Purple Dress

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Copyright (c) Rachel Kramer Bussel - DO NOT REPRINT WITHOUT PERMISSION


From the anthology K Is for Kinky

edited by Alison Tyler

Learning Her Lesson

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Kelly walked into Cliff’s room and almost had an orgasm. Or at least, that’s how she remembered it later. She was in college, a perky junior with the body of a cheerleader and the dirty mind of a stripper. By day, she was a chemistry major, huddled over lab work that would make a lesser student balk, but she was diligent, never missing a class, going to office hours, probing her experiments and poring over her studies almost religiously. Because she was so intensely focused on her schoolwork, she didn’t have much time for traditional dating, and besides, the guys she met at school simply seemed lacking. It was all about football, beer, and scoring, and on the few occasions she allowed them the latter, they didn’t seem to know what to do with her body aside from grunt, groan, thrust, and come.

She found her fantasies turning increasingly kinky, increasingly dirty, and increasingly hot. When she woke up for the third time that week with her hands above her head, her body poised in a position of pure submission, ass in the air, the image of her getting her butt spanked good and hard still filling her mind, she knew it was time to do something about it. She was a smart cookie, and applied her usual rigor to finding just the right guy to deflower her ass. She didn’t want there to be any confusion on the matter, didn’t want him to treat her too delicately, or assume she was signing on to be his full-time slave. She wanted an expert, a man who truly knew his way around a woman’s bottom, knew how to make it sing and soar and sting and blossom.

In her diligent research, she’d sought out those she’d heard went to dungeons and sex parties, including the girl who’d written an entire column in the school paper about how she liked to get tied up. They were more than happy to talk, amusement lurking in their features as Kelly took out her pen and notepad, scribbling things like “safeword” and “consent” and “totally fucking hot” between the ruled lines. She kept her professional face on, a mask of pleasant interest that was so far removed from the way she jerked off wildly later that her interviewees would’ve been shocked, or so she thought. But Kelly was good at leading a double life or, at least, keeping her true self under wraps. She knew she’d never be like these outspoken, brazen scenesters, strutting their love for beatings and submission all across town. She liked being the good girl and, in fact, she was the good girl, through and through, she just knew, with increasing fervor, that she needed to surrender every once in a while, to play at being a bad girl with someone who’d properly reward her for it.

All her subjects told her that if she really wanted to find out more, she should contact Cliff. Just “Cliff,” no last name; he didn’t need one. He’d graduated a few years ago and worked from home creating video games and computer programs and performing other technical tasks that were beyond her comprehension. She didn’t really care about that, anyway, barely even asked what he looked like. The girls had such glowing praise, their excitement was catching. She was entranced by the way their eyes had lit up, every last one who told her about Cliff. “He’s just such a natural top.” “He’s incredible.” “I never wanted to leave,” said one particularly punky, tough looking girl, her spiky hair, holes in her ears and visible nipple piercings giving way to a look of tenderness when she spoke about Cliff.

Nothing came up about him online, so Kelly didn’t have any photos to fuel her fantasies, but that didn’t stop her from turning off all the lights, lying facedown, naked, and slipping her hands between her legs as she pictured this mysterious, kinky Cliff beating her ass something fierce. She pictured him climbing on top of her, pinning her down, telling her he knew how big of a slut she really was. Before she’d even met him, she’d have given him whatever he wanted if he’d make even a fraction of her fantasies come true.

It wasn’t exactly easy getting in touch with him; the girls were happy to regale her with stories, but getting his contact information was a bit trickier. Kelly suspected that despite her efforts to disguise her very personal interest in the topic, once she probed further, asking details about his methods, they could read her naughty intentions beneath her professional poise, that they knew just how wet the idea of submitting to Cliff was. But finally Donna, who Kelly had pestered several times, took pity on her. “But don’t go to his place unless you’re ready to offer yourself to him 100%,” she said. Her words could have been ominous but to Kelly they were musical, magical. She didn’t know precisely what they meant, but she wanted to find out as soon as possible.

Cliff didn’t exactly sound thrilled by her call. “What do you want?” he growled, his voice deep but not in the sexy way she’d imagined.

“Well, um, Donna gave me your number and I’m doing a story on kink on campus and wanted to see if I could interview you,” she blurted, using the lie she’d given to all the other people she’d talked to. Though she didn’t really consider it a lie, because if all went well, she would fashion her personal research into something worthy of a news story.

“I don’t give interviews, sorry.”

“Well, this could be off the record. I do have a … personal interest in the topic. A curiosity, if you will.”

“If it’s personal, I could fit you in. And by that I mean, if you think you have what it takes to submit to me, to surrender that professional poise you’ve got down and let me show you something truly new. I especially like virgins,” he said. Kelly wasn’t technically a virgin, but at this new game, she certainly felt like one. “Is there something else you want, Kelly?” he asked, her name sending shivers along her neck even through the phone.

It was his way of flirting, but his voice was still flat. She knew this was her one chance to get what she most desperately craved. “Yes, there is.” She paused, not sure how to phrase it. “I’ve never done anything kinky in my life but now it’s all I can think about. I want to be tied up, gagged, spanked, beaten. All of it.” She was mortified that she’d lost control like that, let it spew out so quickly rather than doing a slow reveal.

Kelly was rewarded with a laugh from the other end of the phone. “You just made my cock hard, Kelly, so that means I’m going to let you come over. I only top girls who turn me on, girls I want to fuck, and I won’t know that until I see you. So you should really get your ass over here right now.” He gave her the address, which was only a mile away. “Wear a short skirt, and don’t wear panties. And be ready for what you asked for and more. I’m not gonna go easy on you, little girl. And nobody will be around to hear you scream.”

If his words were intended to scare her, they did the exact opposite. “Yes, sir,” she said, the three letter final word sounding foreign coming from her lips, yet totally natural in her own way. She was dripping wet and wanted to jerk off but knew that if she didn’t race over there, Cliff might be gone. He hung up without saying anything further.

She stripped completely, taking a moment to peek at her large breasts, the nipples already hard, the flat stomach giving way to her lightly fuzzed pussy, freckles dotting her legs, her short red hair seeming brighter in the mirror than usual. Naked, she looked cute, a word she’d always gotten flung her way, rather than the desired beautiful, or even pretty. She hoped Cliff thought she was beautiful, thought she was worthy.

Kelly found a very short tennis skirt, the white pleats beaming an innocence she knew she didn’t possess. She also knew the curves of her tight ass were almost visible beneath it as she slipped on flip-flops and grabbed a white tank top, not bothering with a bra. She hurried out the door after a swipe of lip gloss and one quick glance in the mirror. Kelly held her head high as she walked rapidly across town, ignoring the whistles from boys on bikes or leaning out of car windows. None of them knew how to give her what she really wanted, she was sure. She wanted it hard, she wanted it to hurt.

When she rang the doorbell to a small white house, she smiled to herself. It looked like someplace she’d go to babysit, not get tied up. She fidgeted, feeling her wet, swollen pussy lips between her legs. The door opened and there was Cliff. He pulled her roughly inside, not bothering with a hello, then shut the door and dragged her down a hallway to his room. It happened so fast she barely had time to look around or take in anything more than the fact that he was over a foot taller than her, but when she saw what hung on his walls, her whole body went cold, then hot. Hanging from hooks were knives, handcuffs, paddles, and floggers. It looked like a sex toy store, and was almost too much for her to take in. Almost, but not quite. He turned to stare at her, assessing her body. “Turn around and lift up your skirt, Kelly. I want to make sure you can follow instructions.”

She liked that he jumped right into their play, not letting her pause to question it. Her body was humming in a way it never had with any of the guys she’d fucked. She’d enjoyed herself with them, but she’d never felt like her pussy was literally dripping, never felt like she had found exactly what she’d been craving. She turned away from him, bent slightly at the waist, and lifted her skirt. She’d recently shaved her pussy, and knew he could see that as well as her butt cheeks. “Very good,” he said, then walked toward her. Before Kelly knew what was happening, he was slicing the tank top with a pair of scissors, then ripping the rest with his bare hands.

She whimpered. “You won’t be needing this¾but I might,” he said. She just nodded, already too aroused to properly speak. He turned her around so she was facing him, staring into her eyes. She figured she probably looked a little scared, which she was, but she was even more aroused, standing there in just her skirt and flip flops. She got a good look at his face. He had a short brown beard and a thick head of hair, and big brown eyes that seemed to swallow her. He reached down and pinched one nipple, then tugged her forward with it. The pressure kept getting more intense, but he didn’t say anything to acknowledge what he was doing. She chanced to look down, watching as he twisted her nipple between his fingers. Seeing him do it made her gasp, and he tugged on the other, pressing each nub as flat as he could between his fingers. It was starting to really hurt, but the harder he did it, the more Kelly wanted to see how much she could take.

“Yeah,” he said softly as he took things up a notch, pulling and twisting at the same time. Her breath started to come in pants, quick outbursts that helped her deal with the pain. She felt a trickle of wetness running down her leg. When he finally let go, even though she was relieved, she wished he’d kept doing it. “Put your hands behind your back, and keep them there,” he said. She was still facing him, her nipples recovering from the brief torture session.

“You wanted more, didn’t you, Kelly? You’re not as innocent as you look, are you?” he asked, pinching her cheek with all the roughness he’d used on her nipple. That hurt, too, but in a different way, like he was trying to let her know that he was in control of every part of her body, could touch them any way he wanted to.

“Yes, Cliff,” she said, then moaned when she was rewarded with a smack across her left breast. His free hand clutched her short hair, barely able to grasp her there, while he moved so he was perpendicular to her, then hit her breast head on. Cliff pulled Kelly’s head back and then struck her other breast. This was something she hadn’t thought about beforehand, hadn’t imagined anyone doing, but she liked it. A lot. She liked the way his strokes hit her nipples but also the rest of each breast. He alternated those big, open-handed smacks with flicks of his middle finger against her nubs, a constant barrage of pain that seemed to blend into heat and pleasure almost immediately.

She’d begun breathing through her nose, deep, shuddering breaths, her eyes closed, while Cliff spanked her breasts. She’d have laughed if someone had told her a year ago she’d be submitting to this, and laughed even harder at the idea that it was making her unbearably wet. She finally opened her eyes, staring up at his wall of kink, just before the last blow landed. Kelly looked down at her breasts only to find her normally pale, milky skin adorned with flashes of red, a few spots of purple. She furrowed her brow, looking up at him with shock as she realized she wanted even more. Kelly didn’t know how to say it, exactly, but when Cliff leaned down and sucked each nipple between his teeth, slapping his tongue against one while pinching the other, then switching, she knew he understood.

“Lift up your skirt for me,” he said after a few minutes of suckling. He knelt on the ground in front of her, his back against his bed, while Kelly stood there, feeling red rise to her cheeks. It was one thing for him to spank her, even her breasts, but to stare like that, so close up, at her shaved pussy, made her burn. “Now put your hand here,” he said, indicating the area just above her clit. “Pull it tight.” She didn’t question his orders, didn’t question anything that was happening because every word from his lips was music to her cunt. She pulled, feeling the stretch of her skin down there just as she felt the corresponding ache deep inside. That’s when he spanked her. There. Right on her pussy lips. Hard. Kelly was holding her skirt up with one hand and her cunt tight with the other, and wished she had something to lean on.

The smacks kept coming, right on her most sensitive area. They hurt, but the moment they were done she found herself wanting more of them, liking that she could take that kind of intensity. She wanted his fingers to shift a little, to go inside, to fuck her after he’d smacked her, but Cliff didn’t. “How old are you, Kelly?” he asked her, instead.

“21,” she answered automatically, telling the truth without thinking about the consequences.

“A fine age,” he said. “You’re going to count that high for me while I spank you,” he said, moving her around so she was bent over a chair that was flush against his bed. Her arms lay across the mattress, while the head of the chair pressing against her lower belly. He pulled her pussy lips apart, pinching her labia for a moment before letting go. “I’ll even give you a choice. I’ll spank your ass or your pussy. Which will it be, Kelly?” She moaned, totally unsure which to pick. She hadn’t really planned for this, even though she thought she had. She thought she’d done her research; she’d read and talked and fantasized plenty. But the reality of Cliff’s hands on her, his voice drilling through her in the small room, him looming over her like that, was infinitely more exciting than anything she could’ve envisioned.

“My ass,” she finally said, wanting to see how that would feel.

“Good choice,” he said. “But since you took those smacks to your pussy so well, I’m going to have to use this paddle on you. I’ll let you look at it first.” He took a rounded black paddle off the wall. It looked like a ping pong paddle to her, but was coated with black leather. He held it in front of her face, then closer. “Kiss it,” Cliff said, then tapping it against her lips, which she dutifully pursed. “You have a very beautiful ass,” Cliff told her.

She wasn’t expecting a compliment, and beamed like he’d told her she’d won the school talent show. “But wait¾I think I need to cuff your wrists first. You look like you might just try to move and escape, or fidget just enough to throw me off.” Kelly moaned as he reached over to the far side of the wall for a pair of padded handcuffs which he proceeded to fasten around her wrists. She watched as he bound her, just as she’d dreamed about, and felt her body sink into the sweet bliss of immobilization when he was done. She kept testing the cuffs, not to see if she could escape, but to ensure that she couldn’t. Now she really was his, her ass front and center, ready for him. As if reading her mind, he said, “Those pretty cheeks are going to be even more beautiful when I’m done with it. I want you to count, and start with, ‘One, thank you, Cliff.’ If you miss, we’ll have to start over.”

“Okay,” she said, sure she could follow this simple rule twenty-one times. The first blow sent her body digging into the chair, the slap ringing through the room. The paddle was harsh, stinging her skin, but she focused not on the pain, but the counting. Whereas before Kelly had been absorbing every aspect of his smacks to try to fully recreate them later in her journal, now she had to focus on spitting out those four words, rapid-fire, because his blows were coming one after the other. “Thirteen,thankyou,Cliff,” she said breathlessly, rewarded instantly with another hard smack landing equally upon both asscheeks. The next made her ass jiggle in a way that shook her cunt, too. She heard the paddle whiz through the air, the sound one that was only audible if the room was completely still and quiet, and she flinched when it landed on the bed next to her. Cliff put his hand on the small of her back, right above her tailbone, then beat out the final seven blows.

Kelly surprised herself by not missing the count at all. When he stepped away, her ass was hot, hurting even more, seemingly, than it had while he was doing it. Cliff stared down at her. “Well, Kelly, you’ve been very good. I think this should give you something to think about when you get home.” He untied her and tossed the torn tank top back at her. “I didn’t have to gag you with this¾maybe next time I’ll get some screams out of you that will necessitate shutting those pretty lips.” He spoke like she was almost not even there, as if he could plan everything out without her cooperation, and she liked that. For some reason, she knew that if she truly objected, he’d stop whatever he was doing in an instant. Knowing this not only turned her on, but made her long to sink deeper into his debt, offer herself up more fully next time. She glanced down and saw his erection bulging in his pants.

She wanted to ask about it, wanted to ask why he wasn’t shoving her down to the ground and making her suck it, or bending her over again and slamming it into her pussy. She’d have gladly done either one, and in fact, both her mouth and cunt pouted in arousal. “You want this, don’t you, Kelly?” he asked, taking her hand and placing it on his hardness.

She nodded. “Umm-hmmm.” Now she really wanted it, gripping his erection tightly between her fingers as she held the tatters of her shirt in her hand.

“Too bad. One of the first things you need to learn in the kinky world is that you can’t always get what you want. And sometimes it’s good for you not to. Sometimes it’s good for you to go home with a wet pussy and some marks on you,” he said, tracing the bruises on her chest while running his fingers along her slit.

“You have to work your way up to having my cock. Maybe if you come over again I’ll let you watch me fuck a girl who’s earned that privilege. You can watch me bend her over and fuck her so hard she cries.” Now all Kelly wanted was to touch herself. She was practically ready to come right then thinking about what Cliff had just described.

“I want you to wait one week, and if you’re still wet like this, you can call me, and maybe we can have another lesson. I want to make sure you have enough time to think about what you’re doing.” Again, she nodded, mesmerized by his mastery. “Oh, and Kelly? No touching yourself until you call. If I want you to come, I’ll either make it happen myself or I’ll tell you it’s okay. This way I’ll find out just how devoted you are to me, how close you are to deserving some of this,” he said, whipping out his cock. He wrapped his fist around it and stroked it slowly, making her quiver.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, steering her toward the door even though she had just the torn shirt to cover her reddened breasts and nothing to hide her very wet cunt from any breezes that might hike up her skirt. She scrambled to put the shirt on over her head, her body coming down slightly off its high. He practically shoved her out the door and she walked home in a daze, hardly noticing the stares and catcalls, her ears filled with the sounds of his smacks, his voice. Kelly was surprised to see that only two hours had passed since she’d left. It felt like days. She lay down on her bed, on her stomach, her hands above her head. The position was familiar, yet totally new, her body burning in places she had never expected it to. It’s going to be a long week, she thought, smiling into her pillow as she spread her legs and dreamed of Cliff.

Link to excerpt from Caught Looking

Caught Looking

“X2” from Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z

Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

The first time with Peter and Nadia, there's no time for niceties. No lush bottles of wine, long, elegant, up-all-night talks about anything and everything, the slow build of arousal as your blood starts to boil until it practically spills over, bursting forth from the buttons of your shirt, pulsating in your cock and clit until you practically ooze out of your clothes. That had been happening for the past week, since I'd met them at a bar, since I'd spent every waking (and many not-so-waking) hours thinking about them, their same black hair, stylish tattoos, dirty, flirty looks across the room, still in love after five years. And so perfect for me, in an open relationship.

In seemingly no time we are at their place and the consensus seems to be that I am in charge. I push back the part of me that wants to do a dance of glee, or run away, or simply slink down to the floor and lick them both into ecstasy. They both have worn skintight outfits that make their asses practically pulsate, an electric sign that says “touch me” and that is what I must do, what I’ve been doing surreptitiously all night, copping quick, sly feels as I brush past them, hoping they’ll notice and like it. The last time, right before we left, stumbling home in a tumble of lips and hands and gropes, Nadia took my hand and placed it right on her ass, looking up at me with triumphant eyes, and I pinched her there, hard, shifting my hand down under her very short skirt to do it again.

Now, I line them up next to each other on the bed, his thin, slender ass next to her ultra curvy, rounded one, a vision of bootyliciousness that makes me wish I had a camera other than the one in my mind. I’m not sure where to start first, because both look so delectable, I could lick and bite and taste and slap for hours. I scrape my nails down her bare back and she wiggles, making her whole body move in the sexiest of ways, her long curls tumbling down her back as she tries to stay still. I scrape my already bitten nails from the back of her neck all the way down and don’t stop until I reach the plump flesh of her ass, which I’ve only gotten the briefest of tastes of so far. When I finally do, it’s like ass nirvana, as with my left hand I stroke his curvy rump. Everything one could want from a behind is all there right before me, and it’s almost overwhelming. Then again, I find one ass, proffered up to me with sass and honor and eagerness, overwhelming, this top’s truest delight.

I bring each hand up in the air and let them down hard, the sounds reverberating throughout the room as they each wiggle in tandem, their heads turned toward each other. It’s hard to feel mean, to fire up the proper fuel for this, when they are just so dreamily in love, but I try. I turn slightly and work only my best arm, my right, and smack her ass continually, fast and hard, then move onto his, each one offering up different sensations. I can feel his slaps travel throughout his thin body, can see more of the impact as he squirms, his toes rising up from the floor. They are holding hands as I unleash not fury but desire, that special tingle in my hand and surge in my heart as I give my all to spanking them, turning their white skin into a canvas of color, red and pink, lines here and there, unintentional abrasions I know they will feel for days on end. I feel myself blush as I look at his asscheeks, so easily bruised, so quickly reddened, angry little sparks of blood popping up from the surface, my hand also pulsing with blood and power.

I lean down and lick along his heated flesh, taking a firm bite, and he moans. They inch closer together and when I look up there are four lovely rounded curves awaiting my ministrations. I am again overwhelmed and awed at their ability to give of themselves like this; even though I know they want it, are waiting for more, it’s still an honor and privilege I don’t take lightly.

