Corporal Punishment: part I

I hadn't talked to Hailey in some months.  Actually, I hadn't talked to Lucilia or Melissa or any of the other women I've uh… "known" in quite some time.  Life gets busy.  And I can certainly understand pent-up frustrations and how they can motivate you to do some things that would be considered "ill-advised" under most circumstances.  But, y'know, desperate times call for desperate measures.

So when I got a text from Hailey which read "I'm sorry, Daddy." I knew it couldn't be good.  After all: it wasn't just that I hadn't seen her in months, I'd totally broken contact.  That abrupt, inexplicable disconnection could have prompted her to try and get my attention in any number of different ways.


"What have you done?" was my response.

Immediately my mind went to the worst: she somehow came across some possession of mine and damaged it (my Jeep or my guitar or bass somewhere) or she caused me some form of damage to a connection I had… badmouthed me to some person in the music/arts scene or somesuch.  I received a picture as a response.  She was wearing my clothes.

In my house.



Hailey either knew where I had an extra key stashed and stole it or she made a copy of one an extra key I'd loaned to her at some point.  It could have happened any number of times.  I was sitting in a meeting at the time and was in no position to call or leave.

"You've lost your mind, Sweetheart.  Why would you do this to yourself?"

She was wearing one of my better suits.  A full 3-piece and had even picked out a nice shirt and tied a tie.  The next photo she texted to me showed her fingering her pussy through the unzipped fly.  My cock stiffened immediately.  That meeting was going to get interesting.  Luckily nobody was looking at my phone in my lap (or the bulge in my pants).


"Daddy, I miss you.  I need you to punish me.  I know I've fucked up some how.  I thought I could make it right or something.  Then I figured that if I was perfect little good girl and you cut me off, then to get your attention I'd need to do something bad."

Her logic was sound but she just didn't understand: I'd been busy.  That and the dynamic we shared was just getting weird.  She was just playing with some boundaries that shouldn't be crossed.  The disciplining her wasn't the problem.  It was the Daddy-daughter dynamic that she craved… she needed it more than I did.  And she needed it too badly.

"Daddy… I've really, really fucked up this time."

The next picture was of another woman in my house.  She was dressed in typical sorority-girl gear but her arms were bound behind her back and her legs tied at the ankles.


"I've done a bad thing, Daddy.  And I'm going to do something worse.  Right her in your house.  I'm going to do a really bad thing to this good girl that I've brought here."

The next picture was of a strap-on.

If I could have pulled my cock out to masturbate in the middle of that meeting, I would have.  It might have even been worth it.


"Kitten, you're wearing my clothes.  That's one thing.  But you've also broken into my house and you've kidnapped one of your sorority sisters in the process.  That's totally different.  This is unacceptable."


"Daddy, I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me" she wrote.  "I didn't just put your clothes on, I masturbated while I had them on, too.  My little pussy is so wet… I just had to touch it but I think it's soaked into the pants, Daddy.  I know I want to fuck this girl.  I know you're mad but I wanted you to watch what I can do to her."

I really needed to pull my dick out but that was neither the time nor the place.  Damn that girl.  The next photo I received was a point-of-view; Hailey had unbuttoned her (well… MY) shirt and I could see her puffy nipples at the tips of her breasts.  They were so lovely.  I could see the girl looking up from her knees between Hailey's tits.  She followed that with a picture of the girl's face pressed into Hailey's crotch.


"Daddy!  I turned around so she could lick my pussy from behind and she tried to lick my little asshole!  She won't stop, Daddy!  She's got her tongue inside my booty!!"

I don't know how she managed to contort and pull it off, but she got a picture of that too.  Wow.  I wanted to get up to excuse myself but my cock was too hard; it would have been too noticeable once I stood up.  I probably should have stopped checking my texts but the meeting was boring.

Though, to be fair, ANYTHING would have been boring compared to the texts I was receiving…

The Audacity

The bachelor's life is not all booze, babes and baba ganouj.  If only it were so.  It has it's interesting moments, sure.  But on a level, the idea that none of the women with whom I'm intimate have pressed me for something deeper… well…

…it bothers me.

There.  I said it.  The sexcapades are great fun, don't get me wrong but… I don't know.  They all seem content.  Generally speaking most people (guys especially) would think that it was the perfect setup.  Living out one's dreams, as it were.  Or at least someone else's dreams; I don't know what I dream of anymore.  When I fantasize, I don't know if it's my fantasy or someone else's.

Whatever.  I mean they all seem content with what they get from me.  They don't seem to have ambitions.  They don't seem to have ulterior motives.  They don't appear to want anything more.  If I presume to be a guy who is with a shit… shouldn't they want more?  What does it say about me that they don't.

In walks Lucilia.

No, literally.  There I sat in the middle of my home-cooked dinner for one, feeling pitiful for myself because, really, it was a damn good meal and it seemed a shame that my culinary skills were to go unappreciated by others.  Not that it was about the quickest way into a woman's pants is on top of the dinner table after a well done meal (though I am a firm believer in said philosophy), no, it was more about enjoying a meal with your sweetheart.  I really couldn't say that I had one.

Anyhow, with a shovel-full of my home-cooked pasta halfway from my bowl to my mouth, I sat there with my jaw hanging open.  How the fuck had she gotten in?


"You would not believe the day I just had" she began, kicking off one of her shoes.  I must not have locked my front door.


"My lecture went completely awry.  I had these two girls -raving bitches really- going at each other.  Nothing worse than two nerds angrily ignited over Renaissance lit but to be fair I'm sure it had something to do with something said by someone who saw someone who knew someone who screwed someone" she continued, completely oblivious to the fact that my spoonful of pasta was suspended in the air, inches from the docking bay.  I always lock my door.

She steadied herself against the bookcase with her back to me in an effort to remove her other shoe.  She has such amazing arches.  "I had no idea what to do.  My classes never go so far south.  I had material to cover and I really should have told them to leave and though they're not like my best students or anything they both have very good averages and are good students."  She turned rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she went to the kitchen.  "But maybe that's all the more reason I should have done it.  Make an example."  Why had I not locked my door?  Further, how did she get into the building in the first place?  That didn't make sense either.  I didn't buzz her up.

She returned from the kitchen with a Pepsi in hand.  My favorite.  "Help yourself." I thought.

Unfazed she went on, full speed ahead "So THEN, get this, one of my best students: totally busted for plagiarism.  YES!  I swear I thought this kid was something special but clearly he was.  Special cheater.  Ripping off people right and left.  Paying for papers.  I was so embarrassed for having put my faith in him."  She removed her jacket, leaving on her navy high-waisted pencil skirt and sky-blue blouse.  Maybe someone let her in.  I could not possibly have given her a key.

