Five Minute Fantasies 2

by Cathryn Cooper

  At five to eleven, she picked up a newspaper, paid the girl behind the counter and stepped into the street. Normally she crossed the road straight away, but for once she stayed on the opposite side – the mystery woman’s side of the street. As she neared the woman’s driveway, she heard goodbyes being said, then a car engine started and the second client drove away. Rachel peered at him through his windscreen, spotting the satisfied smile upon his face. The mystery woman was still on her doorstep. On seeing her, Rachel crossed the street for home.

  ‘Wait,’ shouted the beautiful dominatrix, her words making Rachel stop dead in her tracks. There was something in the woman’s tone of voice that made it clear she was giving out a definite order. Disobeying her wasn’t an option, so Rachel slowly turned around. The domme crooked her finger, beckoning Rachel towards her, with a magnetic force she couldn’t resist. ‘I don’t like snoopers,’ the leather queen snapped, as the housewife neared her doorstep. Reaching out, she grabbed Rachel’s hand and tugged her, forcefully, over the threshold.

  Rachel was struck dumb for a second, surprised by the woman’s obvious strength. She gazed up and down her leather-clad body, instantly understanding why so many men were happy to worship at the feet of such a striking, statuesque woman. Her powerful thighs and voluptuous breasts were truly Amazonian, but it was the thigh-high boots that really did it! The six-inch heels left her towering over Rachel’s body. It was impossible not to look up to her!

  ‘I…I didn’t m-mean to spy on you,’ Rachel stammered, keen to get in the domme’s good books.

  ‘I didn’t mean to spy on you, Mistress,’ the domme corrected her, pointing towards a door at the end of the hallway. Rachel knew the doorway led to the cellar, because the house was the same design as hers. Mike used theirs for storing wine, but the Mistress of this house was sure to be different.

  ‘Down there, bad girl,’ shouted the domme, then she waited to see what Rachel would do. The front door was still open, so she was easily able to leave. Her own house was visible just across the street, but instead she headed for the cellar door. As she opened it and climbed down the stairs, the domme shut the front door, a smile breaking out upon her lips. She was thrilled at the prospect of having a brand new toy to play with, especially one with so much pent-up sexual tension inside her body.

  Being attuned to such matters, the beautiful domme had been able to sense Rachel’s tension even from across the street. Whenever she moved to a new area, there was always someone who took an unhealthy interest in her affairs. Often it was under the guise of the Neighbourhood Watch, or some other prurient body, but the prurience always seemed to conceal an inner submissiveness. Following Rachel down into the cellar, she knew her new slave would be like putty in her hands. Rachel had waited her whole life to meet someone like Mistress Becki, someone who could unlock the darkest desires within.

  ‘Welcome to my dungeon,’ said the tall dominatrix, flicking a switch to turn on the light. All the hours Rachel had spent spying on and thinking about the dominatrix had not prepared her for such a sight. Her imagination was not wild enough to envisage all the whips, the chains, let alone the furniture – a medieval rack and an iron maiden. A nervous tingle ran through her flesh, turning it to goose bumps, as she eyed up the tools of Mistress Becki’s trade. She was out of her depth, but she rather liked the feeling. It was exciting to place herself completely at the mercy of this fascinating creature.

  ‘Get naked, slave,’ commanded Mistress Becki, fetching a long-handled whip from a corner of the room. She lashed it through the air, producing an ear-splitting crack, which prompted Rachel into action. She was terrified of disobeying the whip-wielding dominatrix, but just as scared of the damage the whip could do to her naked flesh. Trembling inwardly, she removed her skirt and blouse, but the dominatrix wanted more. ‘And your underwear,’ insisted Mistress Becki, hovering over her submissive slave.

  ‘Do I have to, Mistress?’ Rachel asked, immediately regretting the question.

  ‘Do exactly as I say, you stupid slut,’ shouted the furious domme, then she lashed the whip through the air again, close enough for Rachel to feel the breeze.