I return to her, running my hands over her lush, wonderfully overflowing cheeks. “You have such a beautiful ass, I’m surprised it’s not permanently red from being spanked all the time. How can one resist?” I lean close to her and say softly, biting her neck as I do, feeling the shiver travel down her back. I pinch and squeeze her brilliant ass, making sure it’s real, making sure she likes me touching her there. I put my left hand on his back, to steady myself and let him know that he will be next. “Spread your legs, baby,” I tell her, and she does, just a little bit, enough to let me see a little of her juicy, pink folds, enough to make sure that she’ll be conscious of how wet she’s getting, enough room for my hand to slide up along her slit in the middle of her spanking.

I move slightly to the side, leaning gently against Peter as I bring my hand back and give Nadia a good, solid whack. Her skin is so pale, and enough of that pale skin is left from my earlier smacks, that my handprint appears immediately, a striking red symbol that looks totally gorgeous on her. I move aside further and do the same to her left cheek and then pause for a moment to look at her. Nobody says anything but I notice her stick out her ass just a little further, so miniscule most people would never notice, but there it is—she wants more, and I can feel my own pussy start to thrum when I see this. Her ass has been beckoning to me all night, her whole body really, all fleshy curves poured into the close confines of a corset, bursting forth in all the right places, making her admirers unsure if they want to leave her in her sexy clothing or take it off and unveil her nude lusciousness. I pull her asscheek up with my left hand so it is stretched out, taut, already pulling slightly against her cunt, and then smack her again, a little harder. Then again, and I feel the smack reverberate back into my hand, that slight tingle in my palm that tells me I’m doing a good job. I rest my hand against her cheek lightly, letting my thumb slightly graze her shaved pussy, and she is even wetter than I’d expected. I slide my thumb slightly further down, letting it rest along the edges of her slit, teasing her by not moving. I scratch her back with my other hand, then reach over and run the ball of my hand hard down his back. I am dying to see his cock, to taste his hardness, but I can’t look at it now or I’ll be distracted from my mission.

That’s the delicious dilemma of fucking two people; it’s double the pleasure, actually, it’s much more than that, but you discover that you alone do not have enough hands or eyes or lips to do everything you’d like to do, that some things will have to momentarily wait, or be saved for next time, while you attend to the most urgent, throbbing pleasure first. But it’s a dilemma I’m glad to have as I fondle both of them, forgetting about my resolve and shoving my thumb into her cunt while my fingers rest around the opening of her ass, tapping, suggestive, while I continue to play with his cock. It’s all so much that I wonder how they manage to fuck and not explode every time with the sheer enormity of it; I don’t think I could handle this much sexual decadence on a daily basis. For now, though, I will have my fill, and I rearrange them so that he is on his knees, and I pull on his hair while slapping her fleshy, pale white ass, covering every inch of it with loud, noisy smacks that I feel all the way up my arm. She grabs onto the sheets, pulling them almost all the way off the bed, clutching them with all her might, to help shield her from this pain that she wants so badly. He brings his hand to her back, stroking and holding her, letting some of the pain travel through him as I keep whacking her, tapping her now lightly with a riding crop, testing her, wanting to take all of her but knowing that there is more to unravel in the coming weeks. Her body is so fabulously responsive, her desire so pure and untainted that I wanted to do everything imaginable in one fell swoop, but I pace all of us, keeping well within her body's limits, calming my rampant domme desires into something resembling a caress more than a punishment, even though we all know that it is both, at once. That is the beauty of spanking, it is tender and harsh, angry and loving, sweet and sour all mixed into one raised arm, one daring strike, one flash of insight that what she truly wants is this consecrated contact.

I place her in the middle of the large bed, then put him on top of her, a private pile of playfulness that I absolutely can't resist. I take out the paddle, my favorite one, the one that is shiny and red and always looks brand new no matter how many asses I treat it to, it's always gleaming just for me. I bring it down hard against him, rewarding him for his patience, knowing he will feel each smack deep into his bones, and she will too as he bounces on top of her, his cock boring into the crack of her ass, teasing her with its hard promise. I throw all my remaining energy, every last surge of need and want into his ass, until it is entirely red, surely painful, as he hugs her and wiggles and squirms, not knowing what he wants, only that he needs this. "Yes, yes, I—" he breaks off, a strangled cry as I smack him harder, drowning out the sound of his garbled words, not listening anymore as I unleash it all until he comes, spurting up onto her back, a vision of murky white that makes me smile as I put down the paddle.

I bring us back down to earth, where our breathing returns to normal, where we smile and giggle, slightly shy again, where every electron around us is not quite so charged with the magnetic draw of sexual power. I pull them up by the roots of their hair, push their faces together for a kiss, momentarily feel slightly left out, until they turn to me, lavish me with kisses and nibbles and attention. I reach down and fondle those sore, red, tender asses, and smile because I've gotten double the pleasure, the beauty of spanking times two. No triple, quadruple—hell, there's no quantifying this glory, only hoping that we can do it again. Very, very soon.

“Queuing Up” from Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 2

Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

         That first slap always takes me by surprise, even when I’m expecting it. There is such a vast difference between my ass laid bare, exposed to the air, but relatively intact, and the heat that brews along that most sensitive of parts after he has spanked me; from eager to seething in several brutal, beautiful seconds. Craig holds his hand tight against my skin, maintaining the warmth and the pain, making it last those few precious seconds longer. I’m lying naked across his lap, and beneath his tight jeans, his cock presses up against me, hinting, surging, wanting, but my spankings aren’t about his cock, as much as I might want them to be, as hot and wet as they might get me. Sometimes I wonder if they’re even about me at all; Craig comes to me with a glint in his eye, a severity of purpose and steely resolve to spank me until I flip over some immutable edge that I am in constant awe at how much our urges are in sync.

         I squirm beneath him, my clit alive with the sensation of pleasure and heat as I wait for more. He raises his hand and brings it down equally as hard on my other cheek, and I smile to myself, even as my pussy clenches fiercely. His spankings are like a magic key that unlocks the secret of my desire, and even when I’m not totally in the mood, when my pussy seems to be on hiatus, when I want him to fuck me but don’t really need it, a few smacks from his strong hand and I’m back on the edge, back to being willing to do absolutely anything for him to fuck me. He knows this too, can sense from the way I breathe, the way I squirm and then stay absolutely still, that I am torn between wanting more spankings and wanting his cock filling me all the way up, though that choice is up to him, as always. His hand rains down, smack after concentrated smack, so perfect in their placement that I almost forget that tonight, as we often do, we have an audience, an eager female face soaking up all that we are doing, so new to her and yet, I sense, already unfurling a special signal inside her, a need that now that she’s discovered it must be attended to immediately.

         Lara, our gorgeous, glamorous companion, with her black bobbed hair and perfect red lipstick, tattooed poise and perpetual, sexy smirk, doesn’t quite know what to expect, and watches us with an eagle eye. When I look up, I see her gaze frantically casting about, taking in my screams of pleasure, my tightly clenched fists, his strong arm moving up and down, but never mechanically, always seeking out that next perfect spot that has yet to burn with the flame of his smacks. I can tell from a momentary meeting of our gazes, my face slack with lust, hers eager and nervous and aroused all at once, that she wants him to spank her. And I have something I want too, so this will be perfect. Craig keeps going, his hand instilling in me everything he’s ever wanted me to know, hitting me in exactly the right places to make my ass want more and more and more.

         Then he pushes me reluctantly off him, moves me slightly aside and unzips his pants. That delicious metallic noise alone is almost enough to make me come in anticipation. He takes his cock and slides only the very tip along my wetness, teasing me, before stroking me there with his fingers and I bite my lip hard, surely leaving a mark, so I don’t cry out and break the elevated silence that protects our perfect bubble. Suddenly, I can’t stand it anymore, and take Lara’s hand, tugging her towards me. She is ready now, ready for anything after the show we’ve just provided her. She tumbled home with us in a blue of champagne and flirtation, insinuation and entendre, and I’m sure expected simply more of the same, but we’re going to give her something to remember forever, or at least, I am.

         I kiss her, our lips melding in one warm, wet tangle of tongues that sends shivers straight to my pussy. She is soft and sweet and so open that I want to devour her. I balance on one elbow and grab her hair with my other hand, tugging deep from the roots, smiling when her whole body convulses. I turn over onto my back, make a moue with my lips, some cross between a wink and a smile, a conspiratorial pursing that Craig accepts, perhaps my reward for taking my spankings like such a good little girl. I stand up and tug down his unzipped black jeans. They hug his muscular legs just so, but have enough give that I get them off easily, until he is standing there in only his tight black tank top, stretching across his hardened chest, tiny nipples poking out slightly, and I push him down onto the bed. He lets me, even though he could just as easily flip me around and hold me hostage, his fingers familiar weights around my wrists as I struggle against his grip, pretend like I want to get up when really I want him to hold me down forever. But now, I pull Lara up, groping my fill of her as I do, letting my hands move from her shoulders, over her nipples, down to her fine ass and somehow slipping briefly down to her cunt, which is just as wet as I’d have expected it to be. After dipping my fingers into her wetness, I bring them back up to her mouth. She accepts them, pulling them in, seeking and swallowing, her tongue darting along my digits even as they push deeper and deeper. She is telling me something with her throat, telling me she wants more, will do whatever I say, and a different kind of rush runs through me even as my cheeks still burn from Craig’s smacks, even as I desire more of them; I want to spank her, to hold her, to have her. I pull my fingers out, a slight feat given her sharp, even teeth clamped around them, but I manage.

         I pinch her left cheek, just because I can, because I want to make sure she knows I own every part of her, any part of her, that if I want to claim the underside of her arm or bite her stomach or scratch my nails into the back of her neck, I can. She looks up at me with those almost-opaque blue eyes, and they are liquid, lush, so wide and gleaming with need, a need for direction, order, care. A need to be told what to do, to prove herself worthy, and that need is stamped so nakedly across her pretty face, with its light dusting of freckles across her perfect, porcelain, pore-free skin, so raw in its bare vulnerability, that I want to hug her for a second. She’s stunningly gorgeous, something she almost tries to hide beneath the trappings of goth glamour, but I can see the rawness anyway.

          Instead of an embrace, I let my fingers trail down her arm, squeeze her hand for a moment before pushing her down before Craig. She does that full-body moan once again when faced with his impressive cock; it’s certainly one that can make any girl a blowjob fan, so ornate and alive and hard and simply manly, which seems obvious—it’s a cock, isn’t it?—but not all cocks are equal, I’m sorry to report. Craig’s is a specimen of the finest order, large and velvety smooth, hard and proud, capable of giving and receiving equally, a steely, strong reminder of his arousal. She takes the base in her hand, made tiny in comparison to his girth, and slowly puts the tip into her mouth, as if she’s afraid it won’t be able to fit. But fit it does, sliding between her naturally pink lips, and while his manhood pushing deeper down her throat is a gorgeous sight, I have other, better things to do just now. I slide my fingers once again inside her pussy, feeling her body briefly tense and then relax to let me in. I glide gently, getting three in, knowing she can take many more, but three is enough for now. I pinch her clit with my other hand while my fingers seek and press, a digital Christopher Columbus exploring bountiful new worlds filled with wetness, tightness, beauty. As I stroke her cunt, she sucks Craig’s cock for all she’s worth, saliva pooling around her lips, her bangs falling into a sweaty tangle, her body, not just her lips, his, all his, well, except her pussy, which is mine, all mine. I look over at Craig and smile before twisting my fingers just so, pushing urgently upward as her lips dive down to the very base of his cock, swallowing his entire length as I add a fourth and final finger. Craigs hands have moved to her shoulders, lightly tracing them as I increase my efforts. Her body tightens and she lets out a groan against his dick as she contracts around me, her orgasm rippling upward, her body trembling in delight as she provokes Craig’s. I can practically feel his hot juice bursting forth into her mouth, and she grasps the base of his cock in one hand while sliding the other up along his wet rod, pumping his come into her mouth as if he’s the fountain of youth, beauty and passion all rolled into one. She swallows every last drop until her lips are shiny and sticky, her body gleaming with its two orgasmic conquests.

         We rest for a while, until our asses get the better of us. I’ve been fondling hers, giving it light smacks that make her moan, her teeth clenching, begging for more, and the warmth and pinkness have already worn off from my earlier spanking session. With a wink, I pull Laura up once again, and we position ourselves along the wall, queuing up as we await our spankings, already regretting that the pleasure has to end, even though we know it’s only temporary. Where Craig’s concerned, there’s a never-ending fount of smacks, of ways to torment pretty girls’ asses, of teasing, taunting words to let us know just how naughty we really are, of sadistic whispers that make our pussies drip with pleasure. There’s a never-ending source of hows and whys and whens, and just as we least expect it, he will demand that we brave our butts, demand that we show complete servitude, lest he take his special hands away and bestow them on someone else. It’s the first time for the two of us, but by Lara’s eyes and her hand gripping mine so tightly she might break my tiny bones, I know it won’t be our last.

         We line up, a tiny two-person queue filled with desires much bigger than just the two of us. Our asses could take on the world, at least, it feels that way as I spread my legs slightly, ready to reach behind me to touch the warmth of my own curves, offer myself to my love in every sense. I want to be first, but know that he will make the decision. He steps forward with two paddles, round, black, leather ones that promise to sting mightily. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, trying not to tense up and brace myself, but let everything just go, when I feel it. The loud smack echoes through the room and my body, the sting first making itself known on the very surface of my ass before zipping down along my thighs, inside, into my cunt, tiny sparks shooting down to my toes, the tail end of a firecracker that has burned so brightly it lasts long after the naked eye sees it pop and fizzle. More blows land, dancing all around my ass, from the far edges of my curves to just below my cheeks, on the very tops of my thighs, to my sweet spot. I sneak a peek behind me and see Craig doing the very same thing to Lara, twin spankings for two girls who are equally craving his power. Good thing he’s ambidextrous.

Lara seems to be feeling the same sensations as I am, and we alternate staring at each other and Craig, until we simply can’t do more than melt into the wall while his arms paddle us into a land of sweet, blissful pain, the sound of anticipating whistling through the air before that leather connects with our curves. I know her sweet ass must be on fire, because mine certainly is, the smacks taking on greater power as they build upon the previous ones, making me pussy tingle once again. When he’s done (even though we’re not sure we are), he tosses the paddles down and fondles our hot, smooth cheeks, dips light fingers into our wetness but doesn’t give us the relief we’re truly seeking. Craig likes to keep his girls always ready, always horny, always wanting more. Lined up, keyed up, queued up for the next time, and with Craig, you know there’ll always be a next time. So if you ever need me, that’s where you’ll find me–waiting my turn, always the first in line, my ass at the ready. Join me, please; there’s plenty of room, and I promise, you won’t be disappointed.

“Sharing the Perfect Cock” from Caught Looking: Erotic Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists

Caught Looking

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

            My boyfriend, Kyle, has the perfect cock. Really—if there were cock models, the way there are hand and feet models, I bet he’d be making a fortune off his pecker. It’s tall and poised and beautiful, sleek and strong, with light brown hairs curling at the base, as if proud statue were rising from a vineyard . The first time I saw it I almost wept, but I resisted—and quickly got down on my knees. I’ve worshipped  his dick, literally, since day (or rather, night) one and am just as smitten with the member as the man even ten years down the road. Don’t worry, he’s equally as enthralled with my pussy, and together we’ve had countless sexual adventures. But lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that his package really is too perfect not to share. I mean, what kind of selfish, spoiled brat would I be if I kept such a gorgeous cock all to myself?

Okay, you’ve got me. I’m the consummate selfish, spoiled brat, and I want to share his dick because I want to watch. I’ve been going wild picturing another girl’s lips wrapped around that luscious fat head, her saliva dripping down his dick as she opens wide and takes him inside while he looks on proudly, brushing her hair from her face. I want to see everything I don’t get to see when I’m lying on my stomach, ass in the air, taking a pounding from him as his cock smoothly dives inside me, my G-spot rushing toward him, my hips undulating beneath him, my body his for the taking; everything I don’t get to see when his cock’s all the way down my throat and I’m in blow-job  heaven. Just thinking about his cock makes me horny, but usually I have it buried inside me, somewhere, swelling to fit my entire mouth, cunt or ass, his hard length leaving me little room to think or look, I must simply feel him grinding against my sensitive flesh until he rings me dry—or, wet.

I haven’t told him yet, but I’ve been on a mission, a hunt. Every hot girl who passes my way, whether it’s the waitress at our local vegetarian joint, with her long braided pigtails and ripped denim skirt and camouflage shirt that just hints at the curves underneath, or my boss’s slamming secretary who I swear could make a killing as a stripper. She has flaming red hair, perfectly pink lips that she keeps natural or just hinting of gloss, and she wears these business suits that manage to be sexier than a bikini, her tits and ass practically popping out of their pinstripes. She gets away with her wild collection of stockings, in various hues with patterns and designs that could make even this confirmed straight girl lean down and worship my way from her feet on up. One time she even came back from a trip to England with black tights emblazoned with the Fab Four on them. Thankfully, our ad agency is pretty open to experimental dressers. She’s never been anything but efficient and friendly, yet sometimes I detect a glimmer of something deeper, a womanly, sensual swirl to her hips; a gleam in her eyes that tells me she’d be perfect splayed across our bed with Kyle’s cock spearing her over and over. But I know how badly that could go, so I move on.

In the end, Carrie, the girl who will grant me a front-row seat at my very own private sex show starring my boyfriend’s dick and a beautiful babe, finds me. We meet at the gym, where she beckons me over so I can help her lift those last five pounds of a monstrous weight that I’m shocked her tiny body can handle. When she gets up, panting and exerted, instead of sticking out her hand for me to shake, she flexes her bicep, showing me just how strong—and sexy—she really is. Then she grants me a dazzling grin, showing off not just perfect even white teeth, but that the feeling is genuine, lighting up her whole face. I’d follow her anywhere if she’d give me another smile like that, and I know Kyle would too. We spend the rest of our workout time in close proximity, and I grunt extrahard as I push the weights with my legs, in part because my pussy is throbbing from my thinking about her sliding all over my boyfriend, brushing her breasts against his chest, her pussy hovering over his cock or his mouth, teasing him until he begs for mercy.

I know it might sound weird to you, but I don’t want a threesome. While fun for other people, they’ve always seemed to me like too much work without enough reward—exciting, but not nearly as much so as watching this gorgeous woman devour every inch of Kyle. I want to watch him as I’ve never gotten to see him, his cock standing tall, his body at its most vulnerable as he strains toward her. I don’t waste much time before bringing up the topic—unlike the rest of the gym-goers, who huddle around the juice bar for a dark green kale-filled smoothie, we head to a real bar, and over massive margaritas, I start to gush about my sexy man. I even whip out my favorite photo of him wearing just shorts on the beach in Hawaii, his skin tan and gleaming, his erection faintly visible, if you’re looking. She licks the salt around the rim of her glass, then brings her tiny tongue back into her mouth and sucks. “He’s quite the hunk—you’re a lucky girl, Sarah,” she says.

“You know, you could be lucky too,” I say, taking a big sip from the light green slush.

“I don’t seem to meet guys like that, no matter how hard I try,” she replies, her voice slightly wistful as her eyes focus on something far away, or far behind.

“No, I mean…” I trail off, putting one hand on her leg, lightly, as the words come  to me. “You can share his cock with me.” I look away for a minute, my cheeks burning even as I’m determined to share my fantasy with her. “I have this thing where I want to watch him with another girl. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever been with, and I just feel like his dick is too perfect to keep all to myself. We’ve been together, and faithful, for ten years. Believe me, he doesn’t even know about this naughty little fantasy of mine, though I’m pretty sure he’ll agree to it in a snap—especially if you’re involved. What’s not to like? He’ll get to fuck a beautiful girl, you’ll get to enjoy what truly is the finest cock I’ve ever seen, and I’ll get…well, I’ll get to watch.” I say “watch” like I’m winning the lottery or diving into an ocean of chocolate, like watching her and him together will be the pinnacle of my life thus far—and I mean it.

She drains her glass, her eyes seeking mine, making sure I’m for real. “But…why?” she asks, more confused than disdainful.

“I don’t even really know. It’s not like it just occurred to me today. I’ve been having dreams where I’m lying in bed and he’s on his back and some beautiful girl is moving all around him, exactly the same way I do. I start telling her how he likes his dick sucked, but then I realize she’s got it under control.” I pause, searching her face. “I know, most women would die of jealousy if their guy so much as kissed another girl, but I’m freaky like that. You can’t have him, but I’d love it if you borrowed him for a night,” I finish, not sure what she’ll say.