She walked over, took the fork from my hand and tasted my food.  Initially there was only a look of mild "Okay, this is edible." then a split second later it was completely different.  "Fuck me, this is delicious!  All for you or are you will to have some generosity for once, you selfish fuck" she sneered taking the bowl and fork.


"Really?  Just like that?" I thought.  Clearly I'd been sparing the rod and my irritation was clear by the look on my face.

She went on without the slightest bit of acknowledgment but I had heard enough.  I snatched the bowl and fork from her without a word.  "HEEEYYYY!!  I was eating that, Mister!  That was not very gentle--!  Where are you going?!  I'm talking to you!"  I was half way to the kitchen at that point.  I put the bowl of pasta on the counter and went into my tool drawer.  By then, Lucilia had come around the corner "I was NOT finished talking to you.  Or eating that, thank you very much.  And anoth-- what do you think you're going to do with that?!"  Her finger was pointed at the yellow rope in my hand.

I didn't even dignify her with a response, taking her, instead, roughly by the arm and leading her back towards the couch.  "UnHAND me!  Unhand me this instant, Kincaid Blackwood!"  She tried struggling away -at least, there was a semblance of a struggle- but I quickly had her arms behind her back and tied her forearms together at the middle of her back so each had rested against the elbow of the opposite arm.  Tying her hands at her wrists would've been easier but she could have blocked her buttocks.

It only made her thrash and shout more.  I hiked her skirt up above her waist and began to tug her underwear down.  She started kicking her legs like a child.  "Unacceptable!!  UN-AX-SEPTA-BULL!!  You will release me this instant, sirrah!!"  I did manage to grab hold of her ankles which allowed me to tie her legs so that her calves pressed to the backs of her thighs with her ankles near her hips.  "This is NOT the least bit funny, Mister!  I'm warning you!  When I get loose I'll AH!!  What are yoo-OW!!  Cut that OUCH!!  You motherfuckAAH!!"  I typically prefer her across my lap as I spank her but it couldn't be helped.

I went after that bottom with a vengeance.  But that's not really what she deserved.  With her face in the seat cushion, her mid-section on the arm of the couch and her knees hanging off, I reached around her and yanked open her shirt, buttons flying in all directions.  She grumbled breathlessly as I searched aimlessly for a nipple "So that's how it's going to be huh?" I unzipped my pants to allow my cock to press between her legs with a little more freedom.  "You untie me or there will be HELL to pay when I get loose, Kincaid Blackwood!"

Her lips were invitingly wet on the underside of my shaft.  I wanted to put it in so badly but I decided against it.  I took the shaft in hand and slapped her on the ass a few times with it.  Her voice was quivering and frantic "Youthinkthat's funny, don'tyou?  It's n-not!  UntieME!  I'llshowyoufunny!! I'llUNGH ::gasp:: youbastard!"  I pushed it into her without warning and then pulled it back out.  The "you bastard" came after I took it out.  Slick from the brief insertion I rubbed the tip of my dick against her toes.  From her prematurely silvering hair I could see her blue eyes peering at me from over he glasses as she looked at me over her shoulder.  "Just going to fuck me like that, huh?  Just pull my skirt up, tie me and fuck me and spray hot cum aaaaall over my ass, huh??  Is that it??"

I certainly hadn't cum.  At least I didn't think so.  I paused to think about that; maybe it was like the door that I'd forgotten that I left unlocked?  Nah, I definitely had not had an orgasm, which meant she was projecting.  Which meant she wanted it.  Which probably meant I should do something else.

So I coated my fingers with lube that I keep conveniently on hand and eased my thumb into her ass.  "What ::gasp:: what is it with you?!  Always the anus!  I don't even like it!"  I shrugged and pulled it back out with a sticky little pop.  "PUT THAT BACK!!  I mean… Please?!  Please fuck me and finger my aAAHH!!"

I gave her a good hard smack on the ass while her guard was down and did exactly as I intended.  Just as she'd requested.  A thumb between her cheeks and my shaft sliding in and out of her.  After I came (all over her ass as she foretold) I relaxed against the doorway near the couch, admiring my handiwork.  She gave me that look over her shoulder again, eyes narrowed.  "Well??"  When I didn't immediately move, her mouth started right back up.

"So you think that just because you give me a couple of orgasms that you can just come all over me and go to sleep or something?!  UNTIE ME, KINCAID BLACKWOOD!  What is WRONG with you?!  What… WHERE are you going?!  I'm talking to you!!"

Back to my drawer of tools.  Seems I'd forgotten a couple of things.  I returned with both hands full, one holding a fresh bowl-full of pasta.  She didn't bother to look at my other hand.  "Well aren't you the sweetest thing?  Yes, yes how nice NowfuckingUNTIEMEsoIcan-- HEEEYY?!  What do you think y-mmMPH!!"

And, my friends, was the sound of me covering her mouth with duct tape so I could finish my dinner in (relative) peace.

The Tangled Web: HER perspective, part 1

It all begins with me in my bed.  I'm just laying there.  With nothing to do, I suppose.  Before I can start thinking of all the things I probably should be doing instead of laying on my ass, in walks Kincaid.

Out of the clear fucking blue like he just owns the place!  I mean it's not like he's never been in there because he has, but this is different.   He hasn't been in my bedroom for a long time and it bothers me.  Not "bothers me" that he's there but "bothers me" because he hasn't been here and, like, all of a frickin sudden there he is.  No buildup.   No phone calls getting me used to contact with him.   No dates on which I can get used to being around him.   No invites in for coffee on the couch so I can adjust to him being in my space.   No, just: kaboom and in he walks through the door as if he has that right.

I guess he does.  He certainly paid his dues putting up with me but this just makes me feel violated.  Uncomfortable because I have this unnerving feeling that my boyfriend could, like... walk in at any second and I'd be sitting there on my bed with my ex in the room and I wouldn't be able to explain it.  It makes me feel naked.

And for a second, I am naked.  For the briefest of moments, I feel, like, totally bare, as if his eyes can see through everything... my explanations.  My excuses.  My anger.  My indifference.  Everything I used to cloak myself and make him think that I didn't care.  And for a second, it's as if he can see past all that and I'm bare.  It's so vivid that I look at myself to make sure that I really am wearing clothes and, thankfully, I am. 