  Shocked into life, Rachel slipped out of her bra and knickers, a mix of motions tumbling through her mind. A part of her was wracked with terror, but a bigger part of her was enjoying her intense vulnerability. Her naked body, which hadn’t been pleasured in over two months, was now fully in the hands of this strong and gorgeous bitch-goddess from hell.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mistress Becki, slowly circling Rachel’s naked form. She stopped behind her, then stroked her buttocks, gently scratching the housewife’s flesh with her long, manicured fingernails. ‘I’ve seen you watching me,’ she said, applying subtle pressure to Rachel’s back and forcing her to lean across the medieval rack. ‘Do you wonder what I do to make those men all feel so happy?’ she asked. ‘Well, the time for you to wonder has stopped. You’re not spying any more, you bad, bad girl. The time has come for you to experience everything for real.’

  Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes, afraid but excited about what would happen next. Her buttocks were poking up in the air, defenceless against Mistress Becki’s whip, which lashed through the air and smacked into her flesh. She screamed at the point of impact, the sting of the lash unbearable, although something made her hungry for more. She raised her buttocks even higher, as if enticing the domme to flay her again. She heard it first, the menacing crack of the whip, then once again she felt the sting.

  ‘You’re a bad, bad girl,’ yelled Mistress Becki, raising her hand to shoulder-height. The tail of the whip coiled around her arm, just like a snake being charmed by its master, then the length of cord straightened out again, as she thrashed it towards Rachel’s bare behind. It struck her on the top of her thighs, bringing with it a ferocious burst of pain that caused an agonised scream to spill from her lips. Unable to cope with the thought of another painful blow, Rachel begged for mercy. But she got no mercy, just another firm lash – the decisive one, which carried her over the threshold into a whole new world of intense fulfilment.

  ‘Can you feel it now?’ asked Mistress Becki, training the whip upon Rachel’s back.

  ‘Yes, Mistress,’ she groaned, as the lash sent a wave of endorphins coursing through her veins. Her body’s self-defence mechanism had been triggered into action, causing a wave of euphoria to overwhelm her senses and turning the painful torment into blissful pleasure. The domme raised her whip on high again, then thrashed the hell out of Rachel’s buttocks, but the endorphins were now everywhere inside her, overpowering the painful sting. Suddenly, her body felt strong enough to take whatever was thrown at her. She felt alive in a way she’d never felt before, the outward sting of the lash and the inner tingle of her body fighting back, causing a pain/pleasure mix that blew her mind.

  ‘I can feel it,’ she yelled, as the tingling reached her pussy, shivers of pleasure making her insides tense up tight. She ran her fingers over her cunt lips and was amazed by just how wet they were, a sticky sheen of juices covering the whole of her erogenous zone. Mistress Becki saw her touching herself, then tossed aside the whip and demanded Rachel turn around. Placing her hands on Rachel’s shoulders, she shoved the housewife to the floor, before hitching her shiny leather skirt above her bare cunt.

  ‘Mistress always gets pleasured first,’ explained the dominatrix, pressing her cunt into Rachel’s face. Wielding the whip had made her pussy drip with juices, so Rachel obediently stuck out her tongue and started licking the cream from Mistress Becki’s gash. Driving her tongue back and forward, she repeatedly entered the domme’s hot, wet cunt, desperate to make her climax so that she would then be allowed to climax herself. The domme’s hands were on the back of her head, keeping Rachel’s mouth pressed tight to her sex. Her tongue reached deeper, feeling the spasms of pleasure in her Mistress’s cunt, which grew stronger as the domme got closer to a climax.

  ‘Now lick my clit,’ commanded Mistress Becki, m
oving her hips so Rachel’s mouth was in the right place. She stroked the housewife’s hair, as Rachel’s tongue lashed out at her clitoris almost as forcefully as she had lashed the woman’s bottom with her whip. Intense pulsations started shooting through her clitoral zone, echoing the pre-orgasmic spasms in her cunt. Knowing she was just seconds away from a heart-stopping climax, she gave Rachel permission to touch herself.

  ‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Rachel whispered, pressing a hand between her legs. As she stroked her own cunt lips, she gave the domme’s sensitive clit another firm lick, instantly hearing a tell-tale roar burst out of the leather-clad beauty’s lips. Mistress Becki’s body spasmed, making her almost double over, as a violent shudder ran through her cunt. She came all over Rachel’s face, the sudden outpouring of lush, sticky liquid eliciting an instant, copycat response from her submissive slave.