“Can I see it?” she asks finally, after a silence during which I try to look anywhere but at her. The bartender refreshes our glasses, and I fill my mouth with the icy drink before replying.

“His cock? Sure—I’ll email you a photo when I get home.” I lean in close, pushing her hair back as I let my lips brush lightly against her ear, getting a bit of a shock as I do so. “Your mouth’s going to water when you see it, I promise.”

Carrie looks like she’s trying to figure out what to say as she licks the newly salted rim of her glass. “Girl, I have to tell you, I think you’re a little bit crazy. But so am I, and he looks so fine, I feel like I’d be kicking myself if I refused. He really doesn’t know a thing about this yet?” she asks, her voice lilting upward.

“Not yet, but he will,” I say, slipping her my card as she scrawls her information on a napkin.

We finish our drinks, but every time her tongue pokes out to lick the glass, I can’t help picturing it winding its way along his cock. I’m ready to race home, and I do––right after she leaves, right after I sneak off to the bar’s bathroom and bring myself to a quick, rousing orgasm as my fingers flick at my wet clit while my other hand muffles my moans.

When I get home, I find Kyle on the couch in front of a football game. I smile and say, “Hey, baby,” but when he puts his arms out to welcome me, I instead reach down and grab his cock, sinking to my knees. I pull down the layers of his shorts and boxers to unveil a dick that’s already half-hard and getting harder by the minute as I hold it. I lean forward and ever-so-lightly suck the head into my mouth, then sit back and let my tongue toy with the veins traveling up and down his shaft before pulling back to look up at him. I’m gratified to see his eyes glued on my face.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asks, his face lined with sexy stubble, his light brown eyes glinting as he tries not to break out into a grin.

“To a girl—Carrie,” I say, then go right back for another lick. He moans as I inch my lips downward, taking half of his length into my mouth, but knowing he’s not done growing. “I’m going to show her how to do this,” I tell him, breaking my mouth’s grip momentarily before plunging back down in one smooth movement, my lips wrapped around my teeth as I feel his cock travel all the way down my throat. I keep his full length inside me for as long as I can, breathing in his manly scent, feeling every bit of him pressing against my lips, my cheeks, surrounded by cock, cock, and more cock. Finally I slide slowly, reluctantly upward, my cheeks already aching with that glorious effort my blow jobs entail.

“What?” he asks, his voice husky, his eyes slightly cloudy as I stand and then straddle him, his naked cock bouncing back against him, then getting flattened between us as I rub my pussy along his hardness.

“I’m going to give her a little show and tell, and then she’s gonna fuck you and suck your cock while I watch. I’m gonna make sure she does it perfectly,” I say, then quickly plant my mouth back on his pole, tasting my own heady juices. The whole scenario, from the feel of his hot penis in my mouth to picturing Carrie doing the very same thing, to his strangled moans has me soaking wet. When he pulls me up toward him, turning me around so my hips are hovering over his face, then starts to devour me as I swallow him, I relent, even though normally I prefer to do one thing at a time, fully savoring each sensation. As his tongue parts my lower lips; diving into my swollen, dripping sex; I shudder all over, my hard nipples mashed against his torso, my mouth slackening involuntarily as he pushes deeper inside. His hot tongue swirls in mesmerizing circles as I sink my lips down, down, down, until they meet the base of his cock, the head easing around the bend in my throat. His fingers ply my clit, parting the hood and massaging the hard button beneath as his tongue probes me, his lips and teeth and fingers making me rumble. I ease up on his cock, barely able to breathe, barely wanting to. When he adds a finger inside me alongside his tongue, I’m a goner, my entire lower half tightening and then sparking, my legs clamped around his head as I suck the crown of his dick for all I’m worth, rewarded by the hot spurts of come that erupt from him.

He kisses me between my legs a few more times and then we finally turn around, and I taste myself, this time on his lips. Kyle looks into my eyes, smoothing my hair off my sweaty forehead, his fingers tracing my brows. “I’ll give you anything you want, but I have to tell you, I don’t think any girl out there can suck my cock the way you do,” he finally says.

“Just wait,” I tease, my previously sated body already perking up again at the thought of Carrie grinding herself against my man. I move aside, looking up and down at the man I consider my personal male model, my own private piece of eye candy others may sometimes get to borrow as their eyes drink their fill while we walk down the street, but who I get to take home every night. Feeling him against me is still a thrill, a prize, a treasure, but sharing him is going to take things to a while new level.

I just hope Carrie is as excited as I am. When I call her the next day, she tells me she had a dream about him, about us. “I was lying on my back, my hands above my head, and his dick was coming at me, so big and hard and powerful. I spread my legs at the same time I opened my lips and he entered me in one fast motion. I gripped the headboard, and pulled against it, and then you shackled me to it so I really couldn’t move, and while he fucked my face I watched his cock as it moved in and out. Then I saw you, naked, with your fingers between your legs, and I tried to focus on sucking his dick while memorizing the way you were touching yourself so I could do it later.” Her words spill out in one big outpouring, racing ahead of one another, tripping over themselves in her eagerness to share her fantasy with me. The more she talks, the wetter I get, picturing exactly what she’s described.

“I guess that means you’re in,” I tease her, knowing that I’d have a fight on my hands if I tried to refuse her at this point.

After that, everything else moves at warp speed. For the next few days, all I can think about is watching Kyle and Carrie, directing them in my own little play, and the very idea of her naked along with him, in a scene that I’d created but ultimately would only be a bit player in, has the part of my stomach closest to my pussy doing somersaults, dropping as far as it does when I ride a roller coaster. My body literally aches, and the night before we’re to meet, when Kyle slides a simple finger inside me, I pitch forward, burying my face in his shoulder as I clutch him, my eyes tight as I squirm. “You’re thinking about me with her, aren’t you, Sarah? I know you are, and damn it, now I am too. You’ve made me want to fuck another woman, and even though I’m doing it for you,” he says, his voice rough, almost growling, as his finger surrenders to my cunt’s entreaties, pushing as far as it can go while the flat of his hand mashes my clit. “I’m gonna enjoy it. I’m gonna shove my tongue so deep inside her cunt that she’ll scream.” I reach for his cock through the haze, each of us alternating a fantasy web with our dream girl.

But as many scenarios as we’ve played out the night before, none of them could have prepared us for how hungry Carrie is for him. Any reservations she may have had have clearly vanished, because she pounces on my man immediately, as if they’ve been the ones conducting the secret affair, negotiating this night under cover of darkness, not her and me. I’m wearing a silky sheer black camisole and the tiniest scrap of black lace panties, which are soaked practically from the moment I put them on. I’ve kept them on me, though, letting my scent permeate the room, dipping my fingers inside to offer Kyle a taste of my juices as we wait. Then, all too soon, she’s here, looking even hotter than she did when we met, au naturel in a slinky red dress that seems molded to her body. We converge in the living room where she greets me with a full body hug, her hands traveling from my shoulders on down, and then I hear her say, “And you must be Kyle.” Unconsciously, I slip away, letting them get to know each other. I head to the kitchen to make cocktails, eavesdropping the whole while.

“Hi Carrie,” he says, his voice deep and husky. “I’ve heard all about what a naughty girl you are,” and that’s the last thing I hear as I fumble with the ice cubes. I pour us all sodas, nixing the alcohol, and quickly hurry back. I almost drop the glasses when I see them kissing, his denim-clad leg thrust between her thighs, pressing upward as she pushes downward. He suckles her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. I set the glasses down on coasters, and he looks over and gives me a little smile. “You have good eyes, my dear, very good eyes,” he says, and pulls back enough so we can both see how swollen his cock is. There’s no need for small talk, awkward or otherwise, and things are moving along even faster than I’d anticipated. I follow them up the stairs, watch his hand on her back pushing her up, and I have a feeling he’s going to spank her from that slight show of dominance. When she starts to go right instead of left, his other hand lashes out, pulling her close, while the hand that was guiding her back slides easily into her blonde tresses, tugging her head backward to expose her neck. “I’ll show you where to go,” he says, and she moans in response, giving me a glimpse of hard nipples pressed against the fabric of her dress. I realize she must not be wearing a bra and I feel a gush of moisture fall against my panties.

We reach the bedroom, his hand still tangled in her hair while his other hand immediately goes to his zipper. I step back, giving them a little room to explore but keeping them in my sight. I can see the tendons in her neck straining, her silent swallows as she looks up at him adoringly. She’s caught the magic, the fever; that special ability he has to make powerful, sexy women quiver before him, eager to do his bidding. He lets go of her hair so he can push down his pants to reveal his hard, strong cock. He lets the jeans drop to the ground, then sits on the edge of the bed. “Down,” he says, pointing, the single word enough to have her instantly on her knees.

 This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the one I can hardly believe is actually happening. She reaches for his cock with her hand, but he pushes it back and then leans over her, shoving his cock against her cheek as he fixes her wrists behind her back, her hands dangling down just above the end of her spine, right above her ass. “Keep them there. I just want your sweet little mouth,” he says, the naughty words making me plunge my fingers into my wet panties for some much-needed relief. I try my best to stay silent, biting my lip as she kisses his cock reverently then licks her way in one long motion from his balls on up to the crown before taking him between her lips. I don’t get to see the glory of his cock anymore, but watching her strain to wrap her lips around him more than compensates, maybe because I’ve been there countless times; maybe because I can hear her heavy breathing in the otherwise silent room, her snorts and gurgles as she swallows him. I peek around and see her rocking slightly, her ass bobbing along with her head, and know she’s getting as wet as I always do. I give myself a mental pat on the back for having chosen such a perfect slut as Carrie, as my fingers dive inside my slit. It’s hard to tell who’ll be offended and who’ll be turned on by the chance to bang your boyfriend, you know.

She’s got his entire cock shoved down her throat, and her eyes gaze up at him, waiting for his next instruction. She keeps her mouth there, nudging the base, her lower lip flush with his ball sac, until she needs air, and then she slowly rises upward, unveiling his glistening cock for me. I add another finger, and feel my own breath shoot harshly out of my nose, my nostrils surely flared like a horse’s, my noises of arousal joining hers.

Carrie starts writhing up and down, faster and faster; and Kyle, who’s been trying to maintain a stoic expression, can’t help but part his lips, his eyes starting to glaze. She’s moaning now, her fingers twitching at their imposed exile from her pussy, when he pulls her up again. “You’re a fabulous cocksucker, Carrie. I hope you get lots of practice because clearly you just need cock as often as you can get it,” he says, his voice husky, not giving away any sense of just how much he’s enjoyed her skills. “I think that made you very wet, didn’t it?” he asks. He’s not talking to me, and yet it feels like he is. I’ve orchestrated this little game, but they’ve run with it. They’re not putting on a show for me, I just happen to be their audience I realize as he sits up on the bed, propping his back against the headboard and lifting her dress off to reveal her smooth, naked backside. He hasn’t looked at me once, his eyes fixed on her perfect ass curving across his lap. It doesn’t matter though, whether they’re trying to show off or not. Watching him do all the things he usually does to me, and seeing her react, has my eyes tearing with arousal, the way they do when I give him a really brilliant blow job. I wouldn’t call them tears of joy, exactly; more like tears of overwhelming desire, my body’s natural reaction to feeling like I might shatter, exploding in a fiery orgasm right there on the carpet. I dare to step closer and perch on a corner of the bed, so I feel it bounce as he lifts his hand and brings it down with a resounding smack on her ass. Her hands have automatically settled above her head, perfectly subservient, and now I see her bring her arm toward her mouth, so she can muffle her own cries as he does the same thing to her other cheek.

Handprints, large and pink, immediately flower on her pale skin, but he just keeps on going until her ass is totally his, marked by his smacks. I note the way her body moves slightly, her legs widening, her ass arching higher to make the most of his smacks. Soon even her arm can’t muffle her sounds. He’s had his hand pressed against her lower back, keeping her still so she can fully absorb his smacks, but at her cries, he moves to shove four fat fingers into her mouth. She immediately starts suckling them, as if starved, her face rocking against his invading fingers. This is all way too much for me, and I get up and grab my favorite vibrator. I briefly wish it were one of those small, silent ones, but those have never really done the trick for me. This is a dual-action powerhouse, and I lay it in front of me and hump it, sliding it inside me so I’m pretty much sitting on it before I let it start buzzing. As Carrie sucks and gets spanked, I let the toy whir against my clit and tumble inside my pussy, bringing me to a powerful climax in moments. Carrie turns her head and watches me, her eyes glossed over as he keeps on spanking her. Finally, he pauses, and the lack of noise suffuses the air. I’m spent, and I turn the vibe off. He slides his fingers out of her mouth, but when she whimpers, Kyle offers her his thumb, and she sucks it like a child.

He rubs his hand along her hot skin, then looks up at me, beckoning me forward. I inch closer, so I’m sitting on my knees, which are just grazing her hip. He reaches for my hand, and lets me feel just how warm he’s made her ass. I rest my hand there, gently curving my fingers into her sore flesh, while he dips lower, bringing two fingers into her hole. I stare blatantly, so close up, as they emerge covered in her juices, and I hear her sucking on his thumb, gurgling almost as his fingers torment her pussy. He adds a third finger and she cries out. “I think Carrie’s ready for my cock, don’t you, Sarah ?” he asks me, though it’s largely rhetorical—if he wants to fuck her right now, he will, and all three of us know it. When he says this, she buckles against him, and he pushes deeper, twisting his fingers around, making her come while I feel her body tremble below me.

Usually he likes to be on top, doggy-style being his favorite, so I assume it’s as a favor to me that he lies back against the pillows, sinking down so he’s flat on the bed, and turns her around so she’s on top of him. He pushes her up so she’s straddling him, her hips near his, then nods toward me. I scurry to get a condom, then hand it to her, watching as he holds the base of his cock and she rolls the latex sheath along his bulging length. Her face is serious, full of concentration as she unrolls it. I’m back in the corner of the bed, my body heating up again as she completes her mission and climbs on top of him. I watch from behind, see her reddened ass as it rises up and down along his cock. I let my fingers drift to my cunt, but the urgency isn’t there anymore. My fingers lazily part my lips, simply feeling the blood gently swirling below as he keeps his hands on her hips and guides her.

They’re not too loud, so all I hear is the slapping as their bodies rub together. I’m suddenly wiped out, exhausted in a way only orgasm can make me, and I lie down next to Kyle, my head on an adjacent pillow, as Carrie smiles at me, her perfect breasts bobbing along with the rest of her. When his hands move around to cup her ass, squeezing it firmly and then pulling her cheeks apart, she pitches forward, tumbling on top of him and smothering my boyfriend with her blonde hair. A few strands land on me, tickling until she lifts her head and shakes them behind her. They kiss; a slow, passionate meeting of the lips as they grind together. I shut my eyes for a moment and find the image of them seared into my mind, captured indelibly. I purr without meaning to, open my eyes to find him sitting up, pushing her onto her back, and sliding out. He takes off the condom, tossing it to the ground as he now climbs on top of her. I don’t know what he’s doing at first until I see her hold her breasts together, and he slides between them. He spits into his hand to lube up his cock, then puts it back into her titty tunnel, and she pushes them tightly together. “Come on my tits,” she says, her gaze fixed on his swollen head riding ever closer to her mouth as he thrusts in and out of her. She doesn’t have to do much to get him to spurt, and when he does, I watch his hot lava arc over her body, then land all along her chest, leaving her covered in his white mess. He grunts, then jerks the last few droplets out of his dick before getting up to wash off.

Kyle’s never much of a talker right after he’s come. I’m still absorbing all of what’s happened, my mind adrift as Carrie stares back at me lazily. I’m about to ask what she thought when she says, simply, “You were right. It’s perfect,” then smears his cream all over her.

I guess if there’s any lesson to be learned it’s that you shouldn’t gloat over your prized possessions, be they a mansion in Malibu, a sleek sports car, or your boyfriend’s killer cock. The best things in life, the ones that truly matter, aren’t meant to be hoarded, they’re meant to be shared. I’ll probably lease out Kyle’s cock again, maybe for our anniversary, but for now, I’m gonna spend some time savoring his perfect cock all by myself.

“Late for a Spanking” from He’s on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission

Caught Looking

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

            Laura is late. There’s no escaping the fact that the clock tower outside my apartment has just loudly chimed six and my spankee has yet to show. I walk around my bedroom, running my fingers over the implements I’ve set out in preparation. There’s a tiny slapper, a small, patent-leather nothing of a toy, one whose bark will always be worse than its bite. There’s a ruler, an extra-long, coated one, for maximum impact. There’s a shiny black paddle, stern and strong, like me. There’s one with fur on one side, for when I want to soothe her, or just lull her into a false sense of security. There’s a strap, my belt, a wooden paddle. I probably won’t use them all on her, but I like to have them ready, just in case.

            I pace around, trying not to get too angry. Our spanking dates are about fun, about mutual enjoyment as she bends herself over my knee or splays herself across my lap. Sometimes I sit in a chair, completely clothed, while she strips before me and then lies down, her long, black hair brushing the floor. I have to wait for her to become totally still; she’s that perfect blend of nervous and excited that makes her body gently hum and quiver.

            I pick up the strap and slap it against my hand. The noise and sting bring me back to earth. I look at the clock and see another ten minutes have passed. We’ve talked about this countless times; I’ve tried to instill in her the importance of punctuality, not just when she’s meeting me, but generally. It’s rude to be late, it insults the person you’re meeting by prioritizing your schedule over theirs. She always nods contritely, and I give in to her, even though once I almost sent her home without her dear spanking. My cock was pleading with me to go through with it, though, and I did, though the lesson might’ve sunk in more had I been a stronger man.

            My dates with Laura are about spanking and spanking only. You see, even though I’m dominant to the core, I’m in love with a sassy, whipsmart submissive named Evangeline. She knows she’s got me wrapped around one of her tiny, delicate little fingers, and I actually like it that way. On the surface, I call all the shots, telling her when she can and can’t wear panties, supervising her nipple piercings, exerting control whenever and wherever I can. I know it makes her wet when I give even the slightest command. “Spread your legs farther apart,” I’ll whisper in her ear on a crowded subway train. She’ll turn and give me an infuriated, but utterly aroused, grin, as she does it. She’s only playing at being mad because now her panties will be wet, her pussy seething, her mind racing for the rest of the day as she wonders what else I’ll tell her to do later that night.

            We have an open relationship, but the door isn’t flung all the way wide. We keep it partly cracked, just ajar enough so other women, like Laura, can get in and get the spankings and punishments they, and I, crave. But, horny as they make me, Evangeline has forbidden me from fucking them. I’ve managed to work that energy and want into my scenes, even though it’s sometimes very hard to resist those wet pussy lips I’m allowed to stroke but not enter. Laura’s the worst of all, the biggest temptation, and sometimes she gets spanked extra hard because otherwise I just don’t know what to do with all the pent-up arousal. Evangeline wins too because when she comes over after I’ve played with Laura, I fuck her so hard she can feel it for days afterward.

            I finally sit down on the bed, my hand lightly resting on my crotch. There’s no real way to simulate spanking a pretty, willing, needy girl’s ass when you’re by yourself. Watching videos just doesn’t quite do it for me; I need flesh and blood, I need to her hear beg, I need to look down at her face and see the answers written across her features. At six forty-five, my doorbell finally rings. I have to admit, I've pretty much given up on her ever showing up. Maybe we'll never see each other again, and while I'll be disappointed, what can I do? So I’m partly surprised, partly aroused, and partly annoyed when I open the door to see her standing there blowing her sweaty bangs up off her face, looking contrite and bedraggled but still goddamn sexy. She’s pushing thirty but dresses like a schoolgirl - literally. She has on a pleated plaid skirt, strategically ripped fishnets, big black platform shoes, and a skimpy little white tank top and no bra, letting anyone who cares to look see the twin barbell piercings adorning her nipples. Her hair is in two braids, black eye makeup smeared around her eyes, red lipstick emblazoned across her mouth. Those lips are so tempting, even more than her ass; I’ve had many a fantasy about sinking my cock between them, letting her do what I’m sure she’s brilliant at.

Just the way she makes her sorry face, her mouth open, eyebrows up, hip cocked, makes me want to fuck her. Since I can’t do that, I let my annoyance show. "What took you so long?" I snap, blocking her entrance with my body, even though part of me longs to grab her and give her a hard, solid kiss.

