From the Top Shelf - Getting Away

"Getting Away" is a story by Lay Lawrence, from a spanking compendium by Lawrence and E. Edmund Debarquet called So Spank Me. It has more elements of BDSM and sexual activity than most stories I post here, and I have had to edit some of the more offensive (to me, anyway) language and remove some overly graphic passages. Not to worry; there's still plenty left to titillate.

The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. No one followed so I pressed the button for the fourth floor. The moment the steel doors closed, you smiled. Swiftly, remarkably deftly, you unbuttoned my top to reveal my naked breasts. The elevator pinged as we reached our destination. You posed a question.

"Do you think there will be someone there?"

I replied with utter certainty. "Yes."

The doors opened and we stepped out into a narrow, windowless hall where an East Indian maid clattered a cart load of cleaning necessities, barring our way with mundane unconcern. Smartly wrapping my top across my chest, I stifled a giggle and squeezed past the woman whose life did not, would not, could never involve clandestine sadomasochistic liaisons in drab inner city hotels.

I like to be beaten with a riding crop.

You used the plastic key card to open the final door, the door to all earthly delights and unsuitable, improbable passions.

I like to be slapped with the palm of your hand.

We started doing this last Halloween, after several months of virtual correspondence, courting one another on the world wide web. I sent you web cam snapshots... I named you my Satyr. When you took your son to Florida, I sent you my panties care of your hotel. Silk boxers rewarded my gift of musky lace...

We sat down on the nubbly couch and I squirmed onto your lap, letting my shirt fall open again, my big soft tits hanging loose. I wasn't wearing panties and my thin skintight leggings were little barrier to feeling the hardness in your crotch. I live to make you hard. I sat on your knee and put my arms about your neck.

"Shall I give you a lap dance, sir?"

"Why not?"

You're always so restrained, a little reserved, as if you're holding something back. I like that. Slowly, sensuously, I began to grind my pussy against the steadily swelling bulge in your crotch.

"You're getting hard, sir!"

I giggled and threw my head back, arching my spine, thrusting my wobbling breasts towards your chest. You sat, quite impassive, like a real guy in a gentlemen's club, who knows that he can enjoy the view but should not touch the merchandise. Your cock was a hard, fat cylinder between my spandexed thighs. I stroked his length with my mound of Venus, giving him a firm massage.

"Am I a naughty girl, sir?"

You did not reply but smiled enigmatically. Teasingly, I slipped my cotton shirt down to reveal my soft white shoulders. I turned my head to one side, letting my hair fall in a gentle wave, glinting auburn and gold in the bright summer light. Still, you did not move, nor touch me, nor speak. I wondered what it took to drive you wild. I increased the pace of my dance, tossed the shirt on the floor and pressed my boobs against your face. Your hard dark stubble felt sharp on the delicate flesh... Almost lazily, you took one nipple into your mouth and sucked... Moaning softly, I pushed my fingers through your hair as you suckled on me, fully immersed in the hot velvet of your tongue. Then the tip of one finger found my anus and I cried out.

"Oh, please… Please…"

You know how to torment a girl.

"Take off your leggings and sit on that desk."

I looked questioningly into your eyes. You merely nodded at the desk. Slowly, I eased myself off your lap, then self-consciously peeled off the black spandex pants that clung to the wet place between my legs. No panties. Naked. My raunchy striptease bravado dissolved as I stood before you on the rug. You crossed your legs and folded your arms across your chest.

"What did I just tell you to do?"

"Oh. Sit on the desk."

"Then do it."

"Yes, sir."

My face was flushed as I pushed aside the large 'phone book and settled myself on the leather trimmed blotting pad. The long, fine net curtains blew gently in the breeze and I shivered, suddenly almost cold. My nipples, already swollen from your attentions, firmed a little more. You placed one hand under your chin, as if thinking hard.

"I want you to think about punishment, Jay. In a few minutes, I am going to take off my belt and strap your bare bottom until you cry. Until I do so, you will sit quietly and think about what is coming to you. And when I have finished, I'm going to parade you on the balcony for all to see. Think about that too."

I could not look at you. My heart was beating so fast and so hard that my breasts shook slightly with the pulsing rhythm. My hands were on my thighs, palms turned downwards, moistening rapidly... There was a radio alarm clock on the bedside table and I watched the red numbers slowly change. The room was quiet but for the distant hum of traffic, the city sounds. My mouth was dry and I thought of the wine I had brought, your favorite, a dry French red.

"Right."

My heart leapt as I heard you unbuckle your belt and slide it slowly through the loops of your pants. Although I did not watch, I knew you were doubling it. You crossed the room, grasped my ankles in one large hand. Suddenly, I lay on my back on the large flat desk, my legs held high like a snared hare in a hunter's cache. You towered over me, huge, invincible and I closed my eyes, my whole body quivering at the prospect of the strap.

"Are you a tease, Jay?"

Your voice was distant and cold. My stomach seemed to turn to water and I could not speak.

"A naughty girl?"

I gasped as your fingers probed my pussy, then my ass.

"How many men have you been with?"

I groaned as you withdrew your hand from my crotch and slapped me hard across one trembling buttock.

"I'll show you what I do with naughty girls."