But then it gets weird.  Like... I have the distinct impression that underneath the thin slip of a dress I'm wearing (probably the last one he ever saw me wearing), I wear nothing.  I'm not clothed or covered the way I think that I am.  Like, because he knows me so intimately, he knows what's under it all!  I suppose that by that point, my mouth had been open for several minutes while I had this inner battle.  I close it -I have to maintain some dignity- and ask him what he's doing there looking as if he need not give me the courtesy of a knock or any sort of permission to enter.

"You can't stop me from seeing you like this, Darling. I'll always be able to see through to what you really are. Nobody else can see you the way I do."

I hate it when he speaks in riddles.  Fucking hate it.

Before I can tell him to quit being such a pompous ass, my hands are tied. Like out of the blue.  Completely dumbfounds.  Before I can even wrap my mind around the absurdity, he says  "I'm curious to know some things. Since we have some time on our hands, I hope you don't mind humouring me while I ask a few questions."

I'm still speechless, stunned my how ridiculous this all is.  My hands being tied… Cade in my house.  The fact that he seems to not freaking notice OR CARE.  It's all juuuuuust a bit much.

"Is this where you fuck your current boyfriend?"

Okay, sure.  I should have seen that question coming a mile away.  All exes want to know that deep down, don't we?  I've thought about him fucking some other woman once or twice.  Whatever.  It may or may not have been while someone else was fucking me.  So what?  I regain my composure and proceed to very eloquently explain to him how inappropriate that question is using the words 'fuck' 'go' and 'yourself' though not necessarily in that order.  In the middle of that lengthy and altogether respectful diatribe, from nowhere I'm tied by my ankles; it freezes the words in my mouth.

"Well, you are certainly as articulate as ever, aren't you, Sweetheart?  I'll take that as a 'yes.'  What do you think about when the two of you have sex?  Laundry?  What you had for lunch?  The way I used to fuck you?"

I'd slap him if only my hands weren't tied but unfortunately just hearing him say that makes it difficult for me to NOT think of sex with him.  Thanks, Kincaid.  Thanks a lot. 

It also makes me think of sex with my boyfriend.  Though I don't tell him what I'm thinking about, my body betrays me.  I'm there on my bed, legs tied at the ankles, arms tied at the wrists behind my back with no way to block the view of my hardening nipples.  These girl are the first to give me up, I swear.  That gets him leering, licking his lips but he doesn't say anything.  He won't voice whatever filth is running through that head of his.  Not that I want to hear it because of course I don't.  I would never want to hear him tell me what he wants to do to my body and how.  None of that appeals to me.  Not at all.  Not even slightly.

Uh, yeeeeeaah.  Right, so without a word he reaches towards my face and I recoil a bit, you know, eventhough I would certainly welcome a touch at this point.  I don't know if he's reaching out to caress my face or slap me or what but his hand freezes inches from my face and the he reaches behind my neck and unties the top of my dress, allowing the top of it to fall open exposing my breasts.

Bastard.  This fucker is in my house in my room in my dream!  It's just not okay!  I should be Queen of this everlasting domain in my mind!  Able to simply think and these ropes vanish but the more I struggle against them the tighter they seem to become.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear him laughing at me but this asshole is beneath my attention now.  I can't seem to will him away either, that shit.

"Maybe you don't think of me," he says, trailing his index finger down my neck to my collar bone and to my breast.  I like, completely lose my concentration then, of course.  "I think of you all the time.  What you do and how hard you do it.  I see you fucking in my dreams."  He pauses, holding my breast in his hand the way one would hold someone's chin in their hand to lift their gaze and meet eyes.  Why can't I think the ropes away?  Why can't I think him away?   "I imagine you doing all sorts of filthy things..." he ends the last word by taking my nipple in between his finger and thumb and pulls it as if he's trying to take it off as a souvenir.   Fucking hurts!

I feel more rope, from seemingly nowhere at all, tie around my waist.  I can't tell if it's Cade doing this to me or not.  I pull away from his touch; he can't do this kind of thing to me anymore.  We're done.  He hurt me.  Hurt me while we were together back then and hurt me with is sick treatment of my body moments before.  My nipples are not fucking bottle caps to be twisted off!   That shit hurt!  I can feel the sting, jackass!  Still feel his fingers there.  Still feel my nipple between them.  Still feel it.  I'll feel it for hours probably, so tender and sensitive. It hurts...

...hurts really good.

The sensation there in my nipple strikes a cord all over my body.  It makes me wet.  It makes me wish he'd do the same to the other one.

Jerking away from him made me tumble off of my pillows and onto my stomach in an altogether undignified manner.  My feet in the air... legs bent at the knees... When I try to straighten them, I can't.  I feel a tug at my stomach; somehow the knot at my ankles has been connected to the rope around my belly.  I wiggle again and a gasp slips out in spite of myself; somewhere in this web of ropes one has been pressed against my pussy.  Not good.  Not good at all.  That has the potential to be disastrous in ways both wonderful and awful.  I don't know where it's connected or how, I can't figure out how to move without moving it across my lips.  But it's a wild reminder that my body is like... alive.

Out of the blue, the room's cool air is on my bare ass.  He has pulled up my skirt and exposed me.  Completely.  Thanks.  "Does he slap your ass like I did," he teases as he slaps my ass himself.  My right cheek warms with the blow.  Why does he do this to me?  Why?

"Does he spank you? Does he give you licks like this?"

He proceeds to wail away at my bottom, pulling my hair and slapping in a sustained rhythm.  With each blow, I tense or quiver and the movement causes the rope pressed against my clit to stimulate it.  It's incredible.  And terrible.  My body is so alive.

But this is so fucking wrong!  Why can't I just wake up?!  Why couldn't it be him down here?  Why am I so open like this?  What is he going to do to me?  Any little wiggle and that cord rubs my lips and then my body is on fire.  I press my face deep into my bed.  I can't let him to see my face.  I don't want him to hear me moan or see me enjoying this.  I can't take the shame.

There's the sound of a zipper and I assume he's pulled his cock out.  I can't look.  I don't want to see it.  No.  I don't.  Not like this.  NO!  I mean, not at all, I don't want to see it.  Not when I want it so badly.  Not when I need this.  He starts laughing at me.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?"  He'll get no answer from me.  I hear the strokes as he works himself up.  Fucking asshole.  He repeats the question.  My ass still tingles from his spanking, my nipple is still hard from the twisting, these ropes have me so exposed… I'm so wide open.  I want it so badly.

"Fuck you!" I shout into the bed.  It's muffled but I'm sure the point gets across.  I feel something against my feet.  He's tickling me, the bastard, just toying with me.  His finger is smeared with saliva, no doubt or… no.  THAT'S NOT right.  It occurs to me that it's probably his dick that he's rubbing against my feet.