"The train was delayed, and I forgot something in the house . . ." she seems to be making excuses, her voice getting whiny. When she looks up at me, her eyes blaze both apology and defiance. I know she hadn’t been deliberately late so that I’d spank her harder; we don’t need to play those kinds of reverse psychology mind games. She’s genuinely tardy, as Laura often is; she just assumes whoever’s waiting will be patient and forgive her. All her friends have gotten used to it, considering themselves on “Laura time” when they’re meeting her. Even I, for the most part, have adapted, but our spanking dates are special. I’ve made it clear that she’s to treat them with the utmost importance and care, if she’s truly dedicated to our play.

Just because she wasn’t late on purpose, though, doesn’t mean she’s above trying to tease me into going easy on her. She steps forward, pushing me until I relent and let her inside. Then her hand goes automatically to my cock. “Miss me?” she asks with a smirk as she massages my dick. The rules of our relationship are clear; I can spank her, and we can be naked together, but Evangeline doesn’t want me touching her private parts or her mine. We’ve found ways to push the limits of those restrictions, but I take care to abide by them, even though it’s maddening sometimes to watch her pussy get wetter and wetter as I smack her ass and not be able to feel just what I’m doing to her.

I grab her hand and shove it behind her back. She’s a feisty girl, and immediately tries to fight me, plunging us into a mock wrestling match I’m destined to win. “Aren’t you even going to say you’re sorry?” I ask, pinning her down so her hands are raised above her head, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy as she surrenders to my superior strength. I know that even that little bit of immobilization has her aching to be spanked¾and fucked.

“Maybe,” she says, her voice rising in the sexiest lilt I’ve ever heard. Even if she didn’t have the slamming body and completely masochistic nature she does, her voice could do me in every time.

“Maybe? Oh, I think more like definitely. I’m going to make you say you’re sorry, girl. You were forty-five minutes late! I really should’ve just left, and your punishment would’ve been to go home with your bottom just as pale and bare as it is right now. But I’m going to make you pay, don’t you worry,” I say, my cock stiffening as I speak the stern words. She sticks her tongue out at me, but rolls over quite willingly when I let up on her arms and nudge her over. I decide to start off right there on the floor, pulling off her shoes and tossing them into a far corner, where they land with a thud.

“You’re going to get forty-five whacks¾one for every minute you were late. I know, you think that’s nothing, but those won’t all be with my hand, I’m not that dumb,” I say as I push her skirt up. I yank off her fishnets, the tearing sound ringing pleasingly in my ears. Usually she gets totally naked, but her skirt is so short I can practically see her ass, and the image of the tiny garment shoved up above her lower curves, with her white cotton panties around her knees, is too hot to resist.

My dick is pressing upward against her stomach as she does her best to make me come in my pants, wiggling and squirming. I shove my fingers through her mass of sleek back hair and tugged, watching her neck bend backward just so. I tug harder, just enough to make her body ripple in pleasure. “Stay still, Laura; you’ll like this better. You’re going to count for me, and if you mess up, we’ll have to start over, but I know you won’t mess up,” I say somberly. She gazes back at me with a look that wouldd wrecked a lesser man, her moist lips slightly open, her eyes wide and luminous, her nostrils flaring, her need to be spanked, by me, etched as strongly into her skin as a tattoo. Over the course of our relationship, I’ve figured out just what sets her off, and I know how to take her into that magical sub space with just the sound of my voice and a simple tug on her hair or snap of my fingers.

I let go of her hair, catching the gentlest of sighs pass from her lips. Her ass is right there, all mine for the taking, wide and round and pale and perfect. She’s got just enough meat on her bones to make her rump perfect for spanking; girls who are too thin make me worry I might truly be hurting them, and I like asses that are wide enough to cover a range of smacks, ones where I need to hit them a few times to cover the entire cheek. I place my left hand on her lower back, letting my thumb just graze the upper edge of her asshole. I’d love to press it against her sweet puckered hole, but I save that for Evangeline. With Laura, it’s all about hinting, dancing just around the edge of our desire, getting the most bang for our buck, if you will.

I press down against her body, ensuring that she won’t jerk when the first blow lands. Then I raise my hand and bring it crashing down against her right cheek, hearing the boom, seeing her skin go from pale to pink in moments. “One, sir,” she says, her voice loud and direct. It always starts off strong, like she’s trying to show me just how powerful she can be even spread across my lap. By the end, I’ll have her whimpering out her numbers¾if I’m doing my job right.

I roll her slightly forward to get the best angle, then do the same to her left cheek. “Two, sir,” she responds dutifully. I keep going until ten, my palm stinging as the heat roars through our flesh. I pause there, rubbing my palm against her curves, ready to take things to the next level.
“Get up,” I tell her, unceremoniously shoving her off of me. My cock is pressing hard against my jeans, and I’m dying to whip it out and touch myself, even for a minute, but I know that could lead to dangerous territory. If her mouth goes anyway near my dick, as besotted as I am with Evangeline, I might not be able to resist, so I keep it in my pants, literally, and work out my arousal another way. She gives me that look again, the one that silently begs for more, the one that tells me, without even looking, how turned on she is. “Bend over the bed,” I tell her, and she hobbles up, knowing I don’t mean for her to change any part of her attire.

Not only do I like to see her bent over, but I also know this means her piercings press against her sensitive nipples, arousing her further. Her skirt has flipped back down to caress the curves of her ass, so I push it back up, noting how already in a few minutes the redness in her cheeks has faded slightly. I pick up the belt, wrapping its sturdy leather around my hand, then running it across her cheeks, tapping lightly. “Hmmm,” she moans, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed, as if lost in her own personal reverie. I need to snap her out of wherever she is right now and bring her back to me.

I push the belt to her lips, startling her eyes open. “Kiss it, then tell me what number’s next,” I demand.

Something breaks open inside me, swelling not just my cock but my insides, puffing me up, when her lips purse immediately. She gave the belt a solid smacker, then says in her most matter-of-fact tone, “Eleven, sir,” as if telling me what she’s made for dinner. Her eyes watch me, this time not so much begging as seeking, staring back at me an equal partner in our game. She knows just how much I like to spank her, and I know how badly she needs it, but both of us go along with this game anyway, adding to the thrill. Actually, making the thrill happen; without me on top and her below, spanking her would be no fun at all, something a machine could do just as well.

“Get ready,” is all I say as I move to the side so I can hover directly over her ass. Something about a woman’s bottom makes it look even hotter when raised the way she has it, so round and firm and tempting, like it was made with just such a kinky purpose, and no other, in mind. I let the belt whiz through the air once, its snap, crackle and pop music to my ears. I strike the air again, right next to her ass, and she squeaks, a high-pitched noise that sounds as beautiful as any melody. Then I strike her for real, slashing the stripe of leather against her flesh, searing her skin in a way my hand simply cannot do. “Eleven,” she chokes out in a robotic voice, as if it were not a number but the normal response when one has been struck dumb, literally. The pain blooms instantly on her skin, a pretty line that makes me want to lean down and kiss it. Taking away her pain is almost as enticing as causing it, but we have thirty four more whacks to go.

I let the belt lash against the area where her ass cheeks meet her upper thighs, that never-never land of sensual flesh that is disproportionately tender. Like when I’m fucking and trying to hold off from coming, I have to think about something else for a moment besides the beauty of her welting curves, her do-me posture, her have-me stance, her I’m-yours body language. Sometimes I wonder if the constraints on our spanking dates aren’t too much for either of us to bear. Evangeline has my heart, plain and simple, but my cock, my hands, my mouth, my power, those I would share with Laura, if I could. Instead, I must convey all that I want to do to her in these strokes, these beatings that take on so much more than their share of emotional energy.

She calls out the numbers as the belt slamms against her ass, spreading her legs just enough to give me a glimpse at what’s between them. I haven’t told her to, but I haven’t told her not to, and for the moment, I let it go, too pleased with the slick pink shine I se there to argue. I drop the belt at twenty-five, picking up the wooden paddle instead. I could insist on the blindfold, but I like the look on her face when she sees what I’m holding¾half horror, half need. It’s like the look Evangeline gets right before she comes, like she’s tempted to push me away, to stay teetering on the precipice instead of dropping over the waterfall’s edge. I know my job is to urge her on, for the reward is always so much greater than the risk.

The pain only lasts for a few moments, her ass smarting, but the pleasure will keep Laura going for days. I hold the toy that resembles a ping-pong paddle, only thicker, with holes to let air through, then tilt my wrist and let it fly against her reddened cheek. “Twenty-six,” comes out muffled as she absorbs the blow. I pause, trailing the backs of my fingers along her skin, then pinching a bit between my thumb and forefinger. I kneel down behind her and pull her cheeks apart, staring at the forbidden fruit of her pussy.

I need her to come, but I can’t interrupt the flow of our play. I deliver the final blows with the black leather paddle, the simple yet stern one, its shiny surface too cheerful for the kind of sting it delivers. Her voice rises and falls as my arm does the same, until her ass rivals her lips in terms of redness, even after she’s gnawed on her lower lip while taking her punishment.

            If she were Evangeline, I’d simply pull down my zipper, get behind her, and shove my cock deep into her waiting hole. She’d convulse instantly around me, tears of joy filling her eyes but not tipping over, while I marveled at how her heat seemed to travel into my body. I’d try, but fail, to wait, and simply pump my hot lava into her tight tunnel, the explosion truly feeling volcanic. But she’s Laura, my play partner, my standing spanking date, my toy, even though she means no less to me where it counts.

            Because it’s her and not my girlfriend, I will wait to jerk off until she leaves. But she can’t wait, and we both know it. “Lie down on your back,” I order. It takes her a few seconds through the haze of arousal to get into position, but I let her have them, knowing the crisp, clean sheets are rubbing against her sore ass. She goes to remove her panties, but I still her hand. “Keep them on,” I say, sliding them down to her ankles and hearing the fabric strain and rip slightly. I don’t care. I stand between her legs, holding her feet apart as she looks up at my towering presence, my erection practically undoing my zipper on its own. She used to be tentative, taking light swipes at her clit, only really indulging in her masturbation ritual until a good half hour had passed.

            Now, she gets right into it, shoving three fingers deep inside while her other hand tweaks her nipples into tight, fierce points. “That’s it, fuck yourself for me, Laura. That’s your reward for taking your spanking like a good girl, even though you were late and had no excuse and are really a very bad girl to the core.” I like to punish and reward her at the same time when I can, plant a seed of doubt so she’ll give me some reason to keep on spanking her, besides the obvious. “Picture my cock sliding into your mouth, right now, me climbing on top of you, your wrists tied above your head, your lips open and ready. Your friend Kira is fucking your pussy with a dildo at the same time, and I’m pinning you down with my dick so you can’t move except to enjoy being filled in two holes at once.” I know my words are getting to her from the way she clenches her fingers, the way her face convulses, her eyes fluttering open to look at me, then shutting when the intensity gets to be too much. I wait, feeling triumphant when her climax seems to glide over her, making her curl up into herself. I let her go, let the panties slide off as she does what she needs to do. I’m absolutely turned on, but also wistful, wishing I could touch her and help take her to that higher place.

            She gives me her panties as a present, a souvenir to sustain me until next time, a little secret for me to hide away, a compromise between my allegiance to Evangeline and my unquenchable need for Laura, and her sweet ass. “So I’ll see you next week, at six, right?” I ask as she steps into her gargantuan shoes, the height making her look older, wiser, but still just as needy of a spanking. She nods, and I grab her chin, holding her face and gaze steady. “Don’t be late, or you may really get what’s coming to you,” I warn, trying to summon the proper vengeful tone. I can’t quite get there, though, because no matter how late she is, I’ll still want, no, make that need, to spank her, still lust after her and dream about her ass even when I have my girl’s firm curves right before me.

And no matter what I use on Laura when she’s bent over, no matter how firmly I plant my hand upon her skin as she’s asking for it harder and stronger, she knows who really holds the paddle in this relationship. She’s got me exactly where she wants me¾on top, looking down at her, my hand raised, my dick hard. And if you want to know the truth, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“His Just Rewards” from She’s on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission

Caught Looking

by Rachel Kramer Bussel


“Good, I’m glad you’re home. I’m coming over in five minutes. Turn off your TV or computer or whatever else you have on. When I get there, I want you to be completely naked and ready for me. I’ll let you know what to do when I get there. Okay?” I snap this out in my best commanding tone, never letting on that I’m shaking and nervous. I say this as if I talk this way all the time, even though so far I’ve only hinted at what a bitch I can be. I have a clear sense of direction and purpose, have summoned all my power for one final, explosive encounter that will only work if I play it cool.

I arrive a few minutes later and knock briskly on the door. He opens it naked but with sandals on. I march right in, pushing past him, pulling Karla into the room after me, daring him to ask me who she is or what she’s doing here. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t, but it’s not my problem.

“What are those doing on your feet?” I ask disdainfully, pointing at the sandals. I don’t wait for him to respond before continuing, “Take those things off and get down on your knees.” Anticipating his protests about the dusty floor, I bark, “Don’t argue, just do it!”

I hand Karla the bag and signal to her to fish out the riding crop I’ve packed specifically for this occasion. I feel much bigger than my 5'2" height, and not only because of the severe black heels I’m wearing. This is good, because he’s big and strapping and I need all my willpower to go through with it. When he’s on the floor, I nudge him with my foot, tapping his ass and telling him to start crawling. We follow him as he leads us to his office. “Now get up.”

He keeps looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes that beg me to pet and kiss and coddle him, to give him a hint of the affection he’s come to crave from me. But affection isn’t a one-sided transaction, and I have only so much attention to give without getting what I require in return. I’ve been waiting for his side of the bargain, his compliance with my very simple demand, a question in search of an answer, and so far he hasn’t come close. It’s time to teach him a lesson.

He sits in the chair, and I secure his ankles to the chair’s legs, then wrap bondage tape around his chest and knees, in enough places so that I’m confident that he’s secured. I want to bind both his wrists with rope but settle for only one, leaving the other free, not because I want him to use it, but to tempt him into committing acts I’ll have to punish him for later. Karla senses that I don’t need her help and goes off to the adjoining bedroom to wait for me.

“Even though I know you want to be the best little boy you can be and obey all my commands to the letter, I’m a little worried that you’re going to try to talk to me or scream or make noise that will distract me from fucking Karla. So I’m just going to have to tape your mouth to prevent you from even attempting anything like that.”

I pull off a length of the shiny red tape and fasten it over his mouth. I slap his cheeks lightly, one and then the other, and then, because it feels so good, again. His cheeks take on a rosy tone. “You look good like that. Don’t you agree?” I ask in a babying tone as I pinch one cheek, hard. He nods, and I smile in response.

As I step back to survey my handiwork, he looks at me beseechingly. I bring my hand forward and caress his cheek. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, all alone out here with only a video to keep you company, turned around so you can’t see us all naked and fucking each other? Have you ever seen two girls together? I bet you haven’t, but the thought of it turns you on. I bet you’d like to watch, like to see her sucking on my nipples and me licking her pussy, like to see me lay her across my lap and spank her.”

I look down and notice his cock twisting from his restrained lap, and I can’t resist a brief stroke over his hardness. “Not that I know for sure what you’re into, since you’ve been a bit reticent with that information, haven’t you? But on this count I know I’m right. You would like that a lot, wouldn’t you?”

He nods.

“Well, you’ll just have to guess what we’re doing, though if you’re lucky you might get to hear her scream a little bit. But you’re not gonna see any of it. I did bring this video to keep you company, and I selected it especially for you.”

As I put the cassette in the VCR and queue it up, I’m reminded of my babysitting days, when a cartoon was all it took to pacify a screaming, whiny child. This video is for adults only, but I hope it will have the same effect. “Now, I’m going to get you settled in here and leave you with this video, and I want you to be good and quiet and pay attention. There’ll be no stroking your cock. Like I said, I picked this video especially for you because I think there are some good lessons you can learn about what it means to be a good boy and respond to orders, and you’ll see in it what happens when you don’t. I want you to watch carefully what kinds of punishments these mean mistresses dish out, because that should give you a little taste of what’s in store for you when I get back.”

I watch as his eyes fixate on the image of a large man strung upside down from the ceiling of a dungeon, while two scantily clad, sexy women beat and torture him. A quick glance at his cock shows me that it at least is reacting positively to the images on the screen. I don’t dare give away the fact that the video actresses are much stricter than I could ever be, even in my imagination, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try my best. I pull a clothespin out of my pocket and present it to him. “There’s a reason I left your hand free, and it’s not so you can play with your cock. It’s for this. You can put it anywhere on your body that you want to, but when I come back I want to see it attached to you, somewhere. Otherwise I’ll have the pleasure of clamping it somewhere very painful myself. Got that?”

I stand in front of him, blocking his view, daring him to try to twist to watch the TV around me, or otherwise stare right at my bulging breasts. My eyes bore into his, wondering if he can even appreciate the emotions underlying my actions. Yes, I know he’s been craving some sort of abuse from me, but he’s also pissed me off to the extreme. I have to watch myself that I don’t go overboard, don’t take too much of my anger out on his willing skin. The babysitting image returns when I think of how childishly he’s been acting lately, wanting all the fun and none of the responsibilities of a real relationship. My questions go repeatedly unanswered, even though I find it hard to believe that a grown man doesn’t have a response, can’t articulate in words what gets him hard, what turns him on, what he wants. Women are supposed to be the mysterious, hard-to-read creatures, men as easy as saying, “Fuck me.” But it doesn’t actually work that way in the real world.

I wonder if I can hurt him enough that he’ll give me the verbal contact that I crave, the communication that has been missing since the earliest days of our relationship. I wonder if there will come a day where I can ask him to spin me a fantasy, to let me into his head, even if only for a moment. Sadly, I don’t think that’s in the cards for us, so I’ll take what I can get from him and move on.

“Now, watch your video like a good little boy. I’m not giving you a pen to take notes, but I hope you’ll remember what you’ve seen because I’m gonna ask you about it. I’ll be in the other room, but don’t expect me back until I’m good and ready. And don’t even think about trying to escape. When the video is over, you can sit there and play with your clothespin, but you’re not to touch yourself and certainly not to come under any circumstance. Believe me, I’ll know if you do. Got that?”

He nods again, and I walk away, filed with an energy that bursts through my whole body. I enter the bedroom and see Karla lying there, leafing through a magazine, and wonder if she’s heard what exactly went on in the office. The sight of her fills me with an irresistible urge to touch her, taste her, to have her and never let her go. I forget any potential awkwardness over the fact that I’ve been naked in here with him, as well. Now it’s only about me and her, nobody else. I have a brief urge to close the door, even though I know that there’s no way he can come in here to watch. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Whenever I’m with her—whether we’re in a private bedroom or on a public dance floor—it seems as if we’re completely alone. I can melt into her, close my eyes, and all of a sudden the other people surrounding us disappear. We’re the only ones in existence, and she’s the only one occupying my attention.

The immature man I’ve just teased and taunted is nothing compared to her.

She glances up as I walk in, a slightly sheepish look on her face. Neither of us says anything, but a spark of understanding and desire fills the air. I pull her close to me and quickly undo her pants, then slide them down her thin legs. She’s so small that sometimes I feel as if I’m with a doll, an otherworldly creature who is tender and delicate. And while she can be those things, she’s shown me her strength and passion and vulnerability. I don’t have to treat her like a soft flower.

“What have you been doing in here? Have you been good? Were you listening to what I said to him?”

She nods, a slightly contrite look on her face tinged with a hint of mischief. “Did you like that, Karla? Hmmm? Did you like the way I talked to him?” By now her pants are all the way off and I press the back of my hand against her panties, finding them wet and warm. “I think you did. I think you liked hearing me tease him and yell at him, didn’t you?” I slide her panties to the side and stroke her, already so wet I want to plunge right in. Every time I touch her it’s new and beautiful; I could get lost in her pussy and never return to the real world. I press more firmly, stroking only the outside of her wet slit even as I feel her pushing up against me.

“What was that, baby? Is there something you want from me? If there is, you’re gonna have to tell me what it is. You should know that, especially after all I’ve been through with that one out there not letting me in on his secrets. I’ll move closer so you can whisper in my ear.” I pick her up and position her so she’s across my lap face up, her face next to my ear and her pussy within arm’s reach.

