Alison's Wonderland
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He slips into bed beside me, and I press myself against him, hoping he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m already partially undressed.
It seems, however, that my luck has run out.
He’s already reached under my T-shirt. “Hey, what’s with your bra?”
“I unhook it when I nap,” I answer quickly. “It’s less constrictive.”
His hand drops to my shorts and slithers through the gaping fly. I know my panties are damp. Sopping, actually. And there’s no mistaking that briny fragrance of aroused female.
“Okay, Stef, what were you really doing when I got home?”
My stomach clenches with guilt and a touch of fear. Which is stupid because he knows I masturbate when he goes on business trips. He certainly wanks when he’s away. But it’s different to be caught in the act with no excuse except the old saying “Idle hands do the devil’s work.”
“I was just doing what you do in those hotel rooms while you’re watching porn movies,” I say, trying my best to sound cool.
“Actually, I don’t waste money on stupid movies. There’s plenty of good stuff for free on the Internet.”
Anton laughs and I join in, a touch too heartily.
Then I ask shyly, “Do you mind?”
I’m not sure why I feel so guilty about this. As if I’d actually cheated on him with another woman.
“Not at all. I’m sorry I missed the show.”
“I think we can put on a better one together,” I whisper as I turn toward him. I cup his balls and walk my fingers back to the sensitive strip of flesh between his legs. Stroking him there always stops any conversation short.
He sighs and his thighs ease open. “So, what were you thinking about when you were doing it?”
My fingertips pause on their journey back to tease his ass crack—which would surely have distracted him from unwanted questions. What do I say now? Of course, I’ve shared a few fantasies with him before. Crushes on movie stars. Doing it on the beach. But getting an ass-searing spanking from a lesbian mermaid was something else altogether. Besides, Anton was a swimmer in high school—his team came in third in the state finals. If he knew his doggie-paddling wife had nautical yearnings, he’d probably laugh himself silly.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” I say. Even I know it sounds unconvincing.
“Come on.”
“It’s true.”
Anton closes his legs, forcing me to pull my hand away. “You know, we had a presentation about people like you in the seminar today.”
His tone is playful, but I feel my body tense. “What do you mean?”
“Difficult employees. They’re a challenge. And I have to say your performance as my love slave leaves a lot to be desired right now. But the facilitator explained that each employee has a different working style and if the manager modifies his communication tactics to meet those needs, the result can be a mutually beneficial outcome.”
I can’t restrain a derisive snort. “You’ve lost me there, honey. Can you put that in words your more simpleminded workers can understand?”
What happens next catches me totally unawares. Anton plants a nice smarting slap right on my ass. Which is not nearly as surprising as what follows: an embarrassing gush of wetness between my legs and my involuntary cry of pure arousal.
I swallow hard and look away, struggling to pull myself together. “Is this what they’re teaching you in that seminar?” It’s meant as a clever comeback, but my voice is husky and my heart is pounding.
Anton tilts my chin up. Our gazes lock. He knows. My whole body blushes with arousal and shame.
“Were you thinking about having sex with someone else?”
It’s my chance to confess and come clean, but perversely, I shake my head.
He slaps my ass again.
“Tell me the truth.”
I wonder, fleetingly, if this new managerial tone will have the same effect on his employees as it has on me. By now I’m so aroused I can barely breathe.
“I…can’t do that,” I stutter.
“Then,” he replies, his voice calm, “we can both agree that you need serious disciplinary measures. Pull down your pants and lie on your stomach.”
I’m his love slave, I have to obey. Hands shaking, I struggle out of my shorts and panties and position myself as instructed. He reaches under my T-shirt and takes my nipple between his fingers. In a perfectly timed motion, he tweaks my nipple just as the first smack lands square on my ass.
I grind my pelvis into the mattress and groan.
He spanks me again. A wave of heat rolls from my cunt to my nipple and back again. The bed is already soaked and my ass cheeks burn, as if they’ve been baked under the glowing orange coils of a toaster oven.
Instinctively I push my buttocks up for another.
“Forget it,” Anton says. “No more until you tell me what you were thinking about while you were fingering your pussy. In detail.”