 

This is too much...

Potty Mouth: version 2.0

I guess it's worth it at this point to delve into the specifics of my dynamic with Hailey.

She has a Daddy's-girl fantasy.  She is aroused by the thought of this taboo sexual dynamic taking place between us.  The reality is that nothing about our relationship is actually taboo.  But the fact that there is a significant age gap between us and that I do enforce a strict structure/discipline on her plays into her fetish.  Hailey's parents never really imposed much of a structure on her growing up.  Free-spirited and whatnot.  Some part of Hailey craved structure, though.  Some other part of her sexualized discipline.  Our dynamic put the two together because, as I may have mentioned previously, Hailey needed discipline in a number of areas.  Luckily, she was aware of the fact that she needed it.

But there was also something alluring to testing structure and getting in trouble.  There's no way to be considered out of control if there's nobody to impose a form of control over you.  Hailey never knew what it was like to break any rules because she wasn't given any.  Case in point: Hailey's parents allowed her to pick her own middle name.  She chose "Peyton" when she was 8 years old.  A lovely name, to be sure, but it suggests nothing of the road to that name.  She told me she spent weeks at a time after the age of 3 testing out different middle names for herself.  One day her middle name would be "Lightning" and a few days later she'd want her parents to call her "Hailey Blueberry Pancakes McClellan" or something. 

That was her upbringing.  The day she was introduced to discipline and the notion of "No, you have a place and I'm going to put you in it" was the day she started to crave it.  The idea of breaking a rule turned her on.  So she not only was aroused by being controlled, but she was also aroused by being unruly (and subsequently put in her place).

So… I understand it but, truthfully, I don't get anything out of it.  No, really.  I had been uncomfortable with it from the beginning and it was getting to be too much.  Fucking with me in ways that really made me sick.  But the one thing that I took comfort in was that regardless of what led up to intercourse, when we went at it we were just two adults having sex.  There wasn't all that other mindfucking going on.  So when she expressed an interest in vocalizing what was on her mind as we had sex and I invited her to go ahead and share… what ensued was not necessarily out of character, but I'll admit to my surprise.  I had not anticipated that beneath her silent-until-given-leave-to-be-vocal exterior lurked--


"FuckmeDaddy!  Ahyea!  AhYEA!  IneedthatCOCKfuckmegawdfeelssoUGH!!  My tightpussyyouWANTit!!  Ahyea!  Ahyea!  SlapmyASS like thatyea!  MMmMmmyea!  I need it, Daddy.  Ohyea that cock… oh, that cock, Daddy.  Feels   so   good   Daddyfuckme-mmMmM-inmyBADgirlpussy!"

Well… I just didn't know what to say to that.  I mean, lots of pornstars say similar things.  And it even sounds stupid when they say them too, doesn't it?  It's not hot.  I mean, that sort of talk is totally unnecessary, let's just put it out there.  How can you focus with all that

"Oyea!  MmmmMm.  Youlike mypussyDaddy?  Yea?  Mmm-yeayou you like it.  Oooo Dad-deeEe!  Mmmm when your balls slap my pussy like thatmmMmmmMmMMmfuckYEA!!"

Who can concentrate with that shit?!  I was getting so frustrated that I dug my fingers into her waist to pull her hips back to meet my thrusts more forcefully.  Daddy-this, Daddy-that… why couldn't she just fuck normally for once?  I was sick of it.  Which naturally led me to calmly respond with

"Shut the FUCKup, g'dammit!!"

Silence.

The girl closed her mouth so quickly I almost laughed aloud.  I pulled out and grabbed her around the waist as I stood up, yanked her to her feet and subsequently tossed her over the back of the couch.  I was so sick of the shit.  I was done, right then and there.  No more of the Daddy bullshit, I decided.  She was going have to learn it right then and there.

To accentuate my point, I spanked her like a 4 year-old in Target.  "No more of this shit, do you understand me?!  Cut it OUT!" I shouted punctuating the word with a cruel smack on her ass cheeks.  I proceeded to drive home the rest of my rant in the same fashion: "EV'ry TIME I come HOME it'sthis BULLshit!  I'm SICK and FUCKing TIRED ofyour GAMES!!  DO   YOU  UNderSTAND!!"

In pain and elation, she responded "YES, DADDEEEE!!"

Oh for fuck's sake.  How could the girl be so dense?  She wasn't getting it at all.  Despite my best efforts she was getting into it more.  I was so pissed of I pushed my cock back into her without warning.  Perhaps that was a language she understood.


"You're FUCKing nasty!  You little fucking FREAK!"


"YeaDaddy'snastyslut--!!"


"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!  I'm not done talking!!"  We weren't getting anywhere like that, so I decided that she needed to look me in the eye.  Pulling out again with a sticky slurp I pushed her back to the wall, grabbed the back of one thigh and then the other then slid back into her.  Her eyes rolled into the back of her head; something in pressing against her like that to keep her pinned against the wall and pressure on her clit whilst I was inside of her… I don't know.  She pushed her hair out of her face and I looked her right in those blue eyes. 

Aaaaaaand I lost my train of thought. 

It was there, I swear.  All on the tip of my tongue.  How I didn't like the Daddy's girl thing.  How it didn't turn me on.  How my cock simply responded to visual stimuli and it was nothing about the dynamic itself.  I was totally going to say it, really I was.  But who was I kidding?  If I'd said any of that I'd only be fooling myself because clearly I loved it.  Seeing that thrill in her eyes, yeah, I loved every bit of that.  So did she.  5 times she loved it and I loved it twice.  And again after dinner. 

And once more in the middle of the night without warning.

As we lay there afterwards in the wee hours of the morning, she cleared her throat tentatively.  "Kincaid?"

She rarely ever called me by my name.  Usually "Daddy" or "Sir" or "Mr. Blackwood."  It occurred to me that I maybe I never made her feel as if she was on a level to refer to me by my first name.  It was odd.  "Yes?"

"Thank you" she said and kissed me just under the jaw.  "For understanding me."

I wanted to tell her I didn't even understand myself half the time but I left that unsaid…

Potty Mouth: version 1.0

My life isn't a constant stream of sexual encounters (if only it were so).  Occasionally I have to take breaks and tend to life.  There's all sorts of bills which must be paid and money must be earned to pay them.  Earning money requires something other than screwing.  At least for me, it does.  I have not yet found that specially lady so delighted with my orgasmic gifts that she is willing to alleviate my financial burdens as a gift in return.