There was a brief, terrifying pause, then I heard you grunt and the belt hit the backs of my thighs with a resounding crack. I cried out in pain and tried to evade the next stroke but you simply held my ankles in a tighter grasp, raising my bottom up into the air, legs over my head. Each time you whipped me with the strap, I screamed, my entire body jolting with the cutting lash which felt hot and sharp and heavy all at once.

"Oh, please, sir!"

You're so much stronger than I am, there was no way I could wriggle out of your steely grip. Up went my legs, pink and bare and plump, exposing my rapidly reddening buttocks to the searing caress of your belt. I know you like it when I try to struggle. You'd hate to have a passive sub. Like me, you enjoy a bit of a fight, a tussle, but your sheer dimensions put me at a physical disadvantage. Helplessly, I beat the palms of my hands against the sides of the desk, savoring the thrill of being caught. I'm the kind of girl who loves a rape fantasy and you love to oblige.

"Your pussy is dripping."

I didn't remove all of my pubic hair, as you don't care for that nude, prepubescent look, but I took off as much as I could. My pubis was round, pink, plump, smooth, with just a dusting of fine golden curls. My syrupy cleft was open to you... like ripening fruit. I wriggled my bottom and gasped at the sharpness of your heavy leather belt. After a time, you paused and smiled.

"You should see your ass. It's scarlet."

I looked up at you, looming over me with implement in hand. You like to whip me in the supine position so you can see the pained expressions on my face. You enjoy the blushing, the grimaces, the occasional tears. You also like to have full access to me.

"Yes, let's take a good look at that stinging rear."

You're very much into humiliation. Slowly, a little shakily, I clambered down from the desk and you walked me to a nearby door. Beyond the billowing net curtain, there was a balcony, overlooked by other hotels and apartment buildings. You looked down at me and grinned. You were clothed, in cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt. I was naked.

"First, look in the mirror, Jay."

There was a full-length looking glass on the wall and I stared at the white skinned creature with the burning face. Embarrassed, I tried to avert my gaze but you placed your hands on either side of my head and made me look. Then you turned me around, so my rear faced the mirror.

"Bend forward and look between your legs."

I did as I was instructed, clasping my ankles, seeing a vista of crimson buttocks. You say I have a lovely bottom, like one of Rubens' less corpulent models. It looked rather plump from my lowly viewpoint but deliciously chastised. It throbbed rhythmically, stung with the divine needling of a dozen hornets, felt as centrally heated as if two little furnaces belched out their fire just above my thighs. Mmm.

"Now, let's exhibit you to the populace."

I groaned, inwardly. I haven't quite decided if I'm an exhibitionist or not. I can see the attraction but, well, I maintain a modest side. Really.

You pushed me out onto the balcony, a little cool and breezy on a west coast summer afternoon. I could feel the fine sea mist drifting in from English Bay. Above me, to the left, was a tall hotel, its many windows a hundred voyeuristic eyes all focused upon my trembling, shivering form.

...You gestured to a plastic chair and I sat down, wondering what dastardly scheme you had devised to torment me. From your pants pocket you extracted three silk scarves, the ones you gave me as secret bondage props. One for the wrists, two for the ankles. You like my hands together and my legs spread wide. Swiftly, you bound my wrists behind the back of the chair, then you paused to appraise your captive nude. My burning bottom felt lovely against the cool smoothness of the plastic chair. High up above us, faint voices emanated from another balcony on the nearby hotel. Smiling, you lifted my legs and placed my feet upon the steel rail of our balcony.

"Spread 'em."

I opened my legs, stretched up and out, an inner city panorama between my glistening thighs. Quickly, you wrapped the remaining scarves about my ankles and then tied them, like little silky slings, around the balcony rail.

"Now, everyone can see..."

My body was a rippling ocean of goose flesh, my nipples full and firm. I looked down at my breasts, at my belly...I could barely wriggle an inch, such was the tension of my bondage, my legs stretched straight and opened wide, exposing me to an urban world of restaurants and clubs and bars.

"Perhaps I should charge. A peep show. Now, there's an idea. But there's something missing."

Suddenly my world became dark and I realized that you'd slipped a blindfold over my head. Your voice continued, calm and conversational.

"That's better. Now, I think I'll get my book."

I strained to listen as you stepped back into our room, but could hear nothing but the distant hum of the traffic, a faint clattering of pans from the open kitchen door of a nearby restaurant. Voices drifted upwards, every juvenile hoot seemingly directed at my plight. But how visible was I? To someone with binoculars, very much so. To the average Joe in the street, I could be sunbathing in pink. Most likely, he wouldn't even see me, oblivious with his own concerns.

"A fascinating vista, is it not?"

A prolonged scene of sexual teasing, tension and ultimate release follows, which, dear readers, you would find too explicit. You would, wouldn't you? If not, you'll just have to use your imagination. Finally, the spell is broken.

I heard you step into our room and there was the faint, cheerful fumble and pop of a bottle being opened. Your voice returned to the doorway.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

Soon, we'd have to return to our everyday lives. But we have our wild weekends, you and I, like so many others who cannot live the BDSM life 24/7. We have "vanilla" partners, unmet needs. There are plenty of reasons for weekend kink. It's a compromise, I suppose, but many of us realize our darker proclivities fairly well on in life, after other choices have been made.

You raised my blindfold but didn't bother untying my hands.

Carefully, you put the glass to my lips and I took a sip.

"Well, um – bottoms up!"

I snorted at your witticism and the luscious Burgundy surged up my nose, rushed down my chin and spattered my breasts.