. I cuffed his hands to eyeholes in my headboard and I tied his ankles to the footboard. I grabbed what little hair he had left, and jerked his head back, shoving the ball gag in his mouth, and securing the straps behind his head. He seemed to be enjoying himself. That wouldn't last long.
He turned his head sideways so he could watch me. That was good. He could see every swing of my arm as I hit him over and over again with the crop, leaving red welts across his ass, lower back, and upper thighs. He started bucking, and straining at the restraints. I said, "Nice try, asshole. You're not going anywhere. Where's your wife, by the way? Have any kids?" I swung more, enjoying the sound of the crop whizzing through the air.
The more he bucked and shook, the wetter my pussy got. I was hitting him repeatedly now, my large breasts bouncing wildly with each swing. I was starting to sweat and my hair was sticking to my forehead and back. While swinging with my right hand, I started rubbing my pussy with my left. I came quickly, and whipped him harder while my cunt convulsed.
After I was done, he was blubbering like a baby. I placed my crop on the nightstand, and grabbed his trousers off the floor. Inside, I found his wallet, which contained pictures of his wife and beautiful kids. If only they knew what a loser he was. I took pi
ctures of his license and his kids' and wife's photos with my phone as insurance. I then took lots of pictures of him, lying there with his ass apple red and tears all over his face. Like I said—insurance.
I grabbed my whip from the hook in the closet, and snapped it a few times. After untying his ankles and freeing him from the handcuffs, I snapped the whip to remind him who was in control. He grabbed his clothes and wallet, and raced naked to the door.
I yelled behind him, "Go home to your family, you sniveling wimp!"
I doubt I'll see him at that bar again...but there will always be others.
A Housewife Turns the Tables
by Ron
It had come to Peter’s attention that every married woman he met wanted to fuck him. Let’s face it, he’d muse during his hour commute home, enveloped in his car, married women are mostly eternally, infernally frustrated, and I have what ails them.
It was Peter’s view that husbands of long standing must have grown bored with their woman’s attitude. The lady in question had to be forever questioning her life now that the kids were teens. She was on the late side of forty, and had completely forgotten exactly who the man was she slept next to every night. As far as Peter knew and had experienced, he was the perfect candidate for the clandestine affairs every woman in this affluent suburban burg were after to get their freak on with.
The only thing was...Peter was slightly delusional.
In his mind, Peter was a strong-chinned, lanky man in his early 40’s (he was actually 48). His ice-y blue eyes spoke to his intelligence and, when the light hit his salt and pepper, cross cropped hair just right, he did appear this side of ruggedly handsome. He had kept his weight to a moderate level, sported big guns (muscles he had been blessed with since high school), and had a rather high little backside. All in all, Peter cut an attractive figure, could talk a good game, and did actually enjoy women, so much so that the enjoyment had cost him his marriage of five years. His wife had finally left because of his incessant flirting. She'd feared his verbal dalliances would one day turn into an affair. But, Peter had never cheated on Gayle. Now, however, he was convinced every married woman he came in contact with, who had given him their numbers, would cheat with him.
What Peter didn’t count on in his jump-to-assessment of the female mind, and actually stopped him cold, was meeting Vanessa.
‘V’, as she told Peter she preferred to be addressed, was a lanky redhead with two kids, a Mercedes truck-SUV-whatever-the-fuck-they-are-called, and a husband on a permanent business trip. Peter had spied the lady with the great apple ass on two occasions before he got up the nerve to sidle up next to her at the produce counter. When he did, he found Vanessa the perfect example of his assumed woman-in-waiting and she eagerly shared her number with him.
The couple wasted no time in making a ‘date’ to meet. In fact, Peter felt a pang of nervousness at this actual prospect-come-true when the lady invited him to her home the Thursday night following their second conversation, promising Peter that “my girls will be out and, of course, my husband is out of town again this week."
Peter’s pang wasn’t morality knocking at his psychic door. He had long believed, ‘if they want to fuck, and they are married, that’s no skin off my foreskin’. No, V unnerved Peter as she did with her assumptions, her obvious come-on, and her very last words to him before she hung up the phone that night: “I really hope you can go the distance. I hate a weak man.”
That Thursday, Peter texted V on his way to her house, as he told her he would, and received this text back.
I have a front porch, screened-in. Get undressed there, then knock on my door.
Thrilled, scared, but most of all challenged, Peter parked his car two doors down on the skinny, tree-lined street. He all but hopped to the house with the lime green shutters (and porch), two from the corner. It was a brisk fall night but V’s house was hidden behind a big oak in her front yard. Entering the porch, Peter shut the creaking door behind him, then promptly took to stripping down to his boxers and socks.
“I thought I said get undressed,” Vanessa said on opening her red front door seconds after Peter knocked.
The pretty lady was dressed in a robe to match the color of her hair. Casual and soft now, this housewife looked even prettier and years younger than the 50 he knew her to be. When the lady did not move to invite him across her threshold, and said nothing more, Peter understood, and balanced to remove his socks, stepped on the cold wooden floor of the porch, and bent to peel down his underwear.