Playing with the Unscrupulous Three is not quite the cashcow one would think.  Nor is playing in the Symphony.  So I do some strings classes and private lessons for a dozen or so children of wealthy folk I've met a elegant shmoozieries around town here and there.  The income is quite appalling.  I'm amazed at what people will actually pay when they just want to have a couple of hours to fuck the pool boy.

Arriving home from work isn't exactly the same for me as it is for others since the 2 or 3 hours I work with these kids isn't exhaustive ordeal most people endure at their 9-to-5s.  I still like to put on my 3-piece suits as if I'm going to "the office" though.  So when I arrived back at my apartment after a (half)day's work and mouthed the words "Honey… I'm home." with a measure of melancholy longing that surprised myself, I was further surprised by Hailey's greeting of "Welcome home, Daddy!" letting me know that I was not alone.

I'd forgotten it was pasta & meatballs night.

I'd also forgotten that I'd given her a key to let herself in for that particular day.  I heard her in the kitchen and when she stepped into the doorway I could see that she'd been hard at work scrubbing the floor.  She was shoeless, wearing an apron over what I initially assumed was one of those polo shirt-looking dresses that women like to wear sometimes with a pair of yellow rubber gloves to keep her hands dry.

Keeping them dry whilst washing dishes and scrubbing the floors, not from fisting or something (I know you were thinking it).

She started to say something else but stopped short when she looked me up and down; Hailey loved to see me in a suit.  I mean, women in general like seeing guys in suits but it certainly played into a number of visual cues that set all sorts of kinky nerves tingling over her body.  I knew what she wanted.  "Come give me a kiss, Puss." I told her.

After discarding the gloves she skipped over (that's the only way I can describe it) and tip-toed up for a kiss.  It started as just a peck and then turned into a bit of lip sucking, transforming into a tongue exchange that lasted a few minutes and left her breathing a little quicker.  "Daddd-deee!  We can't kiss like that can we?!" she breathed.

I know what you're thinking: no, that's not what she meant.  That's sick.  No, she just meant that she was in the middle of cleaning and she wouldn't go back to cleaning if we started kissing because kissing begets groping and groping begets spanking and spanking begets screwing and screwing will not get the kitchen floor clean.  She had chores to do.

Knotting my fist into her hair, I whirled and pushed her into the door, pressing my body against her to pin her against the door.  Her ass (which I was pleased to notice was bare; it was not a dress, it was just a waist-length polo shirt) snuggled nicely against my crotch.  I unzipped the front of my trousers so that my cock could push between her cheeks with slightly less restriction.  With my hand still knotted in her hair I pulled her hair back, running my teeth against her neck as if to bite but never taking the chomp.  Just a tease.  "I'll kiss you however I want to.  You know this."


"Mmmmmyes, Sir.  Would you like for me to continue cleaning?" she asked.

I told her that I did, though I pulled my cock out as I said it.  The floor was spotless and, thankfully, dry.  She happened to be working on a couple of spots on the tile obscured by the shadow of my dinner table.  I suspect that she had cleaned the floor long before I arrived as well as having done the dishes but saved that spot to appear like she was doing something when I arrived.  What she'd done with her free time in between, I couldn't tell you.  Probably surf the web for porn.

I watched as Hailey got on all fours to continue scrubbing.  The back side of her underwear was so thin that I hadn't even seen it.  At that angle, it covered nothing, but I liked the way her lips emerged from either side of the fabric and the shadow of her cute little anus showed from either side of the line.  She peeked over her shoulder to see me stroking my cock.  Her breathing was ragged in spite of herself in anticipation.  I loved the way the bottoms of her feet and little toes looked as she worked there on her knees.

I knelt behind her, pushed her forward a bit so that her ass was in the air more and pulled the fabric aside.  Of course, having not given her explicit instructions to stop scrubbing, she was to continue until told otherwise.  I rubbed the tip of my cock from the spot just above her ass slowly down to her pretty lips and back up again.  Admittedly, I was as anxious to be inside her as she was to have me do it but there's nothing wrong with a tease.  I kept at it, stopping at times to use the head of my cock to rub her clit.

She was simply scrubbing in a circle at that point, not really cleaning anything but that was okay.  Without warning I slid my cock inside her and pulled it all the way out.  She gasped and tensed but otherwise continued to pretend to scrub.  I slapped my dick repeatedly against each cheek in turn and then put it back into her for a couple of pumps.  Then, again, I pulled out as before.  Pressing the tip against her anus evoked a pleading whimper but nothing more than that.  So I pushed back in all the way, pulling back out completely before going back in slowly each time.

Something occurred to me then.  A thought rattling around in my brain is some corner.  It was too clean in there.  The air in the place was fresh, not a dish out of place.  It had been dusted.  I even noticed that there was a batch of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookie bars cooling on the counter (okay, so maybe she did something slightly more productive than look at porn).  Either she'd done something and was trying to be nice and put me in a better mood or she was going to do something and needed me in a good mood.

"You're quiet, Puss" I stated, more than asked mid-stroke.  "Thinkin' about something other than this?"  She shook her head to which I responded by stroking harder and more forcefully.  "C'mon.  You can tell me."

She responded breathlessly: "Only… only thinking about what you did and do to me, we're d-doing and what we're going to… to do."  She added tentatively "I wanna… may I tell you about it, Daddy?"  

In all the time Hailey and I had been having sex, I never asked her what was on her mind as we did it.  Certainly there seemed to be quite a bit on her mind at that moment.  My general philosophy had always been that if a woman was coherent enough to formulate full sentences, then I wasn't fucking her properly but I'm an open-minded guy.  "Sure," I told her.


What followed was a string of profanities so perverse…

Force-feeding… vol. 2: "Daddy Issues" part II

At some point came the whisper, which may have had something to do with the commotion in the hallway outside of the windows to my den.

She had been sucking my cock and doing a fine job of it, but the whole "Daddy" thing was fucking with me and I needed to clear my head and make some sense of it.  "Sit up here, sweetheart" I said pointing to the opposite end of the couch.  "Now, show me…" 


Hailey climbed up onto the couch, leaned back against the armrest and looked over my shoulder.  There were people on the balcony of the home adjacent to the house my apartment was in.  It was a warm day and they were cooking out.  With a nervous bite of her lip, Hailey lifted her skirt a bit, reached between her legs and rubbed her lips through the pink panties she was wearing.  They completely covered her bottom.  Luckily, they weren't white; that would have been reeeally sick.  I started rubbing my own crotch at the thought.

Camel toe is a pretty crass description, but there it was.  The outline of every curve and ridge and fold.  Under those girlie, pink panties.  It was fucking disgusting.  I gave my cock a squeeze to stop the throbbing.  Just nasty.