I gulp. I’m too worked up to think of a good lie now. But what would he do if he knew what really went on in my head?
“It’s kind of…kinky.”
“All the more reason I should know. Girls who think about kinky things need a spanking to teach them a lesson,” he insists.
Well, if he’s going to put it that way, what else can I do?
“It was sort of a lesbian fantasy.”
“You were doing it with another girl?” His tone is even, utterly professional. I have no clue what his real reaction is.
“Not a girl exactly. A mermaid. And she made me wrap my legs around her slippery hips and suck her nipples while she…she…”
“Spit it out, Stef.”
“She spanked me with her tail and…she said she wouldn’t stop until I came.”
He sucks in his breath. “Well, I think we already know the appropriate method to deal with a fantasy like that. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. That’s key for good manager-employee relations. Do you know what I’m going to do next?”
“Spank me?” I whisper.
“Yes. More specifically, I will spank you while you straddle me just like you did with your girlfriend. But of course, instead of a fish tail, I’ve got a very hard cock here and I have to figure out what to do with it. Do you have any ideas?”
“Fuck me?”
Anton chuckles. “You know, honey, you’re turning into a very cooperative worker after all. Climb on.”
I swing a leg over him and settle onto him. My flesh makes a soft sucking sound as he slides in. His thick cock feels so good pressing against my swollen walls that in spite of my hunger for new and sharper pleasures, I start to ride him in the usual way, with quick thrusts of my hips.
But things quickly take an unusual turn. He aims his first slap right into my sensitive ass crack.
I cry out, my muscles gripping him convulsively.
He makes a low grunt of approval. “Good work. Let’s try that again.”
The next blow is harder, driving my clit against the rough hairs on his belly. I grit my teeth and clutch him tighter.
“Did you suck her nipples while you rubbed your cunt on her?”
“Yes,” I admit breathlessly.
Smack.
“Bad girl. You deserve to have your ass spanked until you come.”
I feel no shame now. With each slap, I grind my clit on him and then push my ass out again for another sweet shot of that intoxicating cocktail of pleasure and pain.
“Do you like this? Is it as good as it was with her?”
“It’s better,” I confess. And it’s the truth.
Anton grins up at me. “Well, that’s the response I was looking for. I guess I can stop spanking you now.”
“No, don’t stop,” I plead before I’m really aware of what I’m saying.
“Oh? You mean, you want me to keep spanking your ass?”
I nod.
“Then beg me.”
Back in my other life, I’m too proud to beg for anything, but all the rules are different now. I’m different. In this slipsliding underworld of lust, I’ll do anything to feel the delicious sting of his hand stoking the fire in my flesh.
“Please, Anton, spank my ass while you fuck me.” I’m almost crying, and my pussy, too, is weeping, the juices pooling on his belly.
Anton starts bucking, a butterfly-stroke dolphin kick, mattress style. “Say it again. Tell me how much you want it,” he orders, his voice hoarse and thick.
“Please spank me. I need it. I’ll die without it. Please, boss, please.”
With those magic words, I finally earn my employee bonus, a flurry of slaps on the ass that drive me up and over the edge. A voice screams, “God, I’m coming”—I think it’s mine—and another, lower one joins in with a “Fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck,” and I have to grip my thighs as tightly as I can to stay on as he empties himself into me.
Afterward we snuggle, wrapped around each other like fronds of seaweed, not even bothering to mop up the sticky wetness.
“Do you think I’m a pervert?” I say softly, into his shoulder.
“I think you’re hot,” he replies, stroking my hair.
I smile. “So what do you like to think about when you…you know…?”
Anton laughs. “Funny you should ask. One of my old favorites is that I’m spying on two sexy women doing it in a pool and they catch me and beg me to fuck them.”
I laugh, too, with pleasure and relief. “Really? Do you spank them?”
“No, but I will next time.”
He tilts my chin up. Our eyes meet. His are green and liquid and seem to reach down inside me to touch all my soft, secret places. I hear a voice, too, echoing faintly in my head—his or mine, I’m not quite sure.
Thanks for the ride.
