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She cries out. Her body starts convulsing as my tongue disappears abruptly into her erupting inferno, zigzagging over her clit, then back into her burning sex. I flick my tongue rapidly over her clit. Plant my mouth over her sex and capture her essence as her arousal coats my tongue and seeps into my mouth. I lick and suck her well-paddled, cum-filled cunt until I’ve slurped out every delicious, naughty ounce of her hot cream.
Another twenty minutes, Miss Creamy saunters out the door basking in the afterglow of a good lashing and a deep, probing tongue-sweep.
Five
“You’ve reached the Cum Master. How can I help you cum today?” I say into the phone, glancing at the caller ID. I recognize the telephone number and to whom it belongs to without hearing her raspy voice. It’s Invoice #3323, Kenyatta Lambers aka Slick Heat.
She’s a photographer’s dream—smooth, ebony skin wrapped around a sleek body, tall and thin with delicate, peach-sized breasts, a tight waist, and a high, round ass. Her angular face, narrow cheekbones, slanted green eyes, slender nose, and perfectly white, straight teeth add to her exotic look.
“By whipping my pussy,” she coos into the phone. Kenyatta, I mean, Slick Heat, enjoys the feel of a leather belt stinging her bare sex. Each time the belt kisses her clit prickly heat sprouts out through her pores and causes her cunt to hiss. The cutting sensation and torturous mixture of pain and pleasure bring her the sweetest agony. One she continues to chase. The euphoria, it’s become her drug, her addiction.
I think back to the first time she hired my services, over a year ago. She had waltzed into my loft with a fiery gleam in her eyes, wearing a simple, yet elegant, black tunic dress and a pair of orange six-inch platform stilettos. And tangerine lipstick coated over her luscious lips. She wore her black hair bone-straight with blunt-cut bangs and it fell past her slender shoulders. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
Seeing this gorgeous, runway-ready creature one would be none the wiser to ever suspect that beneath all the glamour this nearly six-foot-three (when in six-inch heels) bombshell loves the heated magic of a leather belt welting her bald cunt, searing her clit, and twisting out painfully scrumptious orgasms.
During her initial session, I had her sit—as I do all my first-time clients—in one of my sex slings, the one with the stirrups. I buckled her ankles, forcing her shapely legs wide open. The smoothly waxed lips of her cunt were already shiny from the juices seeping out of her. She was anxious and wantonly ready.
“Are you always so wet?” I asked, brushing my knuckles up against her clit, then across the seam of her lips. Her heart-shaped pussy was one of the prettiest I’d ever whipped.
She licked her painted lips and squirmed in her seat. “Yes. My pussy stays wet.”
“And what would you like me to do to it, huh?”
“Whip my wet pussy until it burns.” I slid the belt over her clit, teasing her. She groaned, aching for the sweet stinging kiss of leather. She arched her back and thrust upward; eager to greet the swift blows I was about to deliver. She gripped the chains above her head, twisting them around her wrists as I slowly began to heat her cunt. Blow after blow, she let out a garbled cry, her breath strangled in the back of her throat. Each strike of the leather bit into her pussy, her pinkish clit stubbornly erect, causing it to clench.
“Oh, yes! Whip it! Uh!”
I lifted the belt over my head and brought it down against her flesh, how she liked it—hard, swift, and calculated.
Whap!
Whap!
Whap!
Lash after lash, her puffy cunt wept, bringing forth more wetness, more jolts of electricity; more surges of heat; each strike reverberating in her cunt, ricocheting off the lining of her walls.
“Yes! Yes! Yesssssssss!” she cried out as I swatted her breasts, her swollen nipples sensitive and erect, with the belt. She arched into the lashes, offering up more of her pussy. She strained to keep from screaming out her safe word. She gave into the pain. Gave into the pleasure. And came.
Slick Heat moans into the phone, snapping me from my reverie. “Oooh, I’m so horny. It’s been weeks since my last session. And I’m long overdue.”
I smile. “Yes, you are. And you know I aim to deliver you your greatest pleasures one lick at a time.”
“Oooh, yes. I know. I have the rest of the day free. When can you fit me in? The sooner the better.”
I glance through my appointment book, the one I keep h
idden and locked. “I’ll see you at four.”
“See you then,” she says excitedly.
My clit tingles at the thought of beautiful strong women with secret punishment fantasies. The lascivious sound of leather and suede lashes stroking, cutting deep into their pussies. The animalistic growls and grunts and groans of horny, needy, powerful women who—with the strike of a paddle, or hairbrush, or flogger—submit to pain, give in to pleasure.
Six
Four P.M., Slick Heat saunters through the sliding doors, stylishly dressed in a pair of faded low rider jeans and a white gauzy blouse that reveals her flat stomach and hangs over her smooth shoulders. The diamond stud in her navel sparkles beneath the edge of her shirt. As always, she’s in a pair of gorgeous strappy heels. Six-inch, I’m sure. Her towering presence, the light scent of her perfume, commands attention. My attention. And I eagerly wait to give it all to her.
I smile, standing up to greet her. Today I am wearing a chain halter-top and matching thong with a pair of wet-look latex leggings, latex gloves, and seven-inch platform heels. She eyes the sway of my breasts and chains as I reach for her hand.
