Friday's Scream Queen
4 hours ago
"Lie down, Frankie," she said.
"You're giving me orders now, sugar?"
Sal smiled lavishly.
As Frankie lay down across the unmade bed, she slunk into a stripper pose--hips tilted, head cocked provocatively. Bending down, keeping her movements slow, Sal unclipped her stocking fasteners. With swift movements she pulled her stockings off, and held them in front of Frankie like she was dangling a gift.
"A striptease, huh? I'm liking this surprise," he said, coal-black eyes fixed on Sal's every move.
When she came around the bed he lifted his arms to reach her, and she caught them swiftly. As he strained to kiss her, she danced away from him, pulling his wrists together and pinning them to the wooden rail of the bedstead. Only then did she lean down to press her mouth against his, distracting him as she slipped a stocking through the bars, wrapped it around his wrists, once--
"Sal, babe, I didn't know you were into this."
--twice, and tied it firmly.
Next she moved to the end of the bed. Frankie laughed and she smiled sweetly back at him as she bound his ankles. There was an edge to his laughter, half-expectant, half-uneasy.
He was pulled taut across the bed.
"I can't move," he said.
Sal undid the clasp of her bra and dropped it on the floor. When she started undoing the silk ribbons of her knickers, Frankie licked his lips. She approached, carrying the fabric scrap of her knickers.
"Now what are you doing?" Frankie asked as she trailed them up from his ankle, over his thigh, brushed over his stiffening cock and lifted them to his face. She let him inhale her scent, and she tied them over his eyes, using a ribbon to fasten his blindfold tight. She leaned in close.
"Now you can hear me, and feel me, but you can't see me," she whispered.
This time, Frankie didn't laugh. He swallowed.
He followed Kay into the lounge and obediently sat down on her mattress while she disappeared into the bathroom. When she re-entered the makeshift bedroom his heart was thumping. She stood in her underwear - a black lace thong and bra - brandishing a cat o'nine tails Jed had purchased....
"Worthless scum," Kay hissed as she drew back the flogger and lashed Jed for the first time. He grunted as the whip struck his body, his buttocks clenching in the confines of his shorts. "Useless dog! Here's another..."
This time Jed couldn't contain a more audible yelp as the whip stung his flesh. Again and again Kay brought the nine tails of the flogger down on his back, reddening the skin until it was visibly sore.
Turning on the controls to the fastest spin-dry speed, she grinned as the machine buzzed into life. On top of the washer Jed sat helplessly awaiting his torture. Kay could not pretend she hadn't enjoyed the afternoon and damned if she was going to let this man get away. With a smirk that promised pain she produced the cat o'nine tails from behind her back...
Jed shook his head, not quite believing his luck. Who'd have guessed the mysterious Kay was a closet dominatrix? Certainly not him, but there was little time to ponder this now. Duty called. Tensing his buttocks, he held his breath and braced himself as best he could for his very first washing machine thrashing.
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 on a chair, completely clothed, while she strips before me and then lies down, her long 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.
At six forty-five, my doorbell finally rings... I'm partly surprised, partly aroused and partly annoyed to see her standing there blowing her sweaty bangs off her face, looking contrite and bedraggled... 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... Her hair is in two braids, black eye makeup smeared around her eyes, red lipstick emblazoned across her mouth...
I let my annoyance show. "What took you so long?" I snap, blocking her entrance with my body...
"The train was delayed, and I forgot something in the house..." she seemed to be making excuses, her voice getting whiny. When she looks at me, her eyes blaze both apology and defiance.
"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.... You're going to get forty-five whacks--one for each minute you were late."
Her ass is right there, all mine for the taking. 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 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 out strong, like she's trying to show me how powerful she can be even spread across my lap. By the end, I'll have her whimpering out her numbers--if 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.
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...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.
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 holding--half horror, half need.... 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.
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 me--on top, looking down at her, my hand raised.... And if you want to know the truth, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.