From the Top Shelf - Designs

Here's a portion of a naughty tale I found on the late Rollin Hand's blog. It's by an author named Jean Marie and shows how in a pickup bar you CAN get lucky.

He sized her up from afar, or at least as far as the crowded club would allow.

She was here alone, not with a group, or worse, a girlfriend. She wasn’t here for just a drink, or just a dance. She was here to find a fuck.

She was blonde and passably pretty, she’d be popular to hit on. All the drunken playboys were wondering if her carpet matched her platinum drapes. And longing to find out, just as he was longing to find out, but, unlike all the rest, he wasn’t interested in just her twat. Was she interested in just her twat, or something more?

She had nice tits, but wasn’t using them. She wore a black turtleneck, as opposed to the low-cut tops every other girl was wearing. They were shaking their tits like shimmering bait before the open mouths of all these hungry fish, these slimy bass, these bottom-feeding carp. She didn’t seem to want to reel any ol’ whopper in. She wasn’t even sticking her treasure chest out.

She was arching her lower back, and so sticking her round rump out, half way off her bar chair, in fact. Jake guessed that she was proud of this fine asset, but no one else seemed to take particular notice. He did, and not merely because he was more of an ass aficionado than a tit man.

He moved in closer, still cautious and silent, but stalking now. He sat at the bar, a few feet from her table. He watched the parade of guys approach, try out their best opening lines, and get rebuffed. Another guy would have been worried; so many guys showing so much interest. Not Jake. Each attempt made him more confident that he knew this girl. He saw that she wanted to find a fuck on her terms.

There was a lull in the action; perhaps she’d discouraged the entire bar by now. Now it was his turn. He slid off his stool, and sat where so many had sat before; the upholstery was warm, though no one had occupied the chair for more than fifteen seconds each.

She looked at him through lowered, long eyelashes. Her glance seemed to convey a challenge. She resembled the film noir star Veronica Lake; no, more accurately, a pale Jessica Rabbit. His level stare seemed to announce assurance. He thought of himself as a beefier Bogart, or a slimmer Robert Mitchum from a by-gone era, no cartoon character sprang to mind.

“I have designs on your ass,” he said simply.

Suzie liked that the line was old school, like this early thirty-something dude was reincarnated from some late thirties style hood. She liked that he’d had the balls to mention her ass right up front; it made her squirm ever so slightly on her seat. She perched her heart-shaped bottom on one hip, like her ample understanding needed a breeze, her butt cheeks needed a breather, her vagina needed ventilation. Was it getting hot in here, was it this sweater and wool skirt, or was it him?

“What?” she replied, leaving the door open that had slammed shut for everyone else at this juncture.

“I said that I have designs on your gorgeous ass, or rather, I’d like to put some designs on your gorgeous ass…”

He was talking her language, but she tried not to let him know it. For the first time that evening, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a ready come-back. She drained her wine glass, both to cover the silence and to soothe her suddenly parched throat.

“May I buy you another?”

She nodded.

He caught a waiter’s eye before finishing off his Rusty Nail. “A bottle of Crystal, please. What’s your oldest vintage?”

“I’ll have to check,” the boy floundered and disappeared.

Suzie also struggled to keep her composure, hoping that her eyebrows weren’t raised to her hairline. She attempted her most enigmatic smile.

The inept sommelier returned in a rush, “A ’67,” he stammered, “and it costs…”

“We’ll take it,” Jake interrupted, handing him his magic plastic. “That’s a very good year; I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she smiled more broadly. She was about to retrace the conversation back to how he’d opened it, but the wine arrived. A big production ensued; the opening, tasting and pouring. It was several minutes until they were again alone.

Suzie took more than a sip and felt it go straight to her head. She no longer felt in control, but uncharacteristically in this setting, didn’t mind.

“Do you like it?” he asked just as smoothly as everything else.

“Very much.” and she took another gulp.

“Like I said, an excellent year. I’m guessing that you and the champagne share about the same birth date.”

She found that she could do nothing more than laugh at his cheek. “So far, you’ve mentioned my ass and my age, and I don’t even know your name yet. Care to bring up religion or politics, too, just to keep it controversial?”

“I’m Jake,” he said genially, shaking her hand, “and am I right?”