As much as I want to think that things with each of them are totally separate, that I’ve been conducting two equivalent relationships operating in separate spheres, inside, they have overlapped. The charge I got from tying him up, from knowing that I could do whatever I wanted to him, has bled over into my time with her. I’m surprised that after all these years being told what to do, and liking it, the other side of the equation seems to fit me perfectly. My breathing quickens as she rubs up against me, her ass pressing into my lap and her face nuzzling my neck. I cup my hand over her pussy and leave it there, willing her to sit still. She does. The squirming stops and there is only silence and stillness, searching and sweet anticipation. I feel myself getting wetter as I realize that whatever is about to happen is under my control; I can go in whatever direction I want.

Just like that, with a split-second realization of power, I’m gushing. I push two fingers into her pussy, knowing that she’s ready so I don’t need to warn her. I press deeper and feel her arch up against me, her head lolling back as she tries to take me in and stay in control, but she can’t. I push as far as I can go, then ease out of her. She grabs my wrist and tries to push me back inside her.

“Soon, baby, soon, don’t worry,” I whisper in her ear.

She whimpers and tosses her head back and it’s a sight to behold, my Karla spread out before me as my personal plaything.

“Spread your legs for me, baby. There, that’s good,” I tell her as her legs widen and I can see all her pretty pinkness. I have no idea whether her other lovers talked to her like this. I am now getting used to figuring out what she wants and how I can give it to her.

I bring my hand upward and then down on her pussy, softly at first, then with my fingers I keep going—tap, tap, tap—against her, knocking lightly at first, then harder as I see that she likes it. As if something inside me has taken over, and I’m in a trance, I bring my hand back and forth again and again, gaining in intensity each time. I pause for a moment, afraid that I’m going to get swept away in my actions and hurt her, but she begs me to continue. I do, slapping her cunt and then once more slipping first two and then three fingers inside her, all with an urgency that we can both feel; I must fuck her right now or it will be too late. I push my fingers inside her, feeling for the most sensitive areas, pressing up and then to the side and almost wanting to cry with the magic of being so close to her center.

I let her lean back onto the bed and with my other hand press on her stomach and then slide lower, massaging her clit while pressing against her, covering her in my touch until she cries out and I feel her squeeze my fingers with a fierce intensity. I slowly pull out, awed by what has just happened, so fast and so furious. Awed but not shocked because it’s like this every time we’re together, with everything so new and raw and fresh I feel both like a wide-eyed virgin and like an old woman, full of power and wisdom. I pull her toward me and hold her, get lost in her for another spell of time as we recover.

When we finally emerge, I’ve lost track of time. I’m sure the video is long over. I wonder if he’ll have his eyes closed, or be playing with his dick, or trying to escape. But when I come out, pulling a naked Karla along behind me, he’s sitting there looking very angelic, his free hand dangling by his side, appearing so casual you’d think he could almost have strung himself up because he was bored.

“So, how was the video? Did it bore you? Is that why you’re just sitting there? Where’s the clothespin?” I say this louder than I need to, because I can, because I like the sound of my voice and want to startle him, and because I know that for once nobody is going to tell me to lower my voice.

He produces the clothespin with his free hand.

“Why didn’t you put I somewhere? If I’d known you were going to not follow my instructions, again, I’d have tied up both your wrists.”

His face reddens.

“What I think I’m gonna do is give it to Karla to put on you.”

I slap his face for emphasis and present the pin to Karla. I know she won’t do too much damage to him, thinking she’ll try a finger or other easy spot, but she surprises me and zeroes in on his right nipple. I give him a look to silence any potential protests. There are so many delicious possibilities of what I can do with him now that I wonder how I’ll manage to choose only one. I bend down and loosen his ankles from their bonds, knowing what I want, at least at this moment. With that extra bit of freedom, there has to be a tradeoff, and I secure his free arm behind his back since he won’t be needing it right now. He looks up at me, a challenging expression on his face, as if he’s ready to duel even though it’s clear that with my ammunition I’ll win easily. But since that’s what he ultimately wants, I guess he wins, too. That kind of win/lose thinking is too confusing for me, so I shut everything else out of my mind except how this scene will end. It’s the last time I’ll see him, ever, so I have to make the most of it.

“I did that for a reason. Now, spread those legs for me. That’s good,” I say soothingly, buttering him up before I take him down. I raise the crop from the desk and hold it in my hand, surveying my subject. I still don’t know if he understands why I’m really angry, but this isn’t about my anger anymore, it’s about something much deeper and darker than that. It’s sad that we won’t get to play like this again, but I don’t have enough time to waste on immature men who think a top’s job is to guess their fetish. I step forward so I’m again standing before him and lean down. I know he thinks I’m going to suck his cock, like I’ve done so many other times, but instead I go farther, licking my way along his thighs before sinking my teeth into his flesh. I bite without care for how it will feel for him, only knowing when to stop the moment I feel my teeth sink into tender skin, then keep going.

I pause, sucking on his thigh, wondering if this will give him a hickey. I continue on to the other thigh, and feel him try to thrash against the chair.

I stand and motion to Karla to come join me. She walks toward us and presses her naked body against my back. I reach behind me and fondle her wherever I can, wanting to kiss her and hold her, but knowing there’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now, this brief contact will have to do. I lead her to a chair and have her sit and observe. Then I take the crop and slide its tip down his body, from his head down his cheek, over his chest, tapping it lightly against the clothespin for a moment before continuing. It reaches his cock and I see his arms jerk, trying to move forward to protect his precious jewels, but there’s nothing he can do. I bat at him lightly, watch as his cock turns even pinker.

“Spread your legs wider,” I instruct him, and he does. I raise the crop and then let loose, tapping and then hitting, harder and harder, along his inner thighs. He winces and tries to move, attempts to bring his legs together, but I work my knee between them, pressing gently against his balls as a reminder that I’m the one in charge. I continue this torment until I have the urge to form something stronger; I only have a little room to work with between his legs. I throw the crop onto the floor and straddle him, rubbing my pussy up and down along his cock. It feels good, no doubt, and for an instant I’m truly tempted to see what he would do with his cock if he could, but it’s too late for that.

How many chances did he have to fuck me, and didn’t? And now he wants it, for some strange reason. I want to leave him tied up here but sense that he needs something more. I get out my pocket knife and swiftly slice through the bondage tape and remaining ropes. I like the way the knife feels in my hand, the implicit threat that I would never use, though he doesn’t need to know that. There’s so much that he doesn’t need to know, will never know, now.

I push him roughly off the chair, and even though he outweighs me by a good eighty pounds, he staggers and has to catch himself from falling off.

“Get up against the wall,” I tell him, motioning where I want him to go. While he positions himself, I get a few more implements out of my bag, holding the firm leather of the paddle in my hand and feeling a calmness overtake me. I am about to settle a score, make us both even, give him the beating he’s been secretly craving, fulfill the fantasy he’s been too afraid to tell me he wanted to do. And for that silence, ultimately, he will lose me. Ironic, actually, but meant to be. I shake my head lest I stand here too much longer regretting what might have been.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Miss,” he says quietly. He’s had enough time, perhaps too much, to prepare himself. I close my eyes for a moment and focus on what I want, then open them and step over to him. If I were taller, I could simply lean forward and whisper in his ear, but suddenly I’m glad I’m not. There’s no need to pretend that we share a false intimacy. This is simply a quid pro quo transaction that will give each of us something we’ve been craving, but also leave both of us needing more.

“I’m going to spank you with this paddle, once for every year of your age. You’re going to count the strokes for me, and when I’m done you’re going to stand there until we leave. Do you understand?” I allow no emotion to enter my voice.

“Yes, Miss.”

I start off sharp and strong, then ease off a little—not the usual way to do it, but this is a special occasion, the first and last time for this particular configuration, and I will do it my way. After ten strokes, I pause and place my hand over his reddened skin, kneading the warmth I feel there. With each squeeze, I feel him wriggle and I press my entire body up against his. I’ve chosen his age for the number of whacks as a symbol of all that he should know by now and doesn’t, and also because I need a stopping point or we could be here forever. As I massage his ass, I know that there’s a part of me that will regret leaving, despite all our differences; that will regret not going further. I wonder if it’s my own fear, too, that has contributed to this détente, but even if it is, there’s no going back. Before taking the next swing, I look over at the naked and sublime Karla, who is sitting and watching silently. I have no idea what she thinks, or whether she understands, but I hope that she does. I keep up a solid, even pace, with well-placed blows that land as harshly as I intended them. He tries not to make any noise, but I can hear the changes in his breathing, see the way his ass moves ever so slightly as it eagerly awaits my strokes. For the last three, I turn the paddle over so that the mean indentations on the other side—the one I’ve never dared use before—are facing him.

I step closer and say, “These last strokes are really going to hurt, so get ready.” I say the words gently, tenderly, almost as if I want to protect him from myself, which in its own way is the truth. Suddenly, I want to step back, put the paddle down, leave. I don’t know if I can finish the job, or if I care enough to expend the energy, but I must somehow, because after a deep breath I lift my arm again.

The three of us hear the loud smack as the paddle connects with his ass, and his hand hits the wall with a thud as he tries to process the pain. I don’t let that stop me, and again repeat the motion on the other cheek. Before the final blow, the room is crackling with tension. Karla is standing now, staring, rapt as I take a quick glance at her and then back at him. He is tall, big, strong, and yet vulnerable here. I feel tears prick my eyes at how much I sense that he would give me, if only he knew how. I feel forgiveness settle into my body, knowing that he has not deliberately hurt me, only done the best that he could do. Alas, that was not enough for my needs, but maybe he will find someone for whom it will be.

I bring my arm back and release all the hurt, pride, honor, and forgiveness, and I almost feel it all leave me and enter him. The sound this time isn’t quite as loud, but it leaves the room singing with its noise nonetheless. I want to say something, even if it’s only “goodbye,” but I can’t. I press my hand against his back, letting my touch do the speaking for me, before quietly gathering my things. He leans his head against the wall, his eyes closed. Before we leave, I pull Karla close to me and we hug for a long minute. Then I grab our bag, let her dress, and take her hand as we go. We head to the park and sit on a bench and I lean my head on her shoulder, and we sit for a long time. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there are some things that can be said without words, with bodies and breath and movement. I lean over, bury my head in her neck, and she holds me. I don’t even know what I feel—relief, sadness, hope perhaps. Whatever it is, words are not enough to convey it. I smile at that, knowing that he would understand perfectly.

Click through to read Alison Tyler's introductions and the stories
"Like This" by Rachel and "For All The World To See" by Matt Conklin


“Choices” from Ultimate Undies: Erotic Stories About Underwear and Lingerie

Ultimate Undies

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Amber lingered at La Petite Coquette, her hand reaching out to stroke all manner of silk and lace in all the most beautiful colors. She studiously avoided the price tags and the other shoppers at the high-class Greenwich Village store; her eyes were solely on the luxurious merchandise, the bras scalloped with flowers along their artfully stitched edges, the camisoles that promised to caress her every curve, the panties that offered her tight but imperfect ass the promise of supermodel stardom. She put one hand on her belly and with the other dove into a drawer full of lace, innocently fondling it as she imagined how her body would change in the coming months. Right now, it was imperceptible, her own little secret, and she was free to pretend she was just another sweet young thing, pretty as a peach, looking for the perfect item to enhance what was an already perfect body.

She declined the salesgirl’s offer of help, preferring to do the browsing herself, with her eyes and her fingers, weaving through the potpourri-scented wares and trying to block out the jostling customers—flirtatious couples, uncomfortable men, a girl who had to be in high school, with A-cup boobs to match—until she came upon her own little slice of heaven. It wasn’t the sexiest thing in the store, certainly; there were no cutouts or special effects, nothing to draw even more attention to her weighty breasts, still high and firm, simply the most gorgeous blue, a turquoise worthy of a peacock, woven with delicate bits of lace. It was a slip, but so much more than a slip. She couldn’t imagine wearing it under her clothes; not only would she be way too turned on, but a slip like this, at a price like that, deserved better, and Amber was going to give it exactly what it deserved.

She paid for her private treasure, watching the saleswoman delicately wrap it in pink paper, leaving the store with a smile tricking about her lips. She went home and took a long, luxurious bath, the hot water finding its way into every spot she’d known was sore, and many she hadn’t. She had plenty of time before Nick got back from the game, and used it well, lying around in bed with their biggest, fluffiest white towel wrapped around her like a cocoon. She tried to read but found her mind wandering back to the slip, to the way holding it as it threatened to slip from her grasp. She finally got up reluctantly replacing the towel on its rack, then smoothing raspberry-scented lotion up her long, newly shaved legs, onto her arms and hands. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, bare, freckles dotting her cheeks, tousled red curls framing her face, still lean, those proud breasts, the still-flat stomach housing her most magnificent work yet, tangle of ruby pubic hair hiding what lay beneath, strong legs keeping her up, toes sparkling with silver polish. She smiled at herself, the kind intended to warm viewer and viewee, the kind that starts in the mind but in the act of raising the corners of one’s lips, makes itself known, demanding an answer. Then she grinned, her smile morphing into something not forced but felt, fully.

And, grinning, is how she slipped into the $200 slip, the one she’d been too anxious to try on in the store. A cramped dressing room was no place for her body to be introduced to such a luxury. No, here in the privacy of her own bathroom, she let the silky turquoise fall against her, let the lace caress the tops of her breasts, her nipples threatening to peek through the mesh pattern. Somehow, the slip managed to straddle the line between elegant and sexy, between upper class wife and downtown whore, quite perfectly. She put her hand on her hip, moaning aloud at the slippery perfection of this fabric against her skin. She’d bought a tiny matching pair of panties, ones that just spanned the curves of her ass, but she Amber decided to forgo them. Standing, the slip’s deliberately distressed hem grazed the tops of her thighs, the zigzagging lace pattern drawing attention upward.

Though she was generally prone to modesty, topped with a good dose of body image issues, the sight before her was so sexy that Amber couldn’t help bringing her fingers under its hem to stroke her own creamy folds. The additional hormones floating through her body combined with her joy at surprising Nick, and herself, was too much for her, and she knew she need to come right then and there. While she watched in the mirror, looking on as if viewing a live action peep show, which in a way this was, her hand dipped under the glorious silk, crushing it to her stomach as her fingers climbed their way to ecstasy, first meandering along her juicy slit, then pushing deeper, seeking more. She made herself keep watching, even when she longed to close her eyes and float way on the sensory overload of probing fingers and nipples pushing against silk, of hard and soft, bending, hiding, seeking, all joining together. From this angle, she couldn’t see everything, and that was okay. It was enough to watch her first two fingers disappear inside herself, emerging wet and gleaming before plunging back in. She stepped closer, so she was touching the mirror, her fingers fogging it up, humping it almost as her body writhed against the hard surface, the slip the third player in her little game. It was so light, had felt like nothing when she’d taken the bag from the clerk, but it was that lightness, that delicate touch that she had to focus on to feel, that kept her going. With her free hand, Amber rubbed her body, rejuvenating her self-love, the kind she remembered from rolling around in the grass of her backyard as a child.

She rubbed herself aggressively, wrapping the turquoise around her slim body, teasing her nipples by pinching them in turn between the softness as she got wetter and wetter. She longed to lift the sip above her head and slide it between her legs, let it sop up the wetness she’d been building, but she waited for Nick, even though part of her knee she was ruining the garment with her clawing and grabbing. She didn’t care, and as her breath fogged up the mirror even more, she leaned against it for comfort, coolness, support, fucking herself twofold as she finally shut her eyes and relented, gave herself up, wholly and fully, to her own urges, no one else’s. She forgot about the baby, forgot about her husband, forgot about the store and the weather and dinner. All Amber knew was the ache deep inside, the raw need to be filled, full, fucked, and she crammed a third finger inside, maneuvering her thumb to get at her swollen clit.

“Yes,” she whispered, then said it louder, her lips brushing the mirror as she spoke, the tiny word growing bigger, bolder, having greater purpose the more she spoke it her “yes” traveled from her lips on down, resounding along her flushed chest, her proud nipples, past her stomach to where she needed it most. The “yes” seemed to slip onto her fingers, to become something more than three little letters as she kept saying it over and over as her fingers merged with her flesh, wet and urgent until they homed in on what they needed. “YES,” she finally cried out, the noise coinciding with the crash of the open door as Nick walked in. He heard the finally cry, but couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

Meanwhile, Amber sank down onto the ground, her bare ass against the pink carpet, her back to the cool tile wall as her hands lay at her sides. That’s how Nick found her, the foggy window and his beloved with a look of half bliss, half exhaustion across her face. He was about to ask if she was okay, but then wondered if she might be asleep. Her eyes were closed, but he’d heard her exclaim only moments earlier. Then he noticed the slip, and while he was still a typical man, stunned into submission by shiny objects, his brain lost in a fog of femininity, this time he did see what his wife had just bought, both the object in front of him and what it had done to Amber. He shut his mouth and leaned down, picking her up, cradling her in his arms. She was back to being his dreamgirl, the one whose image woke him in the middle of the night with a pounding heart and a hard cock, the one who he’d fallen for all those years ago. He carried her fireman style, her body splayed out before him, the slip’s ragged edge landing just above the thing layer of hair greeting her sex. His dick throbbed in his pants as she opened her eyes, lazily looking up at him, saying all she had to say with that gaze. This time, he didn’t place his hand on her belly, didn’t touch her like she might break.

He spread her legs wide, letting the slip ride up on her hips. He quickly stripped off his clothes, rubbing his cock against her slickness, then leaning forward to suckle one extended nipple, taking in the lace as he did. His tongue flickered against her raised pink bead, the lace suddenly not as soft as it pressed urgently against her bud, merging with it while he twisted her other one between his thumb and forefinger. Amber’s neck came up off the bed, straining, bending back, her legs widening as he pushed her from solid to liquid, melting her until she was all his. With her nipple trapped between his lips, he opened his eyes, gazing up at her enraptured face, her hands above her, gripping the headboard, her body primed for him. He could feel her urging him inside, her straining, asking, wanting him. He knew she’d already come without him, knew she’d had her private magic moment, and he smiled as he pictured her wearing just the slip, her panties on the floor, wet, useless. When she cried out, opening her eyes as if in shock as his teeth sank into her already-tortured skin, he pushed his way inside her, entering her with his entire cock. He buried his face between her breasts, burrowing into the warmth of her as her arms came down to stroke his head. He raised and lowered his hips, feeling her nails digging into the back of his neck while the slip was the only layer separating them.

When she wrapped her legs around him, clutching him tight, he knew he was a goner. He lifted his head from its perch and slowly removed the slip, raising it over her head, stroking it against her cheek as they met again, skin to skin, raw, pure, as needy for each other as they’d been when they first met. Needier, in fact, after all they’d been through. Just the two of them, for a little while longer. He took the slip and placed it half in her hand, half in his, holding her hand with the bundle of crushed silk and lace between them as he pounded into her again and again, grabbing for her other hand as his weight crushed her. He raised his hips just so, in that way he’d learned was her favorite, grinding himself through her tight tunnel until he simply couldn’t hold back any longer. “Amber,” he said, his voice low, husky, filled with so much more than simply her name. He repeated as his come surged forward, coating her as he thrust a few final times. He reached down to push against her clit, his thumb pressing it deep against her bone, right where she needed it, and she exploded again, this time ricocheting back against Nick, letting him catch her as she trembled. When she was done, she turned to her side, shoving her face into the balled-up wad of luxury that had started it all.

She thought of all the racks showcasing other possibilities—ones rimmed with fur, with crystals, with ties and bows, tiny buttons and helpful wires. She pictured herself rolling around on the ground, naked, as Nick threw each new sensuous garment onto her until she was buried in a pillow of lingerie, letting it cover her entire body. She saw all the colors and styles she hadn’t picked pass before her mind’s eye, and Amber knew—she’d made the right choice. In the store, and in her heart. She kept the slip on as she curled against Nick’s bare chest, and he put his hand on her back, his fingers resting against the lace. He didn’t even show her the surprise he’d gotten her, one he’d been sure would be the perfect treat; she was already wearing it.

“Toe Job” from Sexiest Soles: Erotic Stories About Feet and Shoes

Sexiest Soles

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

“You have beautiful arches.” This is the first thing John said to me, before even saying hello. At first, I didn’t know what he meant. The only images that came to mind were McDonalds’ gleaming, golden ones. But then he came over to where I was sitting and reverentially lifted my foot, stroking the visible parts not covered by my brand-new black heels, which did, I admit, show off my arches to perfection. “I just have this thing for feet,’ he said with a totally enraptured look on his face. “When a woman has the right type of foot, wow, it’s just the most arousing thing. I’m John, by the way.”

