Bad Girls (9 page)

With commanding magnanimity he began with a tender stroke of her cheek with the back of his fingers. When he ran his fingers down her neck he could feel her rapid pulse and see her shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths.

‘I'm glad you made it, Ellen,' he said softly.

She nodded.

‘Are you okay?'

She nodded again.

‘Good.'

He met her eyes when she looked at him and they held each other's gaze for a moment. Theirs was real affection, a real conspiracy. He wasn't mad at her, far from it. The truth was he couldn't muster any indignation about her late arrival, but he knew that wasn't the point. She didn't do it to anger him; she did it because it was how it was supposed to happen, how it was written. In fact, he'd bet that she had arrived early and waited in her car. Her obedience to the script made Tom love her. He was overcome by gratitude. She was looking to him to give her the experience they had both dreamt about for so long. He was ready.

He turned her around slowly, so she was facing the wall. That small gesture changed everything. He ran his fingers through her hair. His touch still had tenderness in it, but it was growing a little rougher. From behind, she was his object. This was how they both wanted it. His hand, previously so tender, became a little more hurried on its way towards where he was going. Soon, having traveled down her hips, his fingers were at the hem of her skirt. His hand followed her leg inward, moving from fabric to skin, and upward, under her skirt where it was noticeably more humid. His grip on her sculpted legs became firmer, his movements more urgent. His hand reversed its downward course and moved up her inner thigh until it touched silk, wet silk.

At 10:06 PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

God, Tom, I can't stand it. I can't stand being here alone when you're writing me like that. I want you to do it to me, Tom. Just like you write about. When can we meet, Tom? When can we do it in r/l?

Ellen

At 10:15 PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

You might be looking forward to it now, Ellen, but I know your type. When it begins you'll wish you hadn't committed to it. You'll wish you'd backed out of it when you had the chance. You'll wonder why you didn't insist that we meet at a restaurant or a bar. What kind of girl meets a total stranger at his hotel room?

Think about it, Ellen. How will it feel to have a man's hands between your legs before you've even kissed him? How will it feel when you're crying across that man's lap, showing him parts of yourself you've hidden from your closest friends and more than a few lovers?

I'll make you bend over with your feet apart so I can see deep between your legs. I'll make you stand in the corner, with your skirt raised and your panties around your thighs. This isn't some romp between lovers. This is your punishment, and it's only just begun. You're about to get the spanking of your life.

At 10:35PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

I need it hard, Tom. I need so much from you. I need you to beat my ass and more. I'll bring the vibrator I use to come when I think about your emails. You'll use it on me between spankings. You put it inside me and then order me to stand in the corner. You warn me that if the vibrator falls out I'll get spanked even worse. I walk awkwardly over to the corner, squeezing my pussy, trying to hold the slippery silicon so I won't get a worse spanking. You'll sit back and enjoy the view, my red ass flexed, my long black hair draped down my back, and the trace of the vibrator visible between my legs.

At 10:48PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

You're quite an optimist, aren't you? You think this will be some long masturbation session. How many times do you think you'll come, Ellen? Frequent vibrator breaks? Dream on. It's one orgasm after the other when you're thinking about it, isn't it? But do you really think that's what a real spanking is like?

It's not that easy, Ellen. It's not like those sweet stories about girls who bend over for a little foreplay, who like to play naughty and giggle like it's a game. This may be a sweet vignette for your women's magazine sex advice columnist, but it's not what a real spanking is like and you know it. Sure, the thought of it gets us hot and makes us masturbate like horny teenagers, but a real spanking is something completely different. And I know you well enough to know that you want a real spanking.

Not that you won't deny it. When it comes time you'll do everything you can to get out of it. Just the thought of it terrifies you, Ellen. Girls like you don't really want to get what you need. Brazen girls like you don't really want to go through with it. I can hear it now: ‘Stop it, Tom, I'm not that kind of girl.'

Bullshit. You're exactly the kind of girl who should be bent over, bare-bottomed, ass spanked hard, in a cheap hotel room with a strange man. I'll show you what kind of girl you are. You know it's true, Ellen. That's exactly what kind of girl you are.

You love it when I talk to you like this, but you won't love it when it's happening. You'll start to cry before I've even begun hitting you hard. You'll have long forgotten about your vibrator. You won't understand how this ever turned you on. Your ass, sticking straight up in the air, will bounce with your soft sobs. I know your type, though, so I'll resist the urge to hold you or comfort you. Instead I'll spank you harder; the blotched redness of your ass will match the blotched redness of your tear-streaked face. It's not like you'll be crying because of the spanking, not yet at least. You'll be crying because you'll have to admit that this is the kind of girl you are.

Tom

At 11:05 PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

I didn't mean to make you mad, Tom. I thought you'd like me telling you about my vibrator. You're really strict, Tom. It makes me cry when you get mad at me. Really cry. If reading your words is too much for me, how will I ever stand your spanking? I need to meet you but I'm scared too, Tom. Scared of what you are but scared of what I am, too.

You're right. Part of me doesn't want to go through this. I don't want to be punished. What gives you the right? This is too much. We've only just met. Adult women don't get punished like little girls. A playful slap as part of foreplay, maybe. But this? It's not like this when I fantasize about it. When I think these things it makes me want to fight you. You'll have to push me, pull me, or hold me down. I'll start trying to talk you out of it. Tears will be in my eyes, like they are now.

I'll test you, Tom. I won't trust you easily. I'll need to know what kind of man you are.