  Rachel dug two fingers inside her own cunt, as the first wave of orgasm overtook her body. Her mouth was still locked tight to Mistress Becki’s pussy, muffling her ecstatic yell, but nothing could muffle the throbbing in her pussy, nor the endorphin-happy tingle surging through every inch of her exposed flesh. She gazed up at her Mistress, overwhelmingly happy to have served at her feet and to have brought her to such a magnificent climax. For all its blistering intensity, her own climax seemed to matter less, as though it were no more than a slavish echo of Mistress Becki’s joyous release. Yes, it was Mistress who mattered most of all, but Rachel was happy to bask in the reflection of her glory.

  ‘Good slave,’ said the domme, patting Rachel’s head, and the acknowledgment of a task well done was enough to revivify her climactic rush. Her pussy contorted around her fingers, spilling juice into the palm of her hand, but it was the sudden change in her facial features that proved to her how much it all meant. She didn’t need a mirror to know that her initial look of edginess had vanished, to be replaced by the patina of intense gratification and relaxation that characterised the faces of the many men whom she’d seen exiting Mistress Becki’s house. Pent-up tension had given way to a sense of calm fulfilment, such as follows an all-over body massage or the ‘making up’ sex that comes straight after a bitter marital argument.

  ‘Happy?’ Mistress Becki asked, pulling her sex away from Rachel’s lips.

  ‘Very happy,’ Rachel replied, staring up at her Mistress, a look of adoration in her eyes.

  ‘So, there’ll be no more spying,’ the domme demanded, issuing a firm but gentle warning. ‘No more peeking from behind the curtains. If you want to see what goes on here, then you just make an appointment like all the rest.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress, I understand’ said Rachel, already aware that she would be coming back. She would lie to the Neighbourhood Watch committee, insist that nothing untoward was going on at Becki’s house, since the last thing she wanted was for the beautiful domme to be hounded out of the area. A whole new world of sexual possibilities had appeared right on her doorstep and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunities it offered. Rachel had a chance to find herself, just like all those men who turned up nervous, but who left in a state of satisfied bliss. Her rightful place was at Mistress Becki’s feet, where she could do her slavish duties, bringing pleasure to her Mistress and so also to herself.

  Cherry Bottom

  by Shanna Germain

  ‘You okay, babe?’ Andrew’s voice above me was half sexual rasp, half concerned. His warm, oiled hands had moved from the outside curves of my ass to the inside of my thighs, and they were resting there, not pulling or teasing, just resting against my skin. I kept my eyes and mouth closed like I was supposed to and tried not to think about my naked ass in the air. I nodded against the pillow.

  ‘She’ll tell you if she’s not,’ Miss Suzanne’s voice came from the other side of me. ‘Won’t you, Cate?’ I nodded again, the rasp of the pillow filling my ear. Miss Suzanne pressed her cool, slim fingers next to Andrew’s, higher up on the inside of my thigh. The hot and cold of their hands made my ass break out in goose bumps. ‘See, Andrew? She’ll tell you. So stop stalling.’

  Miss Suzanne’s fingers left my skin. Her heels click-clicked away, presumably to another one of the six couples whose husband was also stalling.

  Andrew’s hands didn’t move. I waited, head on my hands, belly and thighs resting on the prop-up pillow, ass in the air. My bare body was still in goose bumps, although the room was warm enough. Some of it was anticipation. But most of it was fear – Miss Suzanne’s anal sex class was our last resort. If we couldn’t get Andrew over his fear of anal sex here, I was afraid it was never going to happen.

  It had been difficult enough to ask for it – the way I was brought up, girls aren’t supposed to like any sex. And they definitely aren’t supposed to like it the way I liked it. And poor Andrew – he wanted so badly to please me, but couldn’t get over his fear of hurting me. No matter how many times I told him, no matter how much I begged for it. We’d tried videos and books. I’d even bought the smallest butt-plug at the store. Straw-sized, really, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to put anything inside me. Not even just a little bit. Bad experience, was all he’d say. But this class had been his gift to me, and I knew he wanted to please me that way, even if he was too afraid. So, now, here we were, being taught anal sex by Miss Suzanne Saunders, southern belle turned sex therapist. Our first two classes had been lecture and book-learning. Today was hands-on. Today was our last chance.