I shook his hand, looking him up and down. We were both working at a local nightclub, me as a coat check girl and he as the new bartender. He was large, not quite the size of a football player, but definitely a nice, meaty, manly size, just the way I like ‘em. We talked for most of the night when we weren’t busy with customers, and he slipped me drinks on the sly. As the night wore on, we started making eyes at each other. At one point, I slipped off my shoe and wound my black stocking-covered foot up my leg, while sipping daintily on the little straw in my drink. With each sip, I could feel a tingle begin between my legs and slowly work its way down.

John took a break towards midnight and came up behind me, putting his hands gently on my shoulders while leaning into me. His touch was light, but it sent waves of arousal rushing through my body, making me shift in my seat. He leaned closer, and spoke softly into my ear, his cheek nuzzling mine and his breath landing on the sensitive spot on my neck that always set me off.

“Girl, you’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he breathed. “I’m so hard because of you, because of the way you keep crossing your legs, thrusting that foot out in front of you for everyone to see. Every time I see it, I just want to grab it, press it to my lips, and kiss every inch of that pretty foot. Come home with me and let me show you what I’m talking about.” With every word he spoke, his hot breath and delicious words got me so turned on, I was soaking my panties by the time he was done. I knew I couldn’t refuse, but I didn’t want to let him know that yet.

When my shift ended, I pulled him into the now-empty coatroom where I again sat in my chair and motioned for him t kneel down in front of me. Poised above him, I thrust my foot out, commanding him with my eyes to show me what he could do. John ran a hand up my leg, from the sole of my foot up my calf, then my thigh, then pressed it against my cunt, sending waves of desire through me. He fondled me for a moment through my panties and stockings, caressing me with his thumb, before gliding his hand back down to lift my foot to his mouth. He licked and sucked my toes and the bottom of my foot, but it felt like my whole body. It was the most delicious foreplay of my life, and I was definitely ready for more.

The whole train ride to his house, he whispered into my ear all the things he wanted to do to me, and to my feet. When we finally got to his place, he knelt in front of me again and gently unbuckled each shoe as his cock twitched in delight. He drew his hand over and around each foot, stroking the exposed top and the leather before sliding his fingers between the sole of my foot and the inside of my shoe. It tickled slightly, and when I moved my foot to try to escape, he grabbed me more tightly, determined to have his fun. I don’t often like to admit it, but I enjoy being manhandled on occasion, just as much as the next tough gal. I shivered as he took charge, nuzzling and biting at my feet, obviously in some kind of sexual heaven. We played footsie for a few more minutes until we were both so ravenous for each other we couldn’t stand it. I thought he’d strip me bare, but he re-buckled my shoes and pushed me back onto the bed, only pushing up my skirt and pulling down my panties and stockings, the minimum clothing removal necessary.

Enough with the niceties and foot fondling, I thought, as he spread my legs wide open, lapping at me in wide, delicious strokes. He pushed a lone finger into me, teasing me as he moved it back and forth. It felt good, but by then I was ready for more. The buildup had been too much, and I was ready for whatever he had to offer me. He continued to stroke me for several minutes, adding more of his meaty fingers until I thought I would explode. My toes, my legs, my cunt, my head, my whole body tingled with anticipation and arousal.

Finally, he slid his cock into me, without preamble or warning. I was a little surprised, but I liked the way he took charge. He thrust into me, pushing deeply, and made me suck in my breath. Each movement felt entirely, totally delicious as he lifted my legs up onto his shoulders, and entered me even more deeply. I couldn’t’ move at all, and could only focus on his cock slamming into me again and again. Then he turned his head and licked my shoe, licking the shiny leather, and then the exposed top of my foot. Again it tickled, in that maddeningly wonderful way that the first stirrings of orgasm do. I tried to wiggle away, but I couldn’t move. “Take them off,” he grunted as he continued ramming his cock into me. I strained to lift my hips and meet him halfway, while in a daze, I unbuckled his shoes, letting them drop to the floor. He turned his head and pressed his whole face directly against one foot and then the other, his cock, buried inside of me, not moving. I saw what he wanted, and pressed my feet on either side of his face, framing it. He closed his yes and turned his head back and forth, pressing it into my feet like they were my breasts, comforting and warm.

Then he began thrusting again, grabbing my left foot and licking my toes before sucking as many as he could into his mouth. I’d never been into any kind of foot play before, but this was different. His warm tongue and the rapturous look on his face made me tingle all over. My whole body felt hot because of him, and as he sucked on my toes and rocked his hips, I came, squeezing my cunt and my thighs as I felt the orgasm grab me. He felt it too, the way my pussy pursed around him, and my whole body got so tight and then loose and then tight again. He pushed into me once more and buried his face in my foot as he came. We lay there breathing heavily and finally went to sleep. As I drifted off, I felt him turn around so his head was resting directly at my feet. Right where he belonged.

“Dancing Queen” from Secret Slaves: Erotic Stories of Bondage

Secret Slaves

“I get turned on when I dance,” she tells me, a twinkle in her eye as she sashays her way from my perch at the bar onto the dance floor, daring me to follow her as the short red hem of her dress bounces around her thighs, her tight curls swinging as she rocks her hips in time to the music. Once on the floor amidst the other twirling, gyrating bodies, she immediately loses herself, becoming not so much someone else, as a better version of herself, completely at one with her body and the beat, oblivious to everything but the many ways she can move to the rhythm, the way the beat finds its way inside her and then works its way out. Meanwhile, my thoughts are slightly less pure, as I look at her pulsating body and imagine what I could do with it in a slightly different setting, making our own very private music.

In my purse, I’m holding the blindfold that has been there for the last three months, less an impulse purchase than one of those items you know you need, know you’ve been lacking without it, know your life is incomplete unless you own it, the moment you see it. Like finding a missing twin, it’s instant recognition of a soulmate. It’s a purchase that immediately yields results, immediately fills some void that you’re stunned to realize you didn’t know exist, that makes its presence known throughout the day even when it’s not in use. It’s not so much a toy or an “aid” as a necessity, a vital part of my newfound fantasy life. It is plush and decadent, a plumply padded purple and black velvet, soft and delicate yet surprisingly sturdy. I’ve briefly submitted to its tenderness, telling myself I needed to see if it worked, though what I most long for is to see it wrapped around a lover’s eyes, tenderly sinking them into a dense, delicious darkness from which there is no escape. There is no euphemism for my new purchase, no “eye patch” or sun shielder; this decadent item is made to shield the eyes from things much more dangerous and tempting than the sun. It has lain nestled in its tissue paper lair for the last three months, carried everywhere I go, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be unleashed, not on an unsuspecting victim, but only on the most willing of participants. And there she is, Anastasia, the girl who has finally come along to fit that particular bill.

As she whirls around the dance floor, into and out of the arms of many a lucky guy, she occasionally flashes me a blinding grin, all white teeth, blazing green eyes flashing, while I sit with my drink, my bag in my lap, and wait. We’re both content with this division of labor as she dances her heart out and I get to watch her in action. When I first saw the blindfold, I held it, fondled it really, reveling in its preciously soft feel. I knew if I had a cock, I’d have wanted to fuck it, wanted to wrap my hard meat within its soft, tender folds, to caress myself with its sensuous surface, probably lose control and cover it with my come before I ever knew what was happening; that’s how gorgeous this blindfold is. Now I press it against the dick that feels just as real as any guy’s, that’s nestled beneath my skirt, slim yet sturdy, stroking myself as casually as I can. And because I’m a girl, with my own long curls, glowing lips and stacked heels, I get away with this forbidden foreplay, with planning what I will do with all that is in my lap once I get her home, and nobody around me is the wiser. I’m simply a girl having a drink, waiting for her friend, rather than a creature planning the intricate tortures I’ll make her submit to once we depart.

Finally, hours later, she is ready to go. Her eyes have simmered at me from across the room, blazing a path through the throng of dancers as she lifts her dress just enough, from lower thigh to upper, in a way that’s clearly an invitation, and I simply cross my legs in my lap and smile back; she’ll have to come to get me, and eventually she does. I don’t mind the time that has passed, for its given me innumerable opportunities to observe her at play, to watch her bouncing curls flare out around her head, to get peeks of her tender, juicy legs as her flouncy dress rose high into the air, to imagine what she will look like splayed out across my bed. The hours of dancing and sitting respectively have worked us both into a frenzy, so once the door closes, it’s anything goes.

We fall on each other like lovers stranded from each other for a lifetime, rather than girls who’ve been skirting our passion for a few weeks with coy glances and suggestive innuendo, neither bold enough to make that fateful first move. I press her face first against the wall and slide my leg along the crack of her ass as she presses back against me. In a flash, I unzip her dress and bite the soft, tender flesh of her neck, and she hisses in response. I drag her over to the bed, and push her down onto is queen-size plushness before landing on top of her. Nothing has prepared me for the beauty before me, as we fall onto the bed in a lusty, sweaty heap, her face bathed in the glow of the tired but not yet sated. It is all there in her eyes, those eyes that beg for me to take her, to complete what I’ve started, to make us one. I press a hand between her legs, press the sheer, delicate cloth of her dress against her dripping cunt, hold it there as I marvel at how damp she is, how ripe and ready. I ease one finger insider her panties, along her slit, slow as can be, a tickle, a twirl, a tease. Her teeth come out to bite her lower lip, holding back the words she wants to call out but doesn’t. By unspoken agreement, she is silent, telling me what she wants with her searching stare and spread legs. I am torn between those sparkling green globes and my precious plan, but when my finger enters her just slightly, but enough to make her head tilt back, eyes shut tight, I know that it’s time. I pull her into a sitting position, grab a handful of bouncing, boisterous curls and ease her head back; it bends easily, her eyes still closed, offering herself to me. I lean closer, lick the delicate skin of her neck that she bares, push my knee in between her legs and simply keep it there, a warning and promise.

She knows without me telling her that I want her to stay still, to let me decide what will happen next, a good sign. I nip at her neck, take another brief taste as she struggles not to squirm against me. I trace my fingers over her face, the smooth brow, the delicate eyelids, flushed cheeks and bright pink lips. Then I reach for the blindfold, careful not to shake as I place it on her for the first time. She assents, lets me place it over her unruly curls and it looks just as gorgeous there as I’d imagined. I ease the dress off her until she’s splayed out before me, a perfect specimen of womanhood, then ease her bra and panties off until she’s completely naked.

“You’re going to stay still for me, right? You look gorgeous right now. I like seeing your pussy, I’ve been thinking about it all night.” She shudders in response and I move closer, whisper directly into her ear. “You like not being able to see, don’t you? Because I could do anything I want to you, anything at all and you won’t know until it’s happening. And believe me, there’s plenty that I’m going to do you; I had a long time to think about it while you were dancing. Spread your legs really wide for me,” and she does, giving me a perfect view of her delicately shaved pussy, bearing only the lightest of fuzz. “Good girl, I like that you take directions well.” I trace my fingers along her slit again, leave them there. “What do you think I should do with your pussy, Anastasia? What should I fill you up with? Hmmm?” She just moans in response and I pinch her clit between my fingers, hard enough so she’ll still feel it once I let go. I turn her over onto her stomach and push her legs wide apart, stretching them out so I have a perfect view of her ass and her cunt.

I have to restrain myself from attacking her ferociously. I want to take this slow if I at all can, as much for her sake as my own. I slide a finger along her gorgeous, juicy slit and am rewarded with a moan and slight wiggle, and I leave my finger pressed there while I survey her again. Her hands having automatically gone into position together at her back, without my even asking. I clamp a hand around her wrists, push them against her back, then can’t stand the sight of her perfectly curved, tanned ass in front of me and must slap it. Her breath comes out in a gasp of wondrous recognition, and I know she’s been spanked plenty of times before. But this time will be different. I slap her cheeks again, harder, my hand feeling the sting after each smack, then stop abruptly and thrust my thumb into her pussy while my the rest of my hand splays itself across her ass, a finger teasing the delicate hole there that seems to be waiting for me. She wiggles underneath me, lets out a tortured sigh as I move only slightly. “Is there something you want, princess? Hmmm? I’m not going fast enough for you? You just can’t wait for me to fuck you, isn’t that right? I know what you want, but because you’re acting so impatient, you’re going to have to wait until I’m ready. And who knows when that will be. Do you want my cock, is that what you’re telling me?” I ask with just a hint of venom in my voice as I press her wrists against her back with a little more force.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I want, please,” she babbles, the words coming fast, tumbling out of her mouth in her need to appease me. I reach for the special rope under the bed and tie her wrists together, in such a hurry that I forego the formality of pretty knots for a simply sturdy one, watch as she presses against them, her straining making both of us wetter. I press against my cock and feel a shiver of excitement spread throughout my body. I undress and hold out the cock to her lips, and they part seamlessly, sucking it in as I push against her, and that sight of her, covered in the purple velvet, lips open in pure desire, hands bound and body tensed, is enough and I come in a sharp, silent shudder. I pull out and she looks up at me, and I know if I could see her eyes they’d express an echo of disappointment at the loss of my cock to suck.

Not for long though. I grab her hair by the nape of her neck and pull sharp and tight. “You like sucking cock, don’t you? You like letting me use your mouth like that, don’t you?” and as I ask her these rhetorical questions I stroke her slit again and am amazed at how wet she is. I had suspected, knew even, that it turned her on, but as my fingers practically glide into her of their own accord, I know she’s more than ready. I pull out, roll a condom onto my fat cock and settle myself between her legs, as excited as any teenage boy to finally get to sink myself inside her wet, willing heat. I hold my cock for a minute, press the tip of it against her cunt and watch her wiggle. “Stay still,” I bark even though I like the way her ass looks when she moves, but I feel a heady rush when she immediately stills, her hands clutching the sheets as if to keep herself steady. I push into her and feel her tighten around me instantly. I can’t resist and push all the way inside and lean forward so I’m pressed up against her back and bite into her neck again as I fuck her slow but hard. Then I sit up, the better to look at her gyrating body, about to fall apart underneath me. I push her legs apart by her ankles, watch as the shudders pass through her body, as she strains to move against the rope, against me, against her own will to stay still and let me pace things. But she can’t help it, it’s like the music is still in her blood, only now I get to see her do a very different kind of dance, one that ends as she comes in a fierce, wracking orgasm that makes her cry out, her fingers flexing to try to grab me, grab any contact she can. I pull out and hold her hand, squeeze it tight while with my other hand I reach under the cock and, with a few quick strokes, bring myself to an orgasm that has me crashing down against her, spent. I kiss her back, my own private dancing queen, rocking to a beat that’s all our own.

“Animals” from Best Women’s Erotica 2007

Best Women's Erotica 2007

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Listen to it being read on Best Women’s Erotica editor Violet Blue’s Open Source Sex podcast here:


         "I want you to hold me down and fuck me hard. Don't treat me like myself, or like a woman at all—treat me like an animal," I told him, the last such pronouncement I would make. Aidan was the kind of guy who always made me feel depraved, and he had a special knack for making my pussy tighten so fiercely I worried that it would stay that

way permanently, like how parents warn their kids their eyebrows will stay furrowed if they keep on frowning. I'd been lusting after him for almost a year, but had finally broken through my own fear and told him what I wanted from him, only to find he felt the same way. I'd never asked anyone anything of the sort—a little spanking, a few minutes of

bondage, a few dirty words thrown my way, but that was about it. This was different. This was real, raw. That's how much I wanted him. At first, I wasn't sure if he got what I was saying—I didn't want him to hold back, at all. I could tell that he had been, just enough to make me long for more, to make me feel slightly put-off, like he thought I

was too fragile to take what he could really give me.

         Maybe it's because outside the bedroom, I'm his boss at our small town's indie record store. I'm the girl that all the wannabe guitar players drool over—five nine, long jet black hair often tinged with green or red, eyebrow ring, purple lipstick, powder-pale face. My clothes, some mixture of black, tight, and sexy, usually paired with

imaginative stockings and combat boots, never fail to make at least one set of eyes turn at the store. But Aidan, unlike most of the guys who passed my way, caught my gaze immediately. He was smart, not just some snot-nosed punk looking to steal CDs when they thought I wasn't looking. Aidan could talk as easily about Dorothy Parker or Bukowski as he could The Buzzcocks or Braid or even The Beatles. He didn't lord his intelligence over anyone there, either, it just came out if you provoked him enough, or stayed hidden, like a turtle under its shell, if you didn't. He was more clean-cut than the other guys, so you had to peer a little more closely to see his edge, to catch a sneer or raised brow, to see the smirks that were gone almost before they'd even formed. He had plenty of scars and dreams and fantasies, but they were wrapped up so tight I didn't know if he'd be able to let go, even though it was clear from his rock-hard cock and the look on his face, eyes half-lidded and wet mouths lack, that he wanted me.

         I was sick and tired of lying back and letting some guy rock his cock inside me like we were on a seesaw, gliding gently upward, pausing, then zooming downward at the most predictable pace imaginable. Even at 25, I knew that sex should take you out of the

everyday, should make you as wild and ferocious as a rabid dog—in heat. The guys before Aidan had been cute enough, but just couldn't give me what I most craved, what I dreamed about as I squirmed against my slithering fingers as the walls of my bedroom shook with the latest single the store had sent our way.

         "Are you sure that's really what you want, Tina? You already drive me so crazy with that sweet ass of yours, twitching it the way you do when you walk, like you're moving each of those cheeks separately, taunting me with them so I just want to grab you and smack them till they're bright red." Just hearing the normally sly, sarcastic Aidan

saying those words, thinking those thoughts, made a tiny trickle of liquid slide down my thigh. Since somehow finding ourselves wedged together behind the counter last week during closing, we'd been fucking like rabbits until every moment seemed suffused with his scent, his touch. Even when we weren't together, my pussy was working overtime, as if asking when he'd be back.

         We were standing in the doorway of my tiny kitchen, part of the so-called bargain I'd scored to live in the East Village, meaning I got a minuscule doll-sized set of three rooms, rammed right up against my neighbors' identical layouts. But I didn't care, because how much room did I really need to get fucked into oblivion?

         Aidan was behind me, his back against the front door, while mine was slammed against his hard cock. I could feel it pressing between my ass cheeks as I pushed back against him, and I leaned down, showing off my flexibility by wrapping my wrists around my ankles, making my already short black latex skirt ride up my unusually bare thighs. I was sure my tiny, wet red thong barely covered my pussy lips. He growled, and I knew I had him right where I wanted him. He tugged upward on one side of the thong, making it dig into my cunt lips until I whimpered, tears of joy forming in my eyes. More, I thought, I want more. Then he let go, but immediately grabbed my hips and slammed me hard back against his dick. I heard the metallic twang of his zipper being undone, and then his warm cockhead was tracing the contours of my slit, tapping against my opening like he was testing out the right key to unlock my door. Except Aidan knew after only a week together that he could have me anywhere and everywhere, could take me when I least expected it and I'd be wet and ready for him. He was simply that kind of guy. Just as

I was getting used to the feel of him rubbing against me, making me ache more than I would have thought possible, he stopped.

         He pushed me roughly forward, and I had to scramble to place my hands on the floor in front of me to steady myself. Then he shoved the remaining fabric of my skirt well over my hips and reared back, slapping my right asscheek hard. The sting traveled throughout my body, seeming to leave my mouth in a whoosh of air. I had to really focus to not tip over, and then he did it again, the sound echoing through the room. He tugged on my thong, harder this time, keeping it there so it bisected my lips, letting them fall on either side of the thin piece of fabric. "You want me to treat you like an animal, T? I hope you're ready for me." I am, I am, I mouthed to myself.

         Then he let out a growl, mimicking several animals at once as he brought his hand down and spanked me again, this time using his hand to get at both cheeks at once. He leaned down and before I knew what was happening, his teeth had sunk into my skin, the fleshy underside of my ass, his mouth moist, his teeth sharp as I got what I'd asked for, got the fangs and claws as his nails dug into me, his teeth nipped down my ass to play at my thighs. When he moved us into the other room, carrying me over to the bed and laying me down on the mattress, my body pressed flat against the crisp sheets, all of me

bared, open, waiting, I snuck a peek behind me and almost didn't recognize him. Like the best actors, he'd become someone else, gone to his own primal inner core as he scowled, his features contorted into a wild snarl of pleasure and passion and lust and sadism, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he whacked my legs apart. I went limp, a willing rag doll, as he pounced on me. His weight pushed me deeper into the bed, his cock pushing against my slit.