But you'll pass my tests, won't you? You'll be firm and tell me what you're going to do to me and I'll panic. I know I should submit, but I can't. I just can't. You'll throw me forward so I'm bent over with my hands on the bed. I'll ball up the bedspread in my fists and my hair will be strewn across my face. I'll suck at a lock of hair that's fallen into my mouth, just like I used to when I was a little girl and nervous. Don't be angry with me, Tom. Please. I'll be good. Don't do it, Tom. Please don't do it. I'll be good. I promise. Tom?

He felt the silk between her legs, wet with thoughts like the ones they had written to each other, thoughts that had given Tom a hard-on when he was driving to the hotel but were now far from his mind. He wasn't turned-on now. He found himself strangely calm, like this is where he belonged. He was the director, the artist, creating a scene with tension and arousal, conflict and resolution; a scene that, if done right, neither of them would ever forget. Once in a lifetime, he told himself. Once in a lifetime.

He hesitated for a moment on the brink, then pulled the crotch of her panties aside and unceremoniously stuck his fingers inside this stranger. He thought he heard her breath catch, stopping as he entered her and then starting again, more audible than before. Her head tilted upward as if she were looking away, unable to bear the site. He moved his fingers liberally, smearing them in her wetness and making a point to be rough and thorough in his exploration, emphasizing the liberties he was free to take with her.

He ran one of his wet fingers behind and slipped it in the tight ring of muscle he found there.

‘No,' she said softly, and counter to everything they had written, counter to the very spirit of their encounter, he obliged. It was a minor concession, a minor liberty he would temporarily deprive himself. He wasn't sure if her objection was part of the scene or not. He wasn't sure if her ‘no' was to be overruled or if she meant it. He wasn't sure it should matter to him, but some people really had issues with their ass. He didn't want to drive her off. This would be something he would revisit with her later.

He returned his attention to her vagina, contenting himself with a rather thorough examination of its folds, contours and depths. He lingered every step of the way. He ran his fingers against her labia, stem to stern, spreading them with two fingers and stretching them to test their elasticity. When he got bored with the outside he stuck his fingers inside, feeling the velvety smooth vaginal walls, the dome of her cervix and her g-spot. He knew she would find his gynecological interest dehumanizing. He could lose himself in the sensations on his fingertips, knowing he was free to take his time, that satisfying her, even considering her, wasn't an issue.

With the fingers of one hand inside her, he probed at her ass again with the fingers of the other. She squirmed but he had no intention of pressing the issue. Rather, he was doing it only to feel her pussy tighten around his fingers as she puckered her asshole against his intruding fingers. Once he felt her formidable squeeze on his fingers, he let her ass alone and removed his fingers from her pussy, satisfied by the results of the examination.

He put the hand that had been inside her under her nose so she could smell and feel the wetness that coated his fingers. He wanted to confront her with how her debasement turned her on. He thought about making her lick his fingers off, and he would have done it if he'd put them in her ass, but he thought she might get too much enjoyment out of it. She might close her eyes and moan like girls do when you give them something to suck. So he just wiped his fingers on her blouse, liberally pressing into her breasts at the same time he smeared her arousal on the crisp fabric like it was a rag.

Both of them wondered why it was she hungered to be treated like this. And both of them remembered the turn they'd taken. The emails that asked ‘why' were the emails that had ratcheted the whole thing up beyond where either imagined. It became more than just a spanking fantasy then. Those emails not only set the stage for the encounter, but they also defined the relationship they had now.

It had started like any of their other fantasies. Tom began with a description of her spanking that was as much to give her fodder for her masturbation sessions as it was to delve deep into her soul, but then she took it deeper than he'd even imagined possible.

At 10:15 PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

You are flush and aroused in anticipation of your punishment. Somehow this man – me – who is standing next to you in a hotel room, is going to take you like a little girl and turn the most private parts of your body into his playground. He's going to beat the flesh of your backside until its battered and bruised. You can't believe it and decide you won't do it. The punishment sounds too severe and you're leaving. You reach down to pull up your panties, but I'm there to stop you. I grab you and pull you across my lap. You protest, but I'm holding you down and all you can do is curse at me. You'll get ten strokes of the cane in addition to everything else if you don't stay on my lap. So there you are, your skirt up to your waist and your exposed butt facing up at me. I enjoy the sight. You can see yourself in the mirror on the wall and you burn with shame. I stroke your bare behind and a little between your legs, making you lie there and wait, and you get even angrier.

You hate being like this, but you know it's why you came here, too. No one ever treats you like this and you need someone to. That's why I'm going to give you such a hard spanking. When I ignore your cries and pleas for mercy it won't be because I'm cruel, it will be because you need me to. My inclination to coddle you would be counterproductive and you'd be disappointed if I gave into it. Life isn't all about happiness and pleasure, there's pain as well, and it's best that the pain come this way, in the context of someone who cares about you. What sort of punishment would it be if I stopped when you asked?

At 10:41 PM 4/23/2004,
[email protected]
wrote:

But why do I need it, Tom? Why do I seek it out? If it's something I'm going to hate, something that's going to cause me mental and physical anguish, why am I writing you now? Why am I dying to do it with you? Why do I take advantage of men who are sweet to me and break up with men who won't stand up to me?

Do I need a spanking because I've been dirty and shameful, or am I dirty and shameful because I need a spanking? Are you spanking me because I've been bad or am I bad because you're spanking me?