Best S&M, Volume 3 (2 page)

“What?”

“Spank me!” She lifted her short skirt and lowered her panties.

“Gawd Ying!” Ronny deflated like a clown’s balloon after an incompetent attempt at an animal sculpture.

Jeremy peeled off Red’s tight pants. He shoved one gloved hand down the front of her black G-string. Red began to writhe. He tugged her nipples hard with his other hand then circled her and pressed tight her butt. Red’s mouth gaped.

Ying quickly retrieved a pair of brown leather gloves from the closet, inhaled the last of her meal, and wiped her chin on her wrist just above the top of her glove.

Both rolled up napkins lay unmolested.

Jeremy pushed the back of Red’s G-string down then spanked her butt hard. His other hand, still down the front, steadied her. He teased with little pats and then sudden, powerful pops that Ying was sure she could hear.

The scrape of the glove’s seam against Ying’s clit made her gasp, but she knew that this time it would not be enough to just masturbate hard. She looked at her other gloved hand, and then out across the way as Jeremy swatted Red.

Ying’s stomach turned over as she pulled her silk shorts down one hip and raised her hand. She’d never felt more than a playful swat.

Jeremy reached up, it seemed in slow motion, and Ying looked up at her hand. As his hand traveled down, Ying mimicked the stroke. A huge, almost orgasmic grunt from her own throat surprised Ying as the sting spread. Each time Jeremy swatted Red, Ying swatted herself as if she were doing a sound effect track for a movie.

It was most convincing.

The gloved fingers in her cunt slid like skates on ice.

Jeremy suddenly pulled Red’s hands down from the hook and shoved her deep into the room. The bulge at the front of his pants was as sharp as a flagpole in shrink-wrap.

Ying gasped. “Please, please take off your pants, Jeremy.” Her fingers continued to pump and she spanked herself a couple more times for good measure.

Jeremy walked deeper into the room.

Ying knew the show was over. She raced to the bed and fell face down. Her legs sprawled wide. She alternated hands, spanking and masturbating until her waist clenched like a vise. She stopped breathing as a great weight in her waist expelled in an orgasm like she’d never felt, one that gave her goose bumps on her skull. She laughed convulsively.

She was embarrassed, defiled, powerful, excited.

Her butt felt like festive champagne, only better.

For the next show Ying upped the ante. A new outfit shimmered atop her bed like fresh fallen snow on a sunny winter morning. She dimmed the lights and stepped into the depth of the room and undressed. Just the scent of the new leather made her moist.

As she stood nude, the sight of her shiny skin in the mirror reminded her of a game she’d once played with her Barbie and her older brother’s G.I. Joe: she bound Joe into a pink Barbie chair with black twist ties. She hadn’t thought about what Barbie might do to her quarry. The possibilities made her dizzy. But her brother caught her, called her “freak,” and liberated Joe. The fantasy was left to germinate like an acorn in the depths of a lotus garden. Joe escaped to the safety of hard-core hand-to-hand with his nemesis Cobra.

The elastic laces down the legs of her pants stretched to accommodate her shapely thighs and calves, while clinging perfectly to her trim knees and ankles. The lace-up corset formed perfectly around her breasts and squeezed her ribs tightly. She topped the outfit off with elbow-length white leather gloves.

The white outfit underscored her short-bobbed silky black hair and deep olive skin. A strip of her dark stomach incised the corset and pants. She’d never felt sexier.

Across the way, Jeremy circled Red who was in a crisp business suit, but he was not in his customary leather. His tan uniform was nondescript. He leaned his head to one side and looked in Red’s down-turned eyes. Both seemed uncharacteristically fidgety. Red obediently took something off after each noncommittal swat from Jeremy until she stood in her underwear. She reached for the clasp of her bra between her breasts.

Jeremy shook his head and gripped her hand. Any hint of menace drained away as he spoke gently to Red. Her head tilted like a curious puppy. He held the riding crop, handle out, like the careful presentation of a stiletto.

She cradled it like a long-stemmed rose.

Ying spread her legs and crushed the seam at the crotch to her hard clit.

Jeremy went to the hook and grabbed it. Red gently tapped the riding crop into her hand. Ying defied the empty plate rule and squeezed her hand into her tight pants. “Go for it!”