Nonplussed, she blushed and replied, “I’m Suzie. Yes, I’m twenty-nine, in a little more than a week I’ll turn thirty…” She expected him to say something complimentary, such as the fact that she didn’t look it.

He didn’t. “And about the other?” he persisted.

“What…?” she giggled and simultaneously blushed.

“Your bottom; it is gorgeous, and it does need a design imprinted upon it,” he matter-of-factly stated. Now that we’ve ascertained that your birthday is eminent, I suppose a celebratory birthday spanking is in order.”

The fool of a waiter approached yet again, this time with the credit card bill to sign.

“Why don’t you keep that open,” he said kindly to the bumbling idiot, “we might run a tab.”

“No. Close it, and take me home,” Suzie whispered, looking down at the table top.

She avoided eye contact while the valet brought his car around; Jake having taken control effortlessly yet again to inform her that he’d drive her back to pick up her car in the morning. Of course it was an antique sports car that screeched up to the curb; Suzie had hoped it’d be an old junker to puncture his James Bond-like suavity. The valet closed her door with a muffled “thunk” that bespoke how expensive the thing must be. She held the nearly full bottle of champagne in her hand, not wanting to leave it behind to go to waste. But the fat mushroom of a cork had proven impossible to reinsert, so Suzie now grew paranoid about having an open container in the car, in case they were pulled over by a cop. She wanted desperately to take a swig, but felt drunk enough already. She wanted desperately to fish a smoke out of the pack in her purse, but didn’t know if he’d object. She realized that she’d never worried about what a man would think of her on any one-night stand before, and wondered if, subconsciously, she didn’t want this to turn out to be more than just a one-night stand. She stared out the window, then felt moved to break the oppressive silence.

“My roommate, Monica, wanted to go out to the Vault tonight,” Suzie said almost to herself, mentioning a well known D/s club. “But I turned her down, not wanting to spectate on some scene where another girl gets her bottom whipped good for her.” Suzie edited herself from saying her next thought, which continued by stating flatly that her own round butt needed it so badly. “I said that I was gonna go to the Viper Room. ‘What chance have you got of finding a non-vanilla guy there?’ my roommate asked. I replied that I didn’t know, but that anything was possible. I guess it is…”

Jake was through shifting through the gears, and Suzie took his hand in hers and squeezed it, still avoiding his eyes. She gave him directions off the expressway to her apartment. Her whole body tingled, especially her bottom on the leather upholstery.

She opened the lock to her front door, but he waited and held it open for her. She walked over to the kitchenette and picked up two glasses, then led him to her bedroom, and closed the door. He sat on the bed as if right at home.

“You know, I don’t do this with just anybody,” she said nervously, conscious as she did that they didn’t know one another’s last names.

Jake refrained from saying that he knew, that he’d passed the test by referring to her ass and a spanking in the same breath. Instead he told her, “Put down the bottle and come here.”

As she obeyed, Suzie wished that he’d just grabbed her, yanked her over his knee, held her in place and did it. Like the rape fantasies that she harbored, she felt better about her kink if she didn’t have to comply.

He gently but firmly took her wrist, helped her lay face down half across his lap and half on her mattress. His hand kept control of her wrist as it encircled her waist, while the other rested on her derriere.

“Now… first, to address that birthday of yours next week… thirty, is it? …please count these in a nice loud voice.”

Jake knew from experience that it was best to talk first; to discuss limits and a safe word and favorite things and turn-offs. But he also knew that most women wanted to avoid all this, wanting the dominant to be amazingly clairvoyant, and magically discipline her to perfection. So Jake had taken to simply punishing the girl to his taste, any way that he saw fit. He’d never had any complaints.

Thirty firm spanks were administered slowly and methodically to the seat of Suzie’s skirt. She was able to enumerate each one shortly after it landed, but also enunciated some small yelps and seductive coos and whimpered moans near the end.

No sooner had she cried out, “Thirty!” and stifled the tears that sprang from her ducts, then Jake set her on her feet, and looked up into her sorrowful baby blues.

“You broke the law by bringing that champagne in my car. I’m going to take your skirt off and put you back over my knee for another dose.”