"I thought you might like the pink, Daddy…" she said tentatively.  I didn't.  In fact I hated it.  I mean, in a fashionable, color theory manner it worked as a splash of vibrancy contrasting against the grays she was wearing but the whole thought disgusted me.  My dick was throbbing in anger and I gripped the shaft out of frustration.


"Let me see what's underneath, Puss."  I noticed her nervous glance over my shoulder.  "It's okay, sweetheart; they can't see you.  And even if they do, they'll only get a little peek."

As she pulled aside the fabric of her underwear for better viewing, I took off one of her Mary Jane heels and rested the arch of her foot on my cock.  The pressure would keep my angry erection at bay over this sick dynamic I was having to endure.  That's when the whispering started.

"You sure they won't see me?" she breathed.  "What about my bootyhole?  They can't see that, can they?"  I could see it; that clean pink star.  I held Hailey's ankle to apply firm pressure to my cock.  I was in need of restraint but her sexy feet weren't doing it.  I pushed her foot away and told her to get on her knees.


"I need a better view, baby; I can't really see.  Don't worry about them.  I'm sure they're not paying any attention.  I won't let them see your bootyhole."

"Yes, Sir" she whispered, rolling over and then onto her knees.  "Can I show you the dance I learned at school today?"

Just the whole "…at school." thing was fucking sick!  She was in college but still!!  Ugh!  I wanted to hit something,  With a tighter grip on my cock I started slamming my fist against the base of my penis over and over.  That made it feel better.

"Sure, sweetheart, go ahead" I murmured and she started to roll her hips to the music that they were playing on the balcony across the way.  Occasionally she'd look back out the window with a concerned look on her face, her pony tail swishing from one shoulder to the other.  This was sick.  Just fucking sick.  It was really pissing me off; I'm not even kidding.

I got up and started towards her bracing myself behind her; left knee on the couch and my right foot planted firmly on the floor.  I snatched her panties down, grabbed her ponytail jerking her head back in the process and gave her three hard smacks on her bottom with my bare hand.  I pulled her head back even further so I could talk into her ear which caused her ass to press my dick back up against my body, a cheek of her ass on either side.

"Who showed you that kind of dancing, dirl?!" I growled into her ear.  "Was it that slut Tracy you go drinking with?!"

Hailey did, in fact, have a sorority sister named Tracy whom she despised because she was such a good girl.  Despised in a playful way; she respected Tracy but Hailey had many times admitted to imagining her as a slut and fantasizing about it as she masturbated.  Tracy couldn't dance to save her life either.


"I… I-I-I didn't know it was nasty, Sir!" she whimpered.  "It just felt good!"  That just got a derisive laugh out of me.


"Just felt good, eh?  Well, you know…" I said leaning her over the arm of the couch without warning and shoving my cock in between those lips.  "Reeeeeeaally bad things happen to nasty, slutty girls, you know that?"  I made sure to punctuate each syllable with a pump.  The way the fabric of her sweater pressed between her stomach and the arm of the couch made her breast come free and jiggle with the motion.  "They get it right in their little hidden star."

Hailey threw one of her hands back, semi-blocking the view of her anus and then whimpered quietly but frantically "Nooooo, Daddy!  Not my bootyhole!  They're gonna see!"  I pinned both of her wrists to the small of her back in pushed into the very spot that she'd tried unsuccessfully to block.  Though I know she'd been anticipating it, it still took her by surprise.  She quietly swore, jarred by the entrace.  "Huh-holy shit.  Mmmmdon't let them see it.  Please, Daddy?"


Fucking disgusting…

Necessary Roughness… vol.2, part I

It began with a conversation in the car about nothing in particular.  I actually think that's the best time as opposed to in the heat of the moment where people can't think straight.

"You think I'm going to far, don't you?" she asked.

Normally, each time MissPriss opened her mouth there spilled a tumble of not-necessarily related thoughts that perched precariously close to one another flavored in her subtle New England accent.  She was startlingly coherent that day, though.


"No, I think I'm going too far."


"Why don't you trust me?"

The question was odd given our dynamic, but that really was it, wasn't it?


"Possibly because I don't quite understand how you can trust me?"


"Because of conversations like this one I know that you would never hurt me, Kade, at least not in a way that I don't like or didn't previously request you're a good person."

Well… she was being startlingly articulate for a while, at least.  That just-this-side-of-coherent manner of speech was slipping out.


"So, where does this thrill come from?  Until I understand that, I'm not sure that this will be inwardly comfortable for me."

MissPriss thought about it for a second.  "Well, that's fair."  She shifted her tiny little, absurdly expensive 2-seater European sports car into 4th and slowed down a bit.  She reached over and placed a hand on the upper region of my thigh.  "May I?" she asked.

Perplexed but engaged, I allowed it.  She unzipped my pants and fished out my cock.  Nothing like a soft, pampered hand to get the blood flowing.  I started to stiffen and was just about to ask where she was going with this explanation when she gave me a smile so knowing yet so sinister that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.  "Can you hold the wheel for a second?" she asked innocently enough.

I reached for it "You have a fucked up manner of articulating your thoughts, woman, this is really fucking danger--"

And at that moment she tightened her grip on my shaft and put the pedal to the floor in the midst of 7pm traffic on the interstate…


*******

It was a day of my choosing but it wasn't completely random.  I had to figure out when the cleaning crew did their magic.  It also took me some time to learn when MissPriss worked late as opposed to… well, doing something else late into the evening.  There was always a chance that I could show up and she wouldn't be there.  Or there'd be other people in the office.  But, I supposed that's all a part of the charm.

I had been there a time or two to bring her dinner, so I was familiar with the night security.  And his sleeping habits.  I also happened to know that he liked a certain type of sub and that he hated that he couldn't run out to pick one up on his lunch break.  So when I arrived close to nap time with said sub in hand, he and I both knew that it was the equivalent of hanging a "Do Not Disturb" sign on that floor's security feed.  For which he really ought to be fired, to be clear, but he's a good guy.  I meant no one any harm.

Nobody except for a certain prissy sales exec.

She'd long ago given me all her pass codes and conveniently "lost" her key cards in an effort to obtain multiples and passed them along to me so that I could come by without her having to leave her desk.  Or, perhaps, for my purposes at the time.  Who knows with her?

I quietly opened the office door and found the master light panel.  Her section of the floor isn't particularly large, so hitting a couple of switches brought enough darkness to let my friend downstairs know where the business would take place if he wasn't already asleep, but left enough on to make it clear that we weren't leaving.