“Just add that to your demerits,” V said, and stepped aside to let Peter wag his half-masting erection into her house before the rest of him.
That the lady hadn’t looked down at his cock unnerved Peter as he passed into a dark, candle-lit living room. As he turned to V, who walked with him to a high-backed chair placed in the center of her high ceiling room, he took to wagging what was then growing into quite the erection at the lady. V simply smiled and undid her robe as she walked around the man dead center of the room, and to her chair.
The lady was naked save for a pair of ruby red heels. Peter’s cock pounded then as he regarded the lean lady in all her glory; pink, light skin, small, firm B-cups (he reasoned on first look), nipples hard and erect like little pale erasers, and those impossibly long, toned legs, folding up high to a tiny landing-strip sprig of fiery red hair at her crotch.
“Let’s add overconfidence, a wandering eye before you were told to stare, and an erection that doesn’t seem to know any maturity to the rest of the list.”
Peter simply stood, unaware of what this woman was going on about, but liking what he saw and felt.
“Now, get across," said V, the Mistress of this house, mom and wife, sitting her fine, alabaster bottom on that wooden, high-backed chair, which was dead center of her circular, multi-colored living room rug.
She stared up at the man who was staring down open mouthed at her.
“Like I said, overconfidence, a wandering eye, an immature cock, not following my orders on the porch and…” and here the lady reached across, took hold of Peter’s wrist, and pulled him to her side. His cock actually started losing some of its steel popping hardness then.
"And, of course, your absolute conviction that a married lady like me, even with a husband gone all the time, would want to fuck you.”
Peter suddenly found himself bent over the warm lap under him.
“A spanking you deserve and a spanking you will get.”
Peter tried to get up but she quickly reached under him, grabbing his cock and pulling—hard. Peter settled down and V proceeded to spank his cheeks with her hand back and forth, one and then the other. This wasn't so bad, he thought. It only stung a little bit and he found he enjoyed being "punished" in this fashion.
"Clearly, you are enjoying this," V interrupted his thoughts.
Was she reading his mind now?
"I guess we will need to try something different. Get up and follow me."
Peter did as he was told, happy to follow her wavering ass anywhere.
They ended up in the master bedroom. She walked into the closet, and emerged with a scarf. She pulled it around his eyes, tying it in the back. She then went back to the closet, and returned with two wrist cuffs and a narrow leather strap. Of course, Peter couldn't see any of this.
V led him to the door frame. "Put your arms up." He did as he was told. She reached up, and fixed the cuffs around his wrists, and then quickly clipped one and then the other to two eyebolts that were installed at the top of the door frame. Once he heard the "clicks", Peter tried to pull his arms back down, but realized he was stuck in that position, standing straight up with his arms stretched above his head.
"Now, you won't find this very pleasant, Peter," V whispered in his ear. She stood behind him, gripping the thin, leather strap. At about 36 inches long and 1/2 an inch wide, it was perfect. She reared back and brought it straight across his ass. Peter yelled as his knees buckled.
"V, thi
s isn't what I had in mind!" he gasped.
His hips lurched forward as the strap hit him again, higher on the cheeks this time. He groaned, "Please, V!"
"You and your cocky, I-can-have-any-woman-I-want attitude... We'll just see about fixing that, won't we?"
V swung again, back farther this time. The strap swished through the air, and came to land across Peter's inner thigh. V's face was flushed with excitement and she swung back again. With each strike, Peter's knees got weaker and weaker. By the tenth stroke, he was literally hanging from his shackled wrists, exhausted and sweating from the punishment, begging to be released.
V paused for a moment, and reached around him. His cock was as soft as butter. The whipping was working perfectly.
After a few more swings, Peter's ass had dark red welts criss-crossed this way and that. V stood back to admire her handiwork.
She walked to the sink, and laid down the strap. Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a container of coconut oil. She opened it and immersed her hands in the jar. Approaching Peter once more, she got on her knees behind him, and started massaging the oil into his sore cheeks. He found his footing again, and stood, giving his stretched wrists a rest.
"Bend over," V ordered.
Peter did, as much as the shackles would allow him to. V then inserted first one finger, and then two, and then, slowly, all of them into Peter's ass. He protested as first, but then started swaying to and fro, silently asking her to fuck him. While she did so with one hand, she reached around him with the other, and worked his growing cock into a hard staff. Pushing with one hand, and pulling with another, she matched his rhythm, but ordered him not to come. Within a minute, he was begging her to let him but she refused, moving her hands even faster. The torture was noticeable as he continued to stiffen his body. When she knew he was almost at the point of no return, she stopped what she was doing, and returned to the sink to wash her hands, and to slowly and neatly put away her supplies.
69 SHADES OF RED: Femdom Stories of Spankings and Other Sexual Punishments - Bend Over! You Know You Deserve It! Volume 2 of the WellHeeledDominatrix.com Collection Page 3