  I felt deliciously, delightfully small, a little girl to his giantess, as his hands raked through my hair, then clawed down my back, the red lines burning as he did his best to mark me, brand me his wildest animal. He reached beneath me, pinching my clit hard,

until it hardly even felt like my special nub, but something else entirely. He ground my hard pink button between his fingers, so tight I felt almost numb, a blaze of heat wicking its way upward and inside, then petering out just as quickly as it started. I'd wanted something, certainly, when I'd asked for this treatment, wanted to go farther than I ever had, shed some layer of skin that's essential for daily life but feels like a cloak during sex, even when I'm naked. I'd wanted something vaguely urgent, something like the Nine Inch Nails line, something like what I'd seen in those porn videos where the girl screams and screams and screams until you don't quite know what's happening to her, only that she cannot live without it. But whatever I'd wanted, whatever I'd dreamed about, Aidan had torched completely. My meek little fantasies were child's play compared to this, were like

going to first base when he'd simply upended the whole ballpark. With just his bare hands, his voice, his cock, he became an animal for me, one who wouldn't take no for an answer because he didn't even speak any language, let alone English. He became exactly what I hadn't known I needed until then, his paws digging at me, burrowing deep inside,

stretching not only my pussy but my boundaries as he bit and dug and pinched and thrust.

         My cunt was so perfectly sore, so raw, so hot, that when he finally slammed his cock into me, I went wild. The sounds I let out were now the inhuman ones, bubbling up like some deep ancestral wail, coiling forth from my stomach, my cunt, my gut, my memories. My body was pinned beneath him, as much by shock as by force, and I let the tears stream down my cheeks, let him overtake me as his cock seemed to fill my entire body, coursing through me like blood, like power, like magic. Later, I would laugh at how truly out-of-this-world this was, how far removed from our petty punk politics, our little scene, the endless rounds of gossip. Whereas other girls might tattoo their

sluttiness across their arms, or their asses, or their chests, the way Aidan fucked me went deeper than any ink ever could. It marked me inside, until I thought I might explode, combusting right there, his prey through and through. He speared me, plunging inside me with all the force he'd been holding in for years, forever possibly, going further than I'd have thought possible, literally and figuratively, smashing me into the floor while my body tried not to escape but to mold to his, to fuse against him so I could feel what he was feeding me forever. As he plundered me, as he fucked me like the animal I'd become, he gave me so much more than his cock, so much more than simply his body. Aidan gave me his darkest self, like a werewolf or a witch, the kind that only came out at night, under the coveted safety of the dark, one meant not for public viewing but for me alone. His dark side became mine as we growled at each other, shaking with need until I crumbled first, howling, baying, barking, making noises that were neither animal nor human, but somewhere caught between the two, my body twisted beneath him as I let his power crash over and then through me. I was still quaking when he came, his semen shooting into me like a rocket launching.

         And then somehow, after many minutes of silence, of mouths opening and then closing, of words and thoughts gently tiptoeing back into our heads, pushing us over to what humans do best, we smiled at each other. He tumbled onto his back and pulled me on top, and we laughed, while a few errant tears raced down my cheeks. "I think I know what your next tat should be," he said, doodling his finger against my right bicep. "Wild Animal—because you are." Later, he sketched it for me, somehow managing to recreate the essence of what we'd done with elaborate gothic letters, a forest surrounding them, danger signs lurking amid beaded eyes and sharp teeth. For now, I'm just keeping his etching in my pocket all day, so I can pull it out and look at it and be reminded of him, of us. There are some things I want the world to know about, things I can't stand to have assumed so must emblazon them prominently, but Aidan and I together, well, that's something else entirely. Besides, anyone watching closely enough when I smile just so, making my incisors gleam and my eyes flash, should be able to see the animal in me. And if they don't, they're just not looking closely enough.

“Spike” from Best Women’s Erotica 2006

Best Women's Erotica 2006

Listen to it being read on Best Women’s Erotica editor Violet Blue’s Open Source Sex podcast here:


            The minute I see the shoes, I know I want them. Scratch that—I need them. They are practically talking to me, curving their lips into a gleaming, gooey grin that makes my feet itch to try them on. Their siren song lures me across the store until they are all I see. I pick them up, fondle them, tracing my fingertips along the smooth, supple leather, imaging them on my feet, my feet caressing Jack’s cheek, Jack’s tongue licking the edges. Their black surface is sleek, shiny and perfect, crafted to look like a gorgeous piece of art, the kind you might hang on your wall and draw stares for miles, but it’s the spike of the heel that really does it for me. They are sharp and pointed, like a knife; they could do real damage, both to the wearer and to anyone standing in her way. They are also tall; when I try them on, I feel like I’ve been gifted with those extra inches I’ve always considered my birthright. I stare down at my feet, not in the mirror, but live, right before my eyes, and know they are right. I march over to the counter, take one off and hold it up to be scanned, then slide it back on, feeling the power wash over me, slowly but quite surely.
            They hurt when I slip them on, I won’t deny it, but it seemed a fair trade-off: I’d suffer some pain, he’d suffer more. The he in question was my new lover Jack. We’d only been together once but he’d immediately dazzled me with his ability not only to submit, but to get me to want him to do more, to go further into our roleplaying until it is less playing and more simply being. Dominance is something I innately warm to, but only under the proper circumstances. I don’t walk into a room and instantly want to see every guy there down on his hands and knees. No, it doesn’t have mass appeal to me. But when the right guy comes along, watch out. Jack had started out with the typical macho bullshit with me, at some overly hip bar I wasn’t even sure why I’d wandered into. He’d teased me about my hair, acted like he’d never seen someone who looked like me, almost goth with my pale skin, jet-black hair, tattoos and piercing gaze. I don’t look like the kind of girl you mess with, and when I grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the hallway he started to get the picture. I pushed him up against the wall, my face inches from his. “You don’t talk to me like that; nobody does. I think you’ve just been waiting for a woman to put you in your place. Well, consider me that woman.” I meant every single word as he cowered before me, seeming to grow smaller as he saw just how serious I was.

            I wormed my fingers under his tight collar, letting my knuckles press against his neck, the backs of my fingers hinting at what they could do to his chest. I grabbed one of his hands and thrust it under my latex miniskirt, the kind I manage to pull off as saying “fuck YOU” rather than “fuck me.” I rubbed his fingers along the very sheer fabric of my expensive lace panties, then maneuvered them under that veneer, sliding those callused stubs along my wetness. I pulled his fingers back, then shoved them into his mouth. “You better get used to the way my pussy tastes, because you’re going to have my flavor on your tongue for quite a while after tonight.” I shoved him against the wall and took a step back. “Say your goodbyes and meet me outside in five minutes. I’ll be in the red Porsche. If you’re not ready, you’ll be sorry.” And then I did the thing that always throws them off, lures them into thinking that underneath all that gruffness I’m really a nice girl. I winked at him, then smiled sweetly and planted a very soft, tender kiss on his big red lips, then pranced back into the bar. I knew that kiss, that sweet soft mere taste of my lips on his, was enough to make him need to try it again, and try it, we had, spending the entire night teaching Jack a very important lesson about respecting women—specifically, respecting me.

            On our next date, armed with my new purchase, we don’t waste any time with social niceties. Both of us know exactly why we’re here, and that the best way for us to communicate isn’t with endless talking, but with his face buried into a pillow or crammed full of my cunt. That might sound cold, but with Jack, it’s amazing how much we each manage to say solely with body language. A sense of calm and strength comes over me the minute I hear him say ,“Do whatever you want to me.” I feel those words travel from the ends of my hair to those razor-sharp spikes, emitting their own kind of pheromones that quickly swim through my bloodstream, sharpening my resolve. To say I feel maternal toward Jack wouldn’t be totally wrong, but it’s a combination of so many things. I want to teach him a lesson, but I want it to be my lesson, my way. I want him to walk out of our dates not only with a raw, stinging bottom, his back scraped raw, having left my mark, as it were, but I want him to know that I know what’s best for him, because clearly I do.

            It takes him only moments to fully undress and lie down along the length of the couch. His cock is already hard, trying to worm its way between my legs as he wriggles against me. My pussy is wet, but a new kind of wet; not that urging, throbbing hole-needing-to-be-filled-immediately kind of wet, but a wetness that percolates, waiting until the moment is ripe. This kind of wetness could wait, could withstand the slow build, could hold out for something better. When I had time to think about it, I considered it a more mature, superior wetness, befitting a woman of my stature.

            When he splays himself across my lap, the position feels as if he were meant to fit in the palm of my hand, his little bubble butt poised in the air, just waiting for me. Every babyish quality he possesses surges forth to the surface, his voice going higher, his body seeming to shrink just so, his eyes looking back at me with raw need and hope and urgency, as if I am the only one in the whole wide world who can meet his most visceral desires, and in that second, it’s true. I feel like the queen of his world as I run a hand over his face, sticking a finger in his mouth, tracing my nails along his neck, while my other hand tickles the bottom of his foot, then lightly trails up his leg, needing to touch every inch of my newfound domain. I kick out my leg, admiring the way the shoe conforms to my foot, squeezing it just so, the tip darting out in a delicious point. Then I raise my right hand, bringing it down across both his sweet ass cheeks in a way befitting a woman wearing that shoe, befitting a woman with a man splayed across her lap like a baby. “Unh,” he moans, or something like that, a guttural groan that has him kicking and squirming in delight. I raise my hand again, landing it on the other cheek, then bring it up higher, wanting a louder, harder smack. I hold his cheek steady with my other hand, flattening that perfect curve, then bring it down again, while he nuzzles his face into the pillow. I keep going, enjoying the sting as it travels up my hand, then, when his sniveling gets too much for me, I shove two fingers in his mouth to shut him up. He bites down on them, while I keep increasing my pace, admiring how quickly his ass turns a perfect shade of red, how in only a few short minutes he takes on all those childish qualities I’d only glimpsed before. His ass remains what it had been, two perfectly symmetrical rounded cheeks, and yet it also transforms into something else, something softer, subtler, sexier, hard and firm yet open, yielding. I marvel not only at his stamina, but also his giving, granting me this opportunity to take over, fully and completely, no questions asked, a rarity in our highly regulated world. I stamp my feet on the ground, simply because I can, because right now, I can throw my own temper tantrum, and indeed get what I want, what we both want.

            I make him get on his knees, wrists behind him. As I fasten the pink rope, bought especially for him—because despite the firm breasts, red lipstick and spiked heels, I am clearly the man tonight—around him, he moans again. I love when he reaches that point of no return, where anything I do, any decadently dark suggestion, is okay. At his finest, I could bind and gag him, naked, and string him to a telephone pole, and his cock would be sticking straight up, begging for more. Wrists secured, I place him on his hands and knees in front of me, returning to my throne. That final twist of the knot has made my pussy twinge, has made me start to feel that more familiar ache that can only be filled in one of a few ways. I raise my skirt enough for his head to fit underneath it, and he dives right in, his tongue immediately going to work. He presses that fast-moving organ deep between my folds, then brings it back up to mash it against my clit, swirling in circles and then pressing deep, using his teeth. From his muffled grunts, I know he’s enjoying it, and I look down at the skirt-covered head between my legs, patting it before I lean back and close my eyes.

            For once, I let myself truly relax, practically feeling my body unravel, starting with my head. I let my mind go blank, releasing every ounce of tension and worry, then doing the same from my shoulders on down. Once my precious feet are loose, hanging in the air as my heels sway, I can suddenly enjoy his tongue all the more. “Harder,” I grunt, because the truth is, I prefer fingers or dildos or cocks to tongues, but today, I want his tongue, want him to savor exactly what he’s doing to me. I lift the skirt, pulling it up around my waist until his mop of hair appears. I beam down at him proudly, knowing I have trained him well; he will only look up at me once I touch his head and grant him permission.

            Under my watchful gave, he works even harder, and best of all, I know for him it’s not just work. He enjoys the taste of my twat, truly wants to get me off, and not just because once he does I will very likely allow him to slide his fat cock inside me. He has his own reasons for tasting me, for diving in with boundless enthusiasm, for making his tongue everything I want it to be. He can tell that I’m getting close, and brings his hand, which has been clasped around my hip, up to my cunt, sliding three fingers into my pussy while continuing to torment my clit. I dig my carefully grown, manicured, just-sharp-enough nails into the back of his neck, pressing urgently against the spot I know will make him squirm, then wrap my legs around his back, letting the spikes of my shoes graze his backside, slide down toward his pert little ass. His fingers slam into me when I do, work overtime, curve and press frantically while his teeth nip at my clit. By unspoken agreement, I buck back against him, thrust upward even as my nails drill his face into my hole, both of us working toward a mutual goal. When I simply can’t stand it anymore, I lean my head back, throw my legs wide in the air, and he slides a fourth finger into me, the one that is always a tight squeeze with any guy, a little risky, the signal that we’ve arrived. I scream as my cunt clamps down on him, grit my teeth as my climax races through my body, a comet that burns brightly before its sparks start to fade, leaving us both slightly shaken.

            Finally, he looks up at me, the lower half of his face smeared with my juices, his eyes wide and wanting. I slide off one shoe and hold it out to him, and he opens that precious mouth once again, taking the heel between his lips as reverently as one might slide a guy’s hard cock between their lipsticked mouth. I hold the shoe, don’t fuck him back with it, but let him savor the heel that now seems made just for him. I let my bare foot wander to his dick, slide it up and down, fondle his length with the tender, sweaty ball of my foot.

            I keep on going, wishing I could tease him all night with the power of my feet alone, no longer needing the threat of the spikes to control him. I’d love to flaunt my power by making him go home with his cock still hard, but I can’t do it—not for his sake, but for mine. I want his come, and as I slide both feet now over and around his cock, toying with the head, playing with his balls, my breath comes fast, harsher, in sync with his. He knows this is his reward, but I’m not sure if he knows it’s mine as well. I give him my fingers to suckle as he gets closer, and when he’s about to come, his sharp teeth come out, grinding into my fingers, but I don’t mind. It’s worth a little pain to feel his hot come shoot out over my pedicured toes. He gets another treat when I raise my feet to his lips and let him lick his own come off of them, every last drop. Before he can clean up, he has to massage my feet, then soothe them with lotion before easing them back into the shoes, with which I make my exit. I look down at the heels as the click along the pavement, my clothes only slightly rumpled from our encounter. Definitely worth every penny, I think to myself, and give the guy staring admiringly at my shoes a dazzling smile. When I get home, instead of snugly storing them in a box in the closet, I prop them right on top of my dresser, a permanent reminder of just how far I’ll dare to go—but only with the right guy, and the right shoes, of course.

"Gloss" from The Mammoth Book of Hot Women’s Erotica 2004

         Standing in front of the mirror, I apply the gooey liquid over my lips until they shine like glass, not gooey but slick and hard, almost icy. I'm keeping in mind my friend Alice's advice that "lip gloss should look like you've just given someone a blowjob." Whether or not they approximate this maxim, I know my lips will be the main attraction tonight, which is precisely the idea. They are slick and shiny, like a red race car, boldly drawing attention to themselves, whether the viewer wants to look or not. The rest of my ensemble works, too¾clingy black top and short tight black PVC skirt. But I want people's eyes firmly on my lips.

         I head over to the bar, a plush new one that's just opened. I've been lucky enough to land a coveted invitation to this private party, and I know the crowd will be the cream of the crop. I could have brought a guest, but tonight is by necessity a solo excursion. I'm on a specific mission and need to conduct it in my own way. Finding the right man for a one night stand, for an electric connection that burns and sizzles as fast and hot as a firecracker, and lasts about as long, requires a unique combination of savvy and intuition and I can't have any distractions.

         Red is the theme of the night, with lush red curtains and a deep garnet shade painted on the walls. I order the watermelon martini, the night's special, and perch on the barstool. My legs are tucked under the bar and I don't bother to showcase them, even though I know they're magnificent. I'm alone and know exactly what I want¾a hot guy, a stud, sometime to entertain me for tonight and tonight only. Someone with a cock that's hard and hot and needy, just for me. As I close my eyes and lean forward to sip the cold, sweet drink, I feel a presence behind me. After I swallow I slowly sit up in my chair, leaning back ever so slightly and brushing against the shirtfront of a very slick, well-dressed handsome man. Not a cute, shaggy hipster like I normally meet or a yuppie Wall Streeter straight out of college, but a real man¾a little older, crisp and clean, sophisticated.

         I slowly swivel my stool around to look at him, our gazes holding. My knees skim his thighs, and instead of smiling I reach for my glass and bring it to his lips. The ghost of a smile forms on his face as he lets me tilt the icy red liquid down his throat. I bring the glass back to my own lips and sip again, slowly and deliberately, still meeting his gaze. I'm vaguely aware of the crowd surging around us, the commotion at the bar, but this stranger is occupying the bulk of my attention. I have the urge to wrap my legs around his waist and draw him closer, but I stay composed. I open my mouth and am about to introduce myself, searching for a witty line, but the longer we stand there staring at each other, the more difficult words become.

         Instead I take his left hand and bring it to my mouth, sliding his index finger inside and then carefully sliding it out, my tongue pressing against it the entire time. I push it back in again and repeat the process, this time lightly grazing my teeth along his slightly roughened skin. As I'm about to go for a third round, he moves his hand and trails his wet finger along my neck, ending at the neckline of my dress, his hand resting on my chest.

         He reaches his hand out for mine and even though I have half a drink left, I let him lead me into the unisex single occupancy bathroom. As befits the rest of the décor, the bathroom is lush and lavish, with red tiles and smooth surfaces and a plush upholstered chair along with the sink and toilet. I look up at him, my lips slightly pursed, poised to smile or laugh or smirk, not letting him know which one it will be yet. I keep my eyes locked on his as my hand goes to his crotch, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. I like that I'm in control here, that even though I just met him I know that he's at my mercy. He led me here but now I will be leading him. Even down on my knees I will be the one in control and that thought sends a shiver through my body. Ignoring the chair for a moment, I step closer and then drag myself down his body, my breasts sliding along his torso, my nipples hardening at the friction as I sink to the floor. It's hard to keep my commanding gaze as I look up at him, but somehow I manage even though inside I'm melting. I close my eyes for a second as my hand reaches up reverently to stroke his cock through his pants.

         I glance briefly at the chair but then realize that I like it better down here on the cold floor, the tiles pressing into my knees as I fumble with his belt buckle. I'm soaking wet and will surely have to remove my panties later but for the moment all I care about is his cock and getting it into my mouth. He helps me undo his zipper and before his pants are even pushed down his thighs I'm leaning forward, my tongue darting forth to lick a slow, teasing line along the length of his cock. I move closer so my knees are pressed up against the sides of his shoes, my legs slightly spread as I try to taste all of him at once. He sighs and groans and I look up at him for a moment, no longer smirking at all, simply acknowledging how right it feels to be here in front of him. His eyes are almost too intense and I close mine before guiding the length of his smooth, warm cock into my mouth, going slowly until I have all of him inside of me.

          I try to push him deeper, to feel the tip of his cock at the back of my throat, to take him as far inside of me as I can. I hold his cock and press the tip along my throat, ecstatic, until finally sliding it out and starting the whole process all over again. I tilt my head and run my pursed lips along his cock, up and down and around, my own slippery sexual harmonica that I can play any way I want. I love the way he feels against me, how hot his cock is and every time I move to try something else like licking his balls or kissing my way along his length, I suddenly need to have him inside me again. I devour his cock, slamming it down my throat and back, rocking my whole body back and forth in a special kind of dance. As I do, my thong presses tightly against my pussy and I let out a groan of my own that reverberates against his cock. I feel like I could stay right here forever, learn every curve and crevice and nuance of his cock, and still want more.

         He is enjoying it too, I can tell, but as his hands flick agitatedly from my head to my hair to his sides, I know he's getting close and don't want to deprive him. I slide him slowly out of my mouth, teasing him by sliding him back in slightly and then continuing. I rub my cheeks against his cock, press it against my neck, caress it and adore it. Then I spread my legs wider, into a split and look up at him before opening my mouth, sticking out my tongue and slapping his cock against it again and again. Now he really groans, louder and fiercer than before and I move faster, then shake my head back and forth, slapping my face against his cock and his cock against my face in a frenzy that makes me feel almost dizzy. I want to talk, to tell him to please come for me, to tell him how much I need his hot cum splattered all over me, to tell him how wet he's making me, but I don't want to ruin the mood. I think he knows how I feel though, as we thrash energetically and then he grabs my head with one hand and his cock with the other and forces his cum onto me, giving me exactly what I'd asked for as the warm whiteness spills all over my face, my lips, my hair. I lunge for his cock and suck the rest of it out of him, holding him there even after I know he's done.