As soon as those lights went off I could hear her call out "Hey!!  I'm still here!"

I said nothing and waited to see if anyone else would respond.

"Hah-loowwww?!  Turn the lights back ahn!!"

There were no other responses.  We were alone, just she and I.  I went to a doorway which faced away from her office when I heard her heading for the light panel.  She was still wearing her heels.  No way could she run in those.  Or that skirt she had on.

She turned the lights on and scanned the room with squinted eyes.  She wasn't amused.  Good.  I let her get back to her desk and did it again.  She swore loudly and stormed back for the switch.  "Whaht the fuck, man!?  This is naht fucking funny!!"

"I think it's hilarious actually" I said stepping from the shadows.

She almost fell over with a start.  "Whatthegzissfuckingshit!?  What are you DOING here?!"


"I'm here for something's that's mine" I said calmly.


"I don't HAVE anything of yours!!" she shouted.  "Everything I didn't give back is fucking BURNED, you asshole!  Fuck you!!"

Where all this hostility was coming from, I'll never know.  Welled up deep in some place that is rarely let out, I'd imagine.  I took a step towards her.


"Don't you take another step towards me, you fucker!  I mean it!!"

Clearly she was not talking to me.  She was talking to someone else entirely.

*******


I asked… no, I inquired with all of the poise and composure I could muster:  "Melissa!!  Are you out of your fucking mind?!?!"

MissPriss had floored it, as if noone else was on the highway.  Initially with me to steer from the wrong side of the car.  Clearly she had no intention of breaking and we hadn't slowed for a couple of miles.  All the while she stared stared mostly at my face (occasionally at the road), intently focused on my eyes.  Oh, yeah: and calmly jacking me off as if we were not burning up the interstate asphalt to the tune of 110mph.


"Cut this shit out!!"  That wasn't specifically referring to her jerking me a soda.  The fact that she was switching 2 and 3 lanes at a time, swerving and narrowly missing other cars, trucks and SUVs (I swear, at one point I thought she was going to switch lanes underneath an 18-wheeler) was on the verge of making me lose my cool.


"YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING KILL US WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?!"

Alright, so maaaaybe I'd already lost my cool.  Whatever.  She started out using both hands, one for my shaft and one for my balls but having to steer while she floored it had so unhinged me that the litany of profanities I unleashed would've shaken anyone.  She'd since taken the wheel but that made it no better.  And she just wouldn't stop that handjob.  Squeezing and tugging and twisting.  It was maddening.  I was angry and my erection was too, furiously throbbing with ever flex and rub of her hand.

She wove us in and out of traffic like a mad woman.  Every now and then she would abruptly slow, throw it into fourth, floor it and then put it back into fifth, deftly going from my shaft to the gear shaft and back again without missing a beat.  At one point, it became crystal clear that all traffic had stopped and we were going rear end a sedan.  I tried vainly to get her to notice calling over and over "MelissaMelissaMeLISSaMUHlissaMELISSAMELISSAAAA!!" at which point she just got over onto the shoulder without slowing.

*******

"I want you OUT of here!"  MissPriss proclaimed.  I wasn't going anywhere though.  It was too late for that.  I just walked casually towards her as she backed up nervously, stumbling once and losing a shoe.  As she fell to the floor, her skirt ripping, tight as it was, giving me an eyefull up her leg as well as a nice show of her breasts jiggling around in her blouse.

I didn't like that I like it, but I'd be lying if I denied liking it at all.  I did.  I walked over towards her smirking a little as I undid my belt.  Her face was horrified.  Shaking her head back and forth she mumbled frantically "Tony, no please I'm sorry don't do this please I don't have anything else for you please."


"You do have one think of mine, actually.  It's time that you gave it to me."  Need I remind everyone that my name is not, nor has it ever been "Tony."  I wonder if somewhere in Prissy Melissa's past there was a "Tony" but I never asked.  It was just a name I insisted she use while we were "at play" to re-establish that she was in full control of her senses and that lines were not crossed.  She hadn't spoken the safe word for us to stop, but I wanted to be careful.

She backed up against a wall and the turned to crawl away and that's when I caught her by the hips.  I tore the skirt more, allowing the rip to go from just below her backside to above, totally revealing her ass to me.


"You don't have anything to give?  Well then why did you leave what's mine unwrapped like this for easy access?"


"It's over, I told you!  We're not doing this anymore!!  You can't just come and fuck me whenever you want I'm not some whore!!"

It didn't escape my notice that MissPriss had not gotten off of her fours.  In fact, she'd stayed on her hands and knees in anticipation of rear entry.  Though I was anxious, I would make her wait.  So I reached to grab her by the mouth and pull her close to me.


"Actually, that's exactly what you are.  A cheap whore, at that.  And now it's time for me to pay you."  I pushed her face down to the floor, pressed her legs together and slid into her.  She groaned but did not protest.  Not with her body.  She did spit out a "I'll fucking kill you, Tony!  The minute you pull that dick out of me I'll fucking fuck you up!" but that was all.  I knotted my hand into her hair and pulled as I went at it.  She was growling like a mad woman.  Furious.  It wasn't just me… it was her job, her boss, her relationships that never worked out, fights with her parents… at that moment, she was fucking everything.

After a while, I rolled her over and the moment she wrapped her legs around me, she opened the door.  Figuratively, that is.  Opened the door for what was to come next.  She started swinging at me, hitting my arms and my chest.  My face.  She's not a weak girl, by any stretch though it wasn't enough to hurt.  She was incoherent at that point, thrashing and growling.  But clearly she was fucking me.

So there I sat at the moment of truth.  The moment for which we'd all been waiting.  Was I getting enough enjoyment to do it?  Would I like it?  How would I see myself after?  I couldn't know.  At that moment, I reminded myself that Melissa had asked me for this.  Fairly begged me multiple times.  I even had her put it in writing.  I told her to leave me voicemails stating it.  One day over a quiet dinner as we discussed it for the umpteenth time, to prove to me her commitment, she blurted out her proclamation to our waitress who looked at Melissa as if she was nuts and promptly threw the check at me with a scoff.

So… I just did it.  Calmly, I looked her in the eye without emotion and I did it.  I slapped her. 

Open-hand, clean across her left cheek.  Not so hard that it snapped her head to the side; it wasn't meant to knock her senseless.  I was still inside of her and I could feel her entire body tense at once.  Pointedly so, down there as she clenched around me.

And she immediately burst into tears.

She had assured me long before that that was EXACTLY what would happen and she needed it.  Some sort of release she explained, though I admit I'll never understand it.  Something about how it all builds up emotion which is amplified or more accessible because of sex and then that slap is like hitting the button that makes the explosion.  Like pulling a rubber band as tight and as tense as you can and then giving it a tap that makes it snap, releasing all of the tension in one blow.