The Clean-Shaven Type
N.T. Morley
Belle arrived at the castle at midnight, soaked through to the bone. The rain had been pouring down amid lightning and howling winds for hours, turning the road into mud and making the mountain passes all but impassable. It was a miracle that she made it through—even more of a miracle given that the carriage she rode in did not have a driver, but was steered in and of itself, or perhaps by forces unseen—while Belle shivered and stewed in the velvet-furnished compartment.
Belle’s carriage was greeted by a tall handsome servant dressed in short breeches and a close-fitting top, a muscular man with a handsome face. He helped Belle down from the carriage with a chivalric hand and a respectful gaze.
“It is a pleasure to welcome you to the castle, Madame Belle.” That title sounded strange to Belle’s ears; she was not used to being called Madame. “I am Andrew, the majordomo. All the castle’s servants are pleased to be at your disposal, Ma’am. Please say the word and anything you wish will be yours.”
Dripping, Belle followed Andrew down long corridors and up great sweeping spiral staircases. The castle was cold and dark, this being well after midnight; wall sconces held candles that lit as they passed, but the chill was oppressive. As soon as Belle entered her chambers, the warmth comforted her; a fire burned, creating a comfortable and cozy temperature. The room was enormous and lavishly furnished, with divans of silk and a great four-poster bed fitted with luxurious bedding and silk sheets that had already been turned down. The fixtures of the room were of gold and silver and even more precious metals, and a small table had already been set with glittering dinnerware and a meal of cold turkey and fruit, with great flagons of wine.
“Shall I help you out of your things, Madame Belle?”
Standing before the fire, Belle turned and looked him up and down, puzzled.
“Isn’t there a maidservant?” she asked haughtily.
“I’m afraid not,” said Andrew.
A pool of rainwater was growing around her as she dripped.
“May I help you get undressed, Madame Belle?” Andrew asked again after a pause.
The honorific reminded Belle that she was not here to serve; she was here for another reason entirely. Her old life on her knees was through, at least until she accepted the Beast’s proposal.
Belle nodded imperiously.
Andrew knelt behind her and unlaced Belle’s corset. She took a series of deep heaving breaths as her aching back relaxed. Andrew unfastened the laces down the rear of Belle’s dress and she shrugged the thing off, covering her bare breasts with her arms. Her flesh was goose-bumped and her nipples almost painfully erect. Still on his knees, Andrew obediently slipped Belle’s dress over her hips and the garment fell around her feet. She stepped out of the fabric and turned and stood facing Andrew, nude but for her knee-high, spike-heeled boots.
“Are my clothes being sent up?”
“No, Ma’am.” Andrew did not elaborate, which irritated her.
She took a step closer to him, savoring his evident discomfort as he attempted to position his body to conceal from her his still-growing erection.
“Put your shoulders back.”
Andrew flushed still deeper. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, put your shoulders back,” Belle repeated, lifting the toe of one pointy boot and deftly placing it on the kneeling Andrew’s shoulder, pushing. This was not easy given Andrew’s stature, but Belle was a tall and flexible woman. Doing so placed her sex in close proximity to Andrew’s face, which caused him to draw a sharp breath as he went slipping back at the pressure of Belle’s toe. Catching himself on his hands, Andrew remained there looking up at Belle, his face level with her sex. The position was awkward for Andrew, requiring him to support his body with the muscles of his arms and thighs and ass. She could see his chest rising as the scent of her intoxicated him and the effort to maintain the posture grew.
His cock was quite evident in his pants.
“May I help you off with your boots, Madame Belle?” asked Andrew suddenly. In the culture that had born both Andrew and Belle, such a suggestion was a colloquial way of suggesting intimate relations, the implication being, of course, that people fucked with their boots off—something that was very rarely true in Belle’s experience.
Belle realized that upon uttering this rude innuendo, Andrew had inclined his head slightly, as if to present his face to her, all but begging for her to slap him.
Belle was unfamiliar with having the power to slap someone. She was surprised to find that it excited her immensely to see Andrew on his knees, offering his face to be slapped. And such a pretty face it was.
This was exactly what made Belle go wet and hot inside when she was the one on her knees, in Andrew’s position. But she was really more interested in other pleasures at that particular moment, and in fact was quite eager to have Andrew “remove her boots.”
