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I smile, envisioning as she struts off, her damp scent trailing behind her. I consider having her—with her porn-star body—beg me to give her the spanking she craves. Miss Creamy loves her lush pussy spanked. She loves punishment fantasies. Loves to let go of her real life lawyer self to indulge in her fetish. All of my clients are beautiful, well-educated, upper-six-figure-making women who use fake names, and have fetishes for pain. It allows, helps, them to detach their real worlds where they tend to be in power and yield control from their fantasy worlds. Allows them to be carefree and uninhibited. It allows them to explore their submissive limits, to uncover that very thin line between pain and pleasure. Being handcuffed, and oftentimes blindfolded, allows them to give in to being powerless, yet liberated. Unshackled from fears, they become slaves to their secret desires. And I possess the key to unlock all of their secret thrills.
Yes, I give it to them good. Bewildered and painfully aroused, I help my clients explore their deepest, darkest sexual cravings. Then when it’s all said and done, when they’ve been pushed and manipulated sexually, and they’ve climaxed and their roaring cunts have finally quieted, they walk out feeling liberated as they go back to their happily-ever-after lives where much of who they are has become scripted and predictable.
“Okay, I’m back,” she says, breathing life back into the other end of the phone. “I’ve found someplace a little more…private.”
“Slap your pussy for me,” I tell her low into the phone, my voice barely above a whisper. “Heat your cunt up. Get it ready for me.” She lets out a soft moan. I hear the faint thud of a hand. “Harder. I want to hear it.” Whap! I close my eyes and envision her raising her hand high and bringing it down against her bald pussy. “Again.” Whap!
“Uhhh…can you fit me in today?”
“Why should I? What dirty little things has that greedy little cunt of yours done?”
“She’s been begging for release.”
“Does that little pussy throb? Does it ache between your thighs?”
“Oh, yes. She’s been wet and horny for days, needing you. It’s been excruciating. She’s been a whiny, miserable, horny slut. She needs to be punished, real good.”
“Has she been fucked?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She wants to be spread open and spanked.”
My moist tongue glides over my lips in anticipation. She loves talking about her pussy as if it’s a human being. As if it has a mind of its own and freedom of free will. “Does that horny pussy hole want to be fucked after I’ve spanked it raw?”
She groans. “Oh, yes…”
“How many inches do you want me to fuck you with? Seven? Eight? Nine? Oh, no. I know what that filthy little whore of a cunt wants. She wants to be fucked deep, and stretched wide, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“She wants to scream out as she’s being fucked, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, yes…oh, god, yes…”
I tell her how I’m going to paddle her pussy until it is saturated with her juices, then fuck her with an eleven-inch purple dildo.
My legs are spread. My fingers are playing with my clit. My own pussy throbbing as my fingers skim over my clit, then plunge into my wetness. I am surprised at how swollen my lips are. “Smack your pussy again.”
She does, letting out a soft moan. The sound of her hand going down on her sex is like music to my ears. Instantly, it flames my own excitement, causing the swishing sounds my fingers are making to become louder than my own breathing. My hips pump onto my hand, two fingers lodged deep inside my cunt. I am so wet. Each time I push in or out of my juicy slit, it makes a slurping sound. My knuckles make a slapping noise against the wetness as I finger-fuck myself listening to Miss Creamy play in her own damp sex. Drops of nectar kiss their way down my smooth, toned thighs.
She takes a deep breath. “I need to see you. You have my pussy so wet. Don’t make me beg for it, please.”
I grin as salacious thoughts swirl through my head. There’s no other way for me to say this. Miss Creamy is a freak for the paddle. Her pussy, her ass, she loves it smacked and paddled until blood rushes to the surface of her skin and her flesh swells, until she is tender and sore as if she were being rammed mercilessly by a huge cock. That’s the kind of searing pain she enjoys. A few times she’s begged for bruises over her cunt, saying she wanted the sting to last well into the night, or through the week. She wanted to feel the burn as her panties brushed against her sex, a sweet reminder of what she’s endured, of what she’s surrendered to. And, today, at this very moment, there’s no telling how far she will want to go until she steps through these doors.
“What time can you get here?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.” She tells me that she needs to change first, then will head over. She disconnects. And then, suddenly, I am coming, loud and hard and strong, my cunt pulsating as I ride the tide, and hot, wet juices flow over my hand.
Three
Beneath her long black coat, Miss Creamy is wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform. Her high, C-cup breasts spill out of her white, low-buttoned blouse. Cinched around her tiny waist is a wide, black belt. Her pleated, plaid skirt rides up over her round, voluptuous ass. Her ass cheeks peek from under the hem. She’s either wearing a thong, or nothing at all. Knowing her, it’s the latter.
I am donned in all black leather—corset, hip-hugging pants and seven-inch platform stilettos. My long ponytail is pulled up over my head, stuffed under a black leather cap. I am sitting in a red leather chair centered in the middle of my sparsely furnished loft with its vaulted-ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. In my hand is Miss Creamy’s coveted prize—the paddle. I have chosen a black leather paddle for the occasion. Leather paddles feel like a warm burn at contact and do not cause a lot of pain to the skin, in this case
her hungry cunt.