  I concentrated on letting my muscles go loose, on breathing in through my nose. We’d just spent ten minutes playing, getting warmed up. A little strange, to share foreplay with a dozen other people in the room, but every time I looked up, they were all concentrating on their own space, their own bodies. It was like a yoga class in the nude. And despite his fears about anal, Andrew didn’t seem to have any fears about public sex. He just ran his tongue up and down between my thighs, reached up and ran his wet thumb over and over my nipple until I could only lean back and try to keep my moans quiet.

  I wanted this so badly, I could already feel him inside me, the fullness of him, the weight. The way his balls would slap against me. Jesus, it had been so long, I could barely remember how it felt. I took a deep breath, tried to think of something else for a minute, to be calm so that Andrew would be calm.

  Andrew’s fingers held steady at the inside of my thigh, one second, two. Then he ran them up through the crack between my cheeks. With one hand, he spread my ass cheeks open. With the other, he circled the skin around my asshole. Part of our class had been learning the anatomy of the asshole, getting used to its pink pucker, its hairless expanse of skin. Knowing that Andrew was looking at me like that, that he was studying me, made my pussy ache for his fingers. My asshole too. I wanted to reach my fingers underneath me, to ease the ache in my clit, but we weren’t supposed to move, so I squeezed my eyes tighter and tried to enjoy the ache. Maybe I could learn something too.

  Andrew’s finger went around and around, tighter and tighter circles toward my asshole until finally, the tip of his finger pressed against it and I could barely breath. I wanted him, any part of him inside me so bad. He held his finger there, not moving it in or out…just resting his finger against it like it was a button he was deciding whether or not to press.

  Miss Suzanne’s heels click-clicked toward the front of the room. ‘Okay, boys, I want you to get your fingers really well lubricated, the way we talked about earlier. We’re going in.’

  The class broke into nervous giggles. I was glad to hear Andrew’s snort, the same one he gave at the comic strips at home. But his finger at my ass didn’t move. Against my legs, his thigh muscles tightened.

  C’mon, baby. C’mon… mental telepathy, the only encouragement I could offer him. I hoped that on some kind of a subconscious level he could hear me begging, could hear how much I wanted him like this.

  Miss Suzanne and her heels again, right at our table. ‘Can I help, Andrew?’ she asked. He must have said yes, because then her cool fingers were at my ass cheeks agai
n, spreading them for him. My asshole puckered up against the cold. My tightening nipples crinkled the paper sheet beneath me.

  Andrew’s fingers left my body, coming back oiled and warm.

  ‘It’s like playing pool,’ Miss Suzanne said, her thin fingers still in place. ‘It’s all about speed and angles.’ Andrew’s finger back against me, pressing, pressing. I fought the desire to lean back onto the tip of his finger, to force him inside me once and for all. But part of our class promise had been to let our partner do all the work, go at his own pace, let him do only what he was ready for.

  He increased the pressure, opening my asshole, careful to use the flat of his fingertip. ‘Go,’ Miss Suzanne whispered, and then Andrew pushed his way inside me. Just a little, just the tip so I could barely feel it, but oh Jesus, there he was.

  ‘More,’ Miss Suzanne said. Andrew pushed his finger farther into my asshole. Farther, until I was sure he had to be at the first joint. Having him in there like that made my pussy ache with that special emptiness that I loved. Andrew entered me to the knuckle. I imagined what he looked like behind me – starting to sweat beneath his glasses out of fear and excitement, his finger disappearing into my asshole.

  ‘All the way in,’ Miss Suzanne said. And then he pushed and his finger was inside me, tearing through me with that certain pain that is mostly pleasure. I bit down on the pillow, but most of the moan came out anyway.

  ‘See?’ Miss Suzanne said. ‘She likes it. You’re doing a great job.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Andrew whispered. ‘Oh fuck.’ Awe and arousal deepened his voice to a husky whisper. Hearing that voice – no fear in there – almost made me come.

  Miss Suzanne raised her voice. ‘Okay, class, is everyone in? Foxes all in the holes?’ I’m sure the class laughed, but I couldn’t even concentrate to hear all the answers. All I could feel was Andrew’s finger in my ass, the way he held it there, so still, the way it filled me and at the same time made me ache for something more, something bigger.