Instead of slapping him, Belle caressed his beautiful pink cheeks with her fingers and said, “What did you ask me?”
“I asked if I could remove your boots,” Andrew said brashly, all but daring her to slap him. “Madame Belle, may I please remove your boots? I would love to remove them and…take them all the way off.”
“Hold that thought,” she said. “And don’t move.”
Belle stalked to the table, where cold turkey and wine awaited her. She sat at the table nude except for her boots and, at her leisure, she took slim savory morsels of turkey and poured herself a glass of wine.
“May I serve you?” asked Andrew.
“No, you may not,” she said absently, without looking back at him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in a dozen years of sleeping with men—” she laughed “—it’s how to serve myself.”
She could not see him, but she could feel the sting of her words.
“As you wish, Madame.”
Belle could also hear the strain in Andrew’s voice; it was becoming hard for him to hold that position, resting with his hands back on his ankles and his cock bulging forth. She did not glance behind her to see the stress in his body; just knowing it was there made her meal that much sweeter.
Belle took her time eating. The turkey was delicious and the wine was excellent. She had several pieces of fruit, including a few varieties she’d never tasted before—they did not have them in her region.
Belle rose and walked back to Andrew, who was biting his lower lip quite fetchingly, struggling to maintain his posture.
Belle stood before him, taking a long minute to lick her fingers—which were greasy with turkey and sugary with fruit—and her lips, red with wine. Her order not to move, which by now had caused intense pain to the muscles of Andrew’s arms and thighs and ass, had not diminished his erection. Belle could relate.
She licked her fruit-sweet fingers as she spoke. “Andrew, I think you asked me something,” she said innocently.
Andrew spoke with great effort, his brow moist with the tension in his muscles.
“I asked if I could remove your boots, Mistress,” he said, his voice conveying a great humility. “It was impolite for me to ask. I apologize.”
Belle reached out and ran her slick fingers across Andrew’s throat, teasing him. She leaned close.
“They’re the most beautiful boots I’ve ever seen,” he blurted.
He looked up at her, his eyes succulent with adoration of her for the ordeal she’d just put him through, and particularly for the obvious pleasure she’d taken in it. Belle looked down into those gorgeous eyes and laughed.
“My boots are filthy from the ride. I wouldn’t wish you to remove them until you’ve cleaned them—very well.”
Belle turned and stalked the few feet to a large armchair, feeling the soft silk embrace her bare body as she sat down. She stretched her legs out and presented her high-heeled, pointy-toed black leather boots, which were soaked through and muddy.
Andrew crawled to her and lowered his face to her filthy boots. Belle caught him before his mouth met the muddy leather. Her hand went into his long blond hair and she pulled.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “Is that fair, Andrew?”
“No, Madame,” he said. She released his hair. He went to get up as he reached for the fastening of his breeches; again, Belle shook her head.
With some difficulty, Andrew undressed on his knees, kicking off his own footwear first and then removing his breeches to reveal his ample erection, which was even larger than Belle had first thought. When Andrew’s tight top finally made it over his head, he discovered that Madame Belle’s knees were now folded neatly over the great pillowed arms of the chair, her thighs spread wide and her sex blatantly revealed, the smooth flesh pink with want and the center of her glistening and aromatic. Struggling to contain his hunger, Andrew bent sideways toward one of Madame Belle’s muddy boots.
“Please,” she said, slipping her hand into his hair again. “Please don’t play dumb. You know what you were asking—oh!” She guided his mouth to her sex and pulled his hair firmly as, obediently, Andrew began to lick.
He serviced Belle’s sex ably, licking from the sweet center of her opening up to the swollen bud of her clitoris, which drew great sighing moans from her, and later great shuddering gasps, as his tongue skillfully caressed it. His lips closed gently around her clitoris and he worked it eagerly with his tongue as her pleasure mounted.
“I wonder if you think you’re going to get that thing inside me?” she panted as she neared her orgasm. “I’ve never had a boy to play with before. I’ve always been on the bottom, Andrew. Do you think I’m still dying to get fucked, boy? Andrew, I asked you a question.”