Red dropped the crop and folded her arm over the front of her bra. She shook her head and backed away. Jeremy seemed angry at first and then appeared to plead; his iron suddenly drooped as if it had been returned to the forging fire.

Red quickly put on her blouse and pinched it at the clasp of her bra. She grabbed the skirt and disappeared from view.

Jeremy raced after her.

Ying sat, legs spread, hand limp in her tight leather pants. Her other hand dangled like the motionless hook in the room across the way.

The two now were in his living room. Ying rushed down the hall to get a better view as if her presence might encourage a favorable outcome.

Red shoved the tail of her blouse into her skirt and Jeremy took one of her hands in his. It looked like he might drop to one knee in a cliché marriage proposal. He stroked her knuckles and continued to speak. Red was motionless, absorbing. Jeremy bit his lip and looked outside.

Strange, but Ying had never seen either of them look outside. She suddenly realized how bright her living room was, and her gleaming leather outfit must look like sun-drenched binocular lenses in a war movie. She jumped from view and then peered around the curtain after a few moments. Jeremy was focused on motionless Red again.

Red’s head shook side to side. Jeremy said something, and Red eased her hand from his and walked toward the front door of his apartment. She held up her hand to stop him from following. As the door shut behind her, his shoulders slumped. He disappeared from view.

Ying felt a letdown deeper than the day G.I. Joe got away. But after a few minutes, she felt a strange wave of relief. She’d already sacrificed her relationship with Ronnie when she tried a second time to get him to spank her.

Ying rushed to her dim bedroom, closed the curtains, changed into safe sweats, dismantled her impromptu table and chairs, and relegated all the accoutrement of the meal-time trappings into the corner of her closet. She ate her cold meal in the dining room, staring blankly at the nondescript painting of a field of daisies on the wall.

Ying unzipped her tan skirt and reached deep into her closet. She brushed smooth leather and the scent filled the air. “No reason I can’t enjoy how it feels.” Ying had spent a small fortune on it. She’d not had sex or even masturbated in weeks, since seeing Red walk out on Jeremy. She was starved to feel sexy.

There was a sense of comfort even well worn sweats could not rival as the white cocoon encased her nude body. The curtains in her bedroom hadn’t been open in weeks. What was wrong with being seen, looking as sexy as she had ever felt? She opened them.

The light in the bedroom across the way was on, and she realized it was 8:00. There was a brief twinge of hope that Jeremy had reconciled with Red, and that their passion play would be in summer reruns. But Jeremy plodded past the window dressed in faded jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Suddenly his head reappeared in the window like a cartoon double take. Ying cocked to leap from view. She froze and slowly hooked her thumbs in the tops of her pants, anchoring so she couldn’t defensively cover.

Jeremy pressed to the glass.

Ying gripped her hips in pseudo-confidence.

He gave her a “thumbs up.” They remained locked like a game of “chicken” before Jeremy disappeared into his room, and then jumped back into view. He held up one finger. Ying nodded and said, “I’ll wait.” He disappeared again and, after a few minutes, reappeared in tight black cloth pants, a thin black long sleeved shirt, black gloves, and a mask like Red had worn. The pants did nothing to camouflage a growing, needful bulge. He waited, and Ying gave a “thumbs up.” He held up a small bag and then he put the riding crop inside it.

Blood squeezed up Ying’s jugular like Stooges in a doorframe. She nodded and Jeremy disappeared from view. In moments, a dark figure moved along the bushes between the two buildings and rounded the corner.

A wisp of air under her front door announced the opening of the main entryway to her apartment building. Fear, titillation, and excitement supercharged her. She turned off the lights, opened the lock and slid the chain free of its channel, and waited behind the door. It seemed forever until it slowly opened. The crack of light shot a long V-shaped male shadow deep into the living room. Ying held her breath when he paused on the threshold.

The thief finally began to feel his way into the room. He was even thicker than he appeared, and he smelled so clean and masculine. Chills ran up and down Ying’s spine. She worried he would turn on her like a rottweiler. She worried he wouldn’t. He walked with a strange gait, arms swinging like urgent bell clappers. She realized he was offering her his hands. She accepted and twisted his arm behind his back.

He held his free hand up. “I give up! Let me go!” The more his deep voice trembled, the more the moisture between Ying’s legs flowed.