         Finally I stand up, too nervous to look at him. Instead I look in the mirror and try to rearrange my hair and clothes so that it's not quite so obvious what we've been doing. It feels like we've been here for an hour but I think it's only been about 10 minutes, which is still long enough to annoy the bar patrons. I smooth my hair back into its barrettes, adjust my collar, splash water on my cheeks and wipe them clean. But my lips, well, my lips I leave, looking wet and moist and red and sexy. I don't need the lip-gloss anymore to do the job for me; I've just done it myself. I wink at the stranger and then stroll out the door, a smile on my wet red lips.

“The End” from Best American Erotica 2006

Best S&M Erotica: Volume 2

"do you see her face

 when she's gone

 sometimes so bright

 your heart just stops

 did she answer you

 your other half

 you know they say

 she comes just once" -- Sleater-Kinney, "Jenny"

            It doesn't help that she looks more beautiful now than ever. Her face glows with a natural tan and the sweetest smile I think I will ever see, her blue eyes shining at me with want and need and love and pain. I want to feel like we are our own entity, existing in a private universe that nothing and no one else can pierce. That life is all about looking at her, in her, nothing more, nothing less. Without makeup, she is the perfect combination of girl and woman, and she fills me with a need to hold and protect her that leaves me raw and open and more vulnerable than any person should ever be.

            I know all the right moves to make, the ways to touch her, the strokes that will make her melt and move and clutch me like she will need me forever. I know how she wants it. I need to feel like I'm the only one who can give it to her. I live for those times when she grabs me and looks as deeply inside me as I am inside her.

As she lies there, so small, so seemingly fragile, her doll's body looks like some alluring creature, one I might break if I handle it improperly. I can easily forget the core of strength and stubbornness she possesses. Spread out in front of me, she is truly the girl of the dreams I never knew I had. I slide my fingers inside her, pushing deep into her core, knowing just where to curve and bend to get to where I want to be. I've never known another woman's body quite like this, navigating her pussy as easily as I trace my fingers over her face, reading her like a well-worn page of a beloved book, instantly, easily.

            At this moment, with her hair messy and tangled like an overworked Barbie's, I want to grab it as I've done so many times before, to pull fiercely and then bring her head down into the pillow, to live up to the violent promise of this situation. I almost pull away, because I am not that kind of girl. I'm still getting used to being the girl who wants to hurt someone else, who feels the most unique kind of awe when I hear the sound of my hand slamming down against her ass, who sometimes wants to slap her across the face. The girl who got the slightest thrill when she cried the other day while I spanked her.

            I see the collar next to the bed glittering brightly. It meant everything when I fastened it around her neck those countless weeks ago, transforming the airport bathroom into our own private sexual sanctuary. Now, it is too bright, too accusatory, a mistake in so many ways. Like the sweetest of forbidden fruit, her neck beckons, so white and exposed, pulsing with veins and life and want. Now when I see her neck, tender and ever needy, I can barely go near it. The pleasure would be a little too great. It would be a little too easy to press a little too hard, to enjoy it for all the wrong reasons, even though I can feel her angling towards it, begging me to obliterate her for a few blessed seconds. I know what it does to her, and for the first time, I don’t want to know. That's never been the kind of power I've wanted, even though she'd gladly give it to me, give me almost anything except what I need the most.

            I want to slide back into that simple starting point, our bodies blank canvases on which to draw magnificent works of the most special kind of art. Maybe there is still some power left in this bed, something that flows from one of us to the other rather than simply inwards, something that binds us together. The ways I thought I knew her have all vanished, lost in a mystery too complex for me to solve. Too many silences and unspoken thoughts war for space between us. She is just as much as stranger to me as she was on our first date, perhaps even more so now, her mind locked away in a box with someone else's keys. Knowing only her body leaves me emptier than if we'd never even met, a hollow victory, a prize I'm forced to return, undeserving and unwanted.

            My fingers grant me nothing except access to a disembodied cunt, separated from all reality, the way the old school feminists described pornography, parceling out body parts at random without context or meaning. I wish I could erase my sense memory of how it feels to fuck her, love her, and know her all at the same time, in the same motions. I am somehow back to square one, vainly hoping, praying, that I can make her happy.

            Only this time, we have so much more to do than just fuck, than slide and scream and bite and whisper, than twist and bend and push and probe. The stakes are so much higher than no orgasm will ever be enough, but I try anyway.

            No matter how far I reach inside, I cannot crack her. Those eyes are a one way mirror, reflecting a surface of something I cannot see and probably don’t want to. I want to tell her I love her, show her everything inside me, but I open my mouth and just as quickly close it. I can feel her body shaking, the tears and pain rising up like an earthquake’s tremors, and I shove harder, grab her neck and push her down, anything to quell the rising tide that will be here soon enough. This may look the same as all those other times, my fingers arching and stroking, her eyes shut or staring at me, needy, grabbing me when I touch her in just the right way that is almost—but not quite—too much. But it is nothing like those other times, nothing like anything I’ve ever done before. It is like touching something so totally alien, someone I never even knew, someone not even human. I feel lost as I touch her, my heart so far away I hardly know what to do or how to act. I can see that this is not bridging the gap, but I can’t stop myself. I try to pretend that her moans, her wetness, these external signals of desire actually mean she is truly mine. There is no way to make her come and erase the other girl's touch entirely. I am not yet thinking about her and the other girl, wondering how she touches her, not wanting to know but needing to, drawn to that deadly fire with a car crash allure, though that will all come in time, in those freestanding hours of numbed shocks, those lost weekends when she invades my head and will not leave.

            She has written me a letter, as requested, give me exact blueprints for how to fuck her. How to take her up against the wall, how to tie her up, tease her, taunt her and hold out even when she protests. I want nothing more than to be able to follow these instructions, which by now I don't even need because I know how to trigger her, how to get her to go from laughing to spreading her legs in the briefest of moments. I know exactly how to touch her now, where to stroke and bite and slap to give both of us what we need, but that is no longer enough. I don't have it in me to be that kind of top, to blank out all the rest and fulfill only that viciously visceral urge to pummel, pound and punish. That urge is too clearly real, too close to the unspoken pain, the words that will come later, the ones right underneath the tears. I know when I hit her what it means. There can be no erotic power exchange when she holds all the real power. I have enough soul left in me to know that sex should not be a mechanical obligation. It should be the only thing you can do to stay alive, compelled with the force of something so strong you’re powerless to resist.

            I reach, reach, reach inside her, desperately searching, hoping to wrench us back to wherever we are supposed to be, back to where we were—a week, a month, a lifetime—ago. I draw out this process, watch myself as if from afar as my hand slides inside her, as I lube myself up and try to cram all of me into her, make a lasting impression. I have my entire had inside her yet I feel more removed from her than I have ever felt. She might as well still be in Florida. She might as well still be a stranger, this might as well still be our first date where I laughed so much because I was so nervous. I'd rather this be any of those nights, even the ones where I was so drunk and afraid, so powerless and unsure; anything would be better than this slow death, this slow withering until we are nothing more than two girls in a room with tears in our eyes and an ocean of questions and scars and hurt between us. I can’t predict what will come after this most pregnant of silences, can’t know the depths of pain that will puncture me beyond the horrors of my imagination, can’t know that I will regret everything I might have, could have, did do wrong.

            She turns over on her stomach, face hidden from my searching eyes, and I fumble to reconnect, to slide into her like nothing is wrong, like it’s just a matter of finding a comfortable angle. I finally have had enough, cannot keep going with the charade that pressing myself against her will fill all the gaps that still exist between us. But for whatever twisted reasons we need this, this final time. And this is the last time, because nothing is worth feeling so utterly and completely alone while you're fucking your girlfriend before you break up. No power trip or blazing orgasm, no heart-pounding breathless finish, no sadistic impulse or mistaken nostalgia is worth this much pain.

I don’t know how to say what I have to, what I’m terrified to, how to ask questions whose answers I know I won’t want to hear. There’s no book I can read that will teach me how to make her g-spot tell me her secrets, tell me those fantasies and dreams that don’t come from her pussy but from her heart. The end, it turns out, is nothing like the beginning. There is no promise of something more, some grand future of possibility, the infinite ways of knowing each other just waiting to be discovered. There is no hope that we can merge, in all the ways love can make you do, into something so much greater than the sum of our parts. The end is like what they say about death, where your whole life flashes in front of your eyes. I see moments, fragments—my hand up her skirt on the street, taking her in the doorway of a friend’s apartment, so fiercely she can barely sink down to the ground, her on her knees in the bathroom, surprising me as she buries her face into me, no room to protest, grinding the edge of a knife along her back, slapping her tits until they are raw and red—but they seem so far away right now, like a movie, someone’s else’s pornographic memories. They don’t make me smile, and I don’t want them anymore. I want to bury myself in her and never let go, hold on to something that has just fluttered away in the wind, fine as the glittering sparkles she wears on her eyes, miniscule and almost opaque, too minute to ever recapture. But all I can do is back away, as slowly as I can, so slowly that it seems as if I am hardly moving, and before I know it, I, and she, we, are gone, almost like we never existed.

"The Real Reason I Have Long Hair"
from Five Minute Erotica
Five Minute Erotica

My grandmother wants me to cut my hair. I don’t want to. I can’t tell her why, but I can tell you.

It all started after a night out with a friend. We were sitting in her car after she’d driven me home. I’d called the friend I was staying with minutes earlier to let her know that I’d be home soon I learned over to give her a hug and thank her for the evening, and in a split-second the entire tenor of the evening changed. It went from an innocent hug to a goodnight kiss, and then t happened: she pulled my hair. And she didn’t pull it lightly, by the split ends, the kind of tug a 6-year-old uses to tease the girl sitting next to him. No, it wasn’t like that t all. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before. She grabbed my hair by its roots near the back of my neck, and, using a surprising amount of force, tugged me by the hair. I felt that pull run right through my body and my cunt tighten. With each pull, I felt almost like I was getting fucked, or teased, the way the intensity built up and up until I could hardly breathe. It was a magical, thrilling moment that not only caught me off guard but also got me as aroused as I’ve ever been.

Having long hair has always been a sensual experience for me. When I’m naked after a shower and my hair has just dried, I love to lean back as far as I can and feel my hair across my back like a lover, brushing against the curves of my as. I love to tease my lovers with my hair, flicking it back and forth as I flirt, dangling it over their skin while we make love. I can use my long hair to flirt with, or to hide behind. It’s also a bit of a camouflage; some people make assumptions that girls with long hair are “nice” and we’re not supposed to be as brazen as girls who’ve copped all their locks off. Long hair is supposed to be a bit dowdy, a bit old-fashioned, but for me it’s not; it’s intimately connected to my sexuality. And in many ways my actions are like a girl with short hair; I’m very independent, headstrong, outspoken. But there is a totally girlish side of me, one that delights in something as seemingly retro as long hair.

Every time it’s too hot out or my hair gets too frizzy, I have the urge to take a pair of scissors and chop it off, lose the split ends and extra care long hair requires, become cooler, or dykier, in the process. But always, always, I resist. Long hair makes me feel powerful, sexy, beautiful, and every time I’ve cut it off, I’ve missed it desperately.

In a total act of topping from the bottom, I often command my lovers to pull my hair, hard. When they do, it sends shivers throughout my body, a current of energy channeling from the roots of my hair directly to my cunt. I et frenzied and frantic as they pull over and over, each tug building on the next. It’s like being teased, touched lightly or indirectly when you just want to be pounded hard. Because while having my hair pulled can bring me right up to the brink of orgasm, it alone is not enough, and that maddening tease, that thrill as the sensations chase me closer and closer, is like nothing else.

When I’m having an intense hair pulling session, I lose myself completely, get frantic and needy and one hundred percent out of control. I want things I’ve never wanted before when my hair is being pulled, things that scare me and test my boundaries. Tears spring to my eyes, but they’re not from a direct sense of pain, because it doesn’t hurt, at least not in the way I understand pain. When a lover pulls my hair just right, with that perfect combination of dominance and affection, my head bends back in pure submission and delight. Parts of me I don’t usually think of as erogenous zones come to life. The girl who pulled my hair and almost made me come under the street lamp also pinched my neck (nobody had ever done that before), precisely and deliberately coinciding with her hair pulling, sending further spasms throughout my splayed-out body.

On vacation with my lover, he was pulling my hair as I straddled him, our bodies rubbing together, and all of a sudden, I wanted him to slap me, hard, across the face. I’d never wanted that or anything like it before, and the thought and image scared me even as they turned me on. I opened my mouth but couldn’t get any words out, couldn’t voice this seemingly wrong desire. So he kept pulling my hair and biting my nipples, working me into such a frenzy I thought I would explode. I knew that all of this pain-as-pleasure stuff was new to him, but it was also new to me, in a way; I didn’t expect his hair pulling to have such an effect. It can totally make me lose my balance, both mental and physical, spin me and twist me around so I hardly know where I am or what I want. That kind of dizzying desire is scary, but also special (perhaps because it’s so scary).

It’s also a special kind of activity, not something I do with every lover. That very first night, what made it so special was the surprise element, the way I didn’t know what would come next or where she would take me. What makes me keep wanting more and more is that I still don’t know what will come next—what bizarre thoughts and fantasies will enter my mind and body when someone pulls my hair.

So now you know my secret, the reason I put up with the knots and tangles and hassles of having hair halfway down my back. It’s not just a fashion statement; it’s a sexual proclamation for those who are bold enough to handle it. Just don’t tell my grandmother.


Carrie Brownstein

Originally appeared at Lesbianation.com, August 2002

Sleater-Kinney, one of the hottest rock bands around, are back, with their sixth album One Beat, and not a moment too soon for their legions of fans who've been clamoring for new music since their 2000 release All Hands On The Bad One. One Beat is roaring and alive with the urgent punk rock Sleater-Kinney's fans have come to expect, while also experimenting and adding to their repertoire. The ferocity of "Combat Rock" is reminiscent of their anthem "Call the Doctor" in its brazen challenge to the status quo and the government's response to September 11, asking simply and succinctly, "Since when is skepticism un-American?"

One Beat is a summer album, a very now album, but also a timeless one that should be thrilling kids and queers well into the future. Braving new ground, Sleater-Kinney pour all the energy and drama we've come to expect from singer/guitarists Corin Tucker and Carrie Browstein and drummer Janet Weiss into this explosive album. It's clear that the Portland, Oregon-based trio are ready to rock and shake things up, and they want to make sure that you are too.

Lesbianation spoke with Carrie Brownstein about the band's need to play music, her nascent acting career, September 11 and the joys of live shows. Even before she says it, it's clear that this band is vital not just to its fans, but to its members. Brownstein repeatedly emphasizes how much all three love and need to play music, which is only to be expected from the band who sang "Tie me to the mast/of this ship and of this band" in the face of major label encroachment and media hype. Their mantle as the "Queens of Rock 'N Roll" is further established on every song of One Beat and should win them even more critical acclaim and new fans looking for rock that matters.

LN: This has been the longest break between albums, about two years. In that time, you've moved to Portland and Corin has had a baby, and I wanted to know how these things have affected the band and the new album, as well as when you worked on the album.

CB: We worked on the album beginning the summer of 2001. Another difference between this album and the others is that we spent a lot more time writing the songs. Moving to Portland, and having all three members of the band in the same city, has had a really positive effect on the band in the sense that suddenly the writing process and practice became much more fluid and became a much more organic part of our lives. We used to have to schedule practices a week in advance, and that just really compartmentalized the music, so that even if you're not inspired, you know that you have to drive two hours, and they have to drive two hours, to play. So I think it's just really amazing to live in the same city and have music just be something that we do, in addition to the many other things we do, and if we're not feeling inspired, then we'll just talk and we'll practice or write another day. That freedom really lends itself to spending more time on the songs , and meant having a wealth of songs to choose from.

And then of course, certainly having Corin having a child has had a profound effect on her life. The main way it effects us as a band is more of a logistical thing. I think for Corin she loves motherhood and her baby comes first for her, but she also is an artist and she wants to be an artist, so she's finding a way of balancing the two.

LN: You said you started working on the album last summer. Did you sit down and say "we're going to write songs for this record," or do you do it as it comes to you?

CB: When we first started, we didn't have a goal in mind. Corin's baby was pretty young, but she really wanted to be writing, she really needed to have that creative, artistic element in her life again. And I really needed that as well. All three of us really need the band. So I think when we first started, we really wanted to be writing, and have that process be part of our lives again. We didn't really have a specific goal in mind. Janet was busy with her other band Quasi at the time, so it was just Corin and I writing songs in her basement, and it wasn't until Janet finished up with Quasi and we all started writing that we suddenly had 6 or 7 songs. Probably in aate fall that we thought, "oh, it would be possible for us to record" and then we started planning and scheduling recording time and thinking about when we wanted the album to come out. But it wasn't until we had a handful of songs that we realized we really liked the stuff we were writing and could make a new record.

LN: This album seems to deal with current events more than your other albums, which have dealt with popular culture but not so much news events, specifically September 11. Can you talk a little bit about that, and how it's effected you.

CB: I think that as a person and also as an artist, it's impossible to ignore the psychological and emotional domino effect that September 11 had. It certainly certainly a sense of despair and fear and hopelessness, and it was just a natural reflex. There was a collective grief and confusion. It wasn't a question of should we write about this or should we not write about this, it was our own response to what was going on our lives, and it just happened to be something that was going on in everybody's lives. Whereas sometimes when you have something going on in your life, like a breakup or a crappy day, it just happened to you. Even though people can relate to it, it doesn't necessarily feel contemporaneous to what's going on in the world. In this case, we all experienced a collective loss.

I think the larger theme of the record that has to do specifically with 9/11 and its political aftermath, but also in our personal lives, is dealing with what you do - where do you find hope or goodness or faith - after a time of complete despair, in a time of darkness. We always try to write from a really honest place, and that's where we were at.

LN: I was a little surprised, in a good way, but it was nice to hear it addressed via music.

CB: It seemed like there wasn't that much going on in music, people weren't really addressing it, except for some people who were writing really patriotic songs. Everything right afterwards felt really futile, like what's the point of art, but I also felt that art and music, things that make people happy, are important things, and it felt like a really great time to be writing.

LN: Do you plan to record any videos for the album?

CB: I don't know, we keep debating this, if we do we'll probably throw something together quickly this summer. Right now we don't have any plans. MTV is such a crapshoot.

LN: I know you've done other videos for "You're No Rock 'N Roll Fun" and "Get Up." You brought up MTV - is the reason to make a video to get on MTV or do you have other uses for videos?

CB: Personally, I love the marriage of music and video, but I think historical footage of bands from the 60's or the 70's, that stuff is invaluable, being able to look back on these great images of the bands. So I think it's a great way of documenting msuic. I love the way the Beatles did it, making miniature or full-length movies of their songs. I think that the actual process and the actual idea is really fun, so there are better reasons to do it, to me, that are more rewarding than trying to get on MTV. But I think if we do happen to get on MTV, maybe on 120 Minutes, it's a pretty good promotional tool. But that's not really the reason we do it at all.

LN: I wouldn't think it would be because I didn't really see them playing your videos, but maybe.

CB: Exactly. When you're on an independent label, you don't even really consider that stuff a possibility, because mostly it's just big labels shooting money into the hands of corporations to get them to play the video. And we've always just made them with people we know, so it's a chance to get to work with our friends.

LN: You've also been doing some acting, in Miranda July's film Getting Stronger Every Day, and also in the recent film Group. What was working on those films like and do you plan to do more acting?

CB: Working with Miranda was great, she's one of my closest friends. We just had a really interesting experience working on that, in the dead of winter, at the end of 2000. We just have a really fantastical, imaginative life together, Miranda and I, that's what our friendship is based on. That was really fun. We're working on another movie right now actually.

Working on Group was a lot scarier because it wasn't with anyone I knew. That was a film I auditioned for right after we began our hiatus. It was really rewarding. Acting was my first love before I started playing music. I always wanted to do that when we took a break, so I knew I was