She had timed it right, so that his mouth’s withdrawal from her sex to answer bought her several more seconds of pleasure. She did not want to climax too quickly; to do so would be to all but waste the subtle caresses of a very submissive man. Belle had never enjoyed such things before, and planned to savor them as long as she could.
“I believe Madame will do what she wishes,” said Andrew obediently. His mouth returned to its ministrations on her clitoris, and Belle pushed him back.
“Of course,” said Belle. “But do you think I want to get fucked? Andrew! I asked you a fucking question.”
Andrew drew back, his mouth dripping with Belle’s juices.
“Yes, Madame. I believe you do want to get fucked.”
“Mmmmmm.” Belle sighed. She laughed. “Just like a man…He thinks his cock rules the universe. Get me off, boy.” She was very close at that moment, and almost no malfeasance on Andrew’s part could have prevented an intense orgasm by Belle, but it gave her pleasure to order him to finish her. So often, as a bottom, she had been denied orgasm at the last minute. It invigorated her, now, to take as she wished.
Andrew obediently returned his mouth to her sex, and Belle relaxed into the strokes of his tongue as he serviced her clit. She pushed off her climax as long as she could, savoring the pleasure, but finally Andrew’s skills were more than she could resist. She came fiercely. One hand clawed her own thighs until she left great pink furrows; the other went snaking into Andrew’s hair and gripped him, forcing his head roughly against her sex as her pleasure mounted and her hips started to move. Andrew continued his service as the Madame, essentially, used him. Belle had never fucked a man’s face like that before. She came harder than she ever had.
As she relaxed into the succulent, warm afterglow of her orgasm, Belle was surprised to discover that Andrew continued servicing her, his tongue working even as the pleasure in her clitoris turned to a sudden ache. The pleasure mounted to discomfort momentarily and then, as Andrew slowed his strokes and gave her a minute to recover, it merged back into pleasure, and Belle felt a new sensation growing.
For all her unexpected lust for domination, Belle was still naive in many things.
“Why aren’t you stopping?” she panted.
Andrew only drew his tongue away from her for a moment.
“You did not instruct me to,” he said, and returned to licking her clit.
Belle went slack into the deep armchair, her eyes glassy with unexpected pleasure. Once, Belle had been bound over a Master’s lap as he used a vibrator on her until she succumbed to the onrushing pleasure-pain of a second and a third orgasm. But usually, when she was fucked, she was allowed one—if she was lucky enough to be allowed that at all. This was wholly different, the pleasure mounting as stimulation continued; she felt a momentary flash of guilt, feeling she should instruct Andrew to stop. She was very close to her second orgasm, unexpectedly shuddering all over with increasing pleasure, when, quite to her own surprise, she blurted: “You don’t have to.”
Andrew looked up at Belle in confusion, the expression on his face going from rapt excitement and pleasured acceptance to something akin to panic. It was the first time Belle had ever seen the ecstasy of total submission on the face of another person. It gave her, simultaneously, a thundering sensation of happiness and the sharp taste of guilt for her own doubts.
“Madame?”
“You don’t have to stop when I come,” she said quickly, making her voice as sarcastic as possible. “You men always want to finish after you get us off a couple of times. I’m going to come till I’m finished, do you understand?”
“Of course,” said Andrew breathlessly. “I would never stop until ordered to, Madame.” His eyes went hot as he looked up at her. “If I did, you’d be well within your rights to punish me.”
Belle’s breath was coming short; she felt the buzzing high of power. Andrew was depending on her; as much as she desired to be bent and stretched and spread on her Master’s lap and bed and rack, Andrew wished to be here on his knees, servicing her until he was ordered to stop.
She brought her leg down and tucked it between Andrew’s legs, pushing hard on his erect cock with her muddy spike heel.
“I’ll already be punishing you,” she growled. “For enjoying yourself too much. Now, get me off again, boy, I’m far from finished with you.” To hear her own voice uttering such aggressive statements was unfamiliar and deeply erotic to Belle, and she realized perhaps for the first time that she was no longer a sexual servant, as she had been for some years, but something else entirely—or becoming something else, with every stroke of Andrew’s tongue.