After an awkward pause, she forced a contrived Chinese accent in a husky voice she thought might sound exotic and menacing. “Why you come here?”

“Please don’t…don’t…” He remained still as a frightened deer. Even through her gloves she could feel his rapid pulse. “I’ll do…anything.”

“You strip.”

An approving sigh like a soft orgasm issued from his body. She released his hand and he obediently pulled the shirt over his broad chest. The coat of golden hair made her sigh; she loved hairy men. She fought back into character. “Pants too!”

His Adam’s apple jumped as if he were swallowing a rabbit. Ying slapped his butt softly but made a surprisingly loud snap. She opened her mouth to apologize but he filled the void first. “Yes ma’am!”

She looked down his body, but her eyes moved back up to his face in embarrassment. She traced his bicep delicately. He seemed to melt. She pulled the mask from his face. His long curly blonde hair spilled like a waterfall. She laced her fingers in his curls playfully. They were even softer than hers and smelled sweet. She stroked for a time, wondering if he might call it off. She recalled that feeling from the playground.

She squeezed a fistful of the downy gold, and then yanked. “Ow, fuck!” It burned from his throat. She was stunned at the rage in his eyes, how huge his muscles flexed and how big his clenched fists were. Ying’s heart beat double time and she released his hair. She held up her hands apologetically.

He held up his hand and mouthed “it’s okay.” He went limp, his mouth gaped as if to submit. She slowly opened her mouth over his and pushed her tongue in. Jeremy moaned so deeply that his voice resonated in her belly. It was approval, it was submission. Moisture spread down Ying’s thigh.

She pulled his tiny underwear down to expose his butt. “Hands.”

“Please, ma’am, allow me to make it up to you.”

It became easier. “You will make up to me! Hands!” He crossed them in the small of his back. Her small fingers struggled to circle his thick wrists. She swatted his ass almost delicately with the other hand. He arched his butt, eager for more.

She snapped a bit harder and his mouth gaped. She suddenly popped him hard and he mouthed “oh yes.” She teased and rubbed gently, and then snapped him hard when he seemed to relax, like he’d done to Red. She released his hands and stroked his hardness. “Why leave these on?”

“Sorry, mistress!” He pushed the underwear down and stepped out, and then raised his hands over his head like a prisoner of war.

She tugged him close by the base of his burgundy-red cock. “Name?”

“Gerry.” It was eerily close to Jeremy.

 “You learn lesson?”

“Yes, mistress.”

It’s okay, no harm done
. These reflex words looped in her head. She forced out the word, “Liar.” His eyes closed like an orgasm was mounting. Adrenaline coated Ying’s mouth. She swallowed hard. “I tie you to bed.”

He turned his head toward her. For a moment she wondered if he would. He whispered, “Oh God yes, ma’am.”

Ying tied Gerry spread-eagled with twine from the kitchen. His cock issued from his crotch like a 1960’s rocket ship on the launch pad. She wanted to do everything, but she hadn’t advanced much beyond Barbie versus Joe days. She froze.

“I could, pleasure you, ma’am…with my mouth.”

The offer released the vapor lock. She grabbed his cock again. “No. I take what I want. You not let go.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ying peeled down her white leather pants and straddled him. As she pumped him hard, his head rolled like an encroaching orgasm. She slapped his face. But hitting his face was much different than his butt, and she wondered if it might affect him like tugging his hair. She covered her mouth. “Oh, Gerry I’m so – “ Her accent was gone.

He grinned, and then looked scared.

She resumed slowly and read his face and body. Each time he grew toward orgasm, she stopped. Occasionally, she slapped his face and returned to her accent. “You come when I say.”

“Oh, yes, mistress.”

She left his needful cock smoldering on the launch pad and straddled his mouth. She gripped his skull tight to her cunt and ground the peak of her pubic bone to his nose. She stopped feeling like she was watching herself from a distant vantage. His long tongue traced her slit. “Harder. Flick faster. Not so long there! Inside now!” He followed every instruction to the letter.

But it was not his adherence to instruction that led Ying to the first orgasm she’d had from a lover’s mouth; it was the control that spurred her as she screamed out. She stripped the rest of her leather and slid down to his rod again, pressed her feet in his knees and split them wider. She whispered in his ear, “Your body now mine.”