As she turned around to comply, lifted her hands up impotently as if being robbed, and felt him undo the zipper, Suzie thought about an old boyfriend. Sam had always made her take her own clothing off before and during discipline. She’d complained about it, saying it was sexier to be man-handled. Now she knew that she was right; she loved the business-like manner with which Jake undid the clasp, pulled down the zipper, lowered the skirt to the floor for her to step out of, then repositioned her efficiently. It all made the gusset of her panties even wetter.

So smooth was the operation, Suzie was half way over his knee again before blurting out, “Wait, let me take this off, too, I’m sweating.”

He helped her pull the waistband of the sweater over her head in one continuous motion. She tossed her tresses back and then lay down fully into the requested position. She noticed that he folded both her skirt then her sweater neatly and put each on her pillow. She swooned, remembering how often she’d had to pick up Sam’s soiled underwear from off the floor. This guy was a metrosexual, but if he continued spanking her the way he’d started, and could get it up to fuck her afterwards, she didn’t care if he spoke with a lisp and wore a necktie for a belt with Capri pants.

“Breaking the motor vehicle code is a serious offense, and I’m the one who would’ve been cited for it. This is going to have to be hard…” his no-nonsense voice decreed. Half-listening, she hoped that he would notice her matching black satin and lace bra and panties.

It was, the spanking, not the lingerie, hard. It stung right from the first swat, and hurt horrendously once he got rolling. It went on and on, until Suzie had to give in to the tears that brimmed her long eyelashes, and the lump in her throat that tried valiantly to choke back her sobs. He spanked her satin-encased tush mercilessly, relentlessly, until she was convinced that he was cruel. But he also spanked dispassionately, as if squeezing ripe cantaloupe in the grocery, instead of working a poor girl into a state of frenzy. It hurt so badly, Suzie could focus on nothing else except taking it; she longed to know whether this session was making him as hard as it was making her wet. It hurt so much, she was reduced to trying to reach back with a free hand to protect her bottom from any more spanks, at least until she could absorb the present pain, digest the intensity, deal with the humiliation that he’d already heaped on her. He simply moved her hand away and continued the onslaught. She kicked her legs and scissored her thighs. He adroitly pinned her legs between his and spanked on.

At long last, he stopped and massaged the fanny that felt like it was on fire. Suzie cried like a baby for long minutes, then twisted around to sit on his lap. She rubbed her still-smoldering bottom against his lap as she slowly got herself under control, snuggling in tight against his collarbone, feeling her hiccups reverberate through them both. She longed for him to kiss her, to tell her that she’d taken it well, to pull her soaked panties off and finger her needful pussy, to push her back on her bed and enter her. She was ready. That’s why what he said next struck her with such profundity.

“Stand up so I can pull your knickers down, this last set has to be administered to your bared bottom.”

Suzie froze, even as feeling returned to the flesh of her singed butt cheeks and hot tears coursed anew down her facial ones. She cleared her throat, but her voice was still unrecognizably no different from a female frog’s.

“Could I please be allowed to have some lotion or some ice applied before we go on…?”

“The moisture left behind on your behind afterward will only make the final spanks hurt all the more,” Jake warned.

“Yes, sir, I know, but… I guess having not been spanked in awhile, I’m not calloused back there any more, and… my tush is a little tender right now…”

He lifted her from his lap and stood, “Would you prefer one over the other, or both, one right after the other?”

“Just some ice. You can find a Tupperware bowl to put it in on the bottom shelf of the cabinet by the fridge… Thanks.”

He left, leaving the bedroom door ajar, so Suzie heard Monica’s key in the front door’s lock a second before they were invaded by the interloper. Suz cringed at what she expected was to come, but the domino had been flicked and the line of them had started to tumble…

“Hello, who’re you?”

“Jake, and you must be Monica.” Suzie was impressed that he’d really listened to her and knew her roommate’s name. “I’m, uh, just getting some ice cubes…”

Jake wasn’t the only observant one, “For your palm, it looks pretty red and it’s very warm?” She’d held his hand in both of hers after their shake to inspect it.

Suzie piped-up through the half open door, “Yes, for his hand, now let him come back to bed.”

She heard some ice cubes tumble into the plastic bowl as Monica called back, “Is that all that’s reddened and warmed around here?” Suzie probably didn’t hear the sotto voice whisper that followed, “When you’ve put Suzie to bed, come see me…”

I have a feeling that Jake is in for a long night.