I tore open her shirt to let her titties bounce freely and called her a slut as I fucked her like a man possessed.  Melissa's hair clung to her face from both the sweat and the tears streaming from her eyes.  It wasn't long before she had a loud, body-shaking orgasm but I kept going, fucking her relentlessly.  She had a few more of varying durations and intensities.  After a while she was sucking and biting her own fingertips, still sobbing somewhat looking up at the ceiling as she mouthed silently "Ohmygah'd."  After the last one, she caught me off guard and rolled me on my back to ride me into both a satisfying orgasm and a bad case of rugburn.

At some point the security guard came up to check on us.  That just happened to be while she was topless on top of me.  MissPriss threw a prissy little shoe at him and asked him if he fucking minded giving us some fucking privacy and why he couldn't just fucking go to sleep or watch from his fucking monitors.  She was so articulate when she wanted to be.

I looked at her left cheek.  There was no mark.  It wasn't reddened beyond the usual post-orgasmic flush.  No swelling.  She slumped forward, as if melted and nuzzled her nose into a space just under my jawline.  Her eyes were still damp from the tears; I could feel it.  "Are you okay?" she asked curiously.  "You've got this weird look in your eye."


"I just slapped my woman during sex.  If that wasn't weird enough, it was because she begged me to do it.  I'm not completely certain how I feel about it.  I can't say that I'm particularly comfortable with it truly."

"Well I am completely comfortable!" she laughed.  "I promise you it was precisely what I needed.  I'm so relaxed right now."  Her voice was smooth and quiet, every word came out notable slower than customarily spoken by someone from New England.  Like weed smokers when they've been at it for a while.  "Honestly, that was amazing.  I feel like I let out 3 months of tension all at once.  My whole baaahhdy," the word lingering as she sighed "my bahdy just feels so relaxed."

I laughed in spite of myself "My friends keep telling me that my ego is getting out of control.  I have no idea why I'm so full of myself."

I could feel her smile though I couldn't see it.  Melissa held tighter and I did the same.  "Whatever" she spat with a bit of sass.  After a second she added quietly, "Thank you…"


******


The accident which had stopped traffic wasn't actually too bad.  It appeared that a stalled car blocked 2 lanes as some guys slowly pushed it to the shoulder.  Meanwhile, an impatient driver who'd attempted to pass it had been side-swiped changing lanes.  No, it wasn't us.  We flew past on the shoulder and took an exit ramp a half mile down where I released the angriest orgasm I'd ever had in my life.

I watched in total disbelief as MissPriss calmly licked her fingertips eying me as I caught my breath.  You'd think that I had been running at 100mph instead of sitting shotgun in a car doing that sort of speed.  "For fuck's sake, Melissa, what the fucking fuck?!"

She shrugged matter-of-factly.  "You wanted me to explain, so I did." as if that told all.


"Explain your fucking explanation then.  Please enlighten me because those near death experiences I had just prior to ejaculation didn't prove to be quite the epiphany for which I'd hoped."

That got a chuckle.  "You wanted to know what I get out of this stuff.  You wanted to know why I need the danger and how that makes me get off.  I could have just given you a handjob--"


"I would have preferred just a handjob…"


"--but it would have been just a handjob." she finished.  "Instead, you got a handjob at 110 miles per hour.  You almost died a couple of time.  Your heart and mind knew the thrill of fear and the adrenaline rush of being threatened.  At the same time, deep down someplace you have to know that I had no intention of hurting either of us.  I was in control of the car the whole time."


I shook my head.  "That was really fucking reckless, Melissa."


"It was.  And granted, we didn't talk about it before and clarify the dynamics of the high-speed, jerkoff.  But that's the thrill, isn't it?  I trust you implicitly to stalk me, to find me and fuck me within an inch of my life.  I trust you to push me to the extent that I don't know where the lines are.  But we know where the lines are and I know you wouldn't hurt me."

I thought about it for a bit.  Some of it made sense.  On the other hand, a few things did not and made it hard for any of it to make sense.  "I still don't quite get it, Melissa.  Why me?  If you think that I'm not going to hurt you and you think I'll stay within lines, how is that enjoyable for you?  It seems like the point is to feel like it's over the line."

"It is," she conceded.  "Something about you… the way you look at me, I think.  It's very, very predatory.  You look as if you'd devour me and not care if I liked it.  That's sexy.  I feel used because you fuck me like you don't care about me.  So I can give in and relish that feeling.  I know that you won't hurt me and that you care, but while it's happening, it doesn't feel that way."

I shook my head.  "That doesn't make a shred of since, Melissa.  None.  Worst explanation ever."

MissPriss snickered.  "So what's the verdict on the handj--"


"Oh, yes, it was quite magnificent, thank you." I said before she could finish.



"Uh-huh" she said reaching over for my cock, "I figured as much.  So how about another?"

Before I could answer, she got a good grip and floored it.

Voyeur… vol.1, part IV

A fucking letter.  Another fucking letter.  Well, actually it was a couple of letters but whatever.  As much as I thought I was on the right track in trying to lure my watcher into outing herself (or himself, couldn't really tell to be truthful) it was still unnerving to see the letter.  Knowing someone was invading my personal space without my consent and then proceeding to gloat and tell me about it.  It made me sick.  Sick with an erection.  Well, not a total erection, more like a half-chub since it was kinky but at the same time it was sick and I wasn't okay with it and… whatever.

So I opened it and began to read it as I went to the fridge for a beverage.

"Again, you treated me to a delightful show, Mr. Blackwood" it began.  I hated how there was this presumptuous air of me being a performer for this person's whims.  "I have never seen this woman before; she looked like something out of an old Hollywood Cary Grant film in her style of dress and her hair.  She was not a child like that sorority cheerleader that you toy with.  This was a woman.  She had a mature figure of curves that are earned.  Though she seemed to have gray hair, I don't think she was older than you.  Maybe she just looks good for her age.

"I found it very interesting that this woman seemed to toy with you as much as you with her.  She wasn't as willfully submissive as that college child.  You seemed to take control of her, something that she resisted initially.  I would even dare say that she merely chose to give you control at some point, rather than you wresting it from her.  She cooked for you, bending over and giving the two of us full view of her lovely ass.  She'd slap you hand away when you tried to sample what was on the stove: something I don't think you would have allowed from the sorority girl.  I could just imagine you disciplining her, the looks you give that girl make her shake.

"The looks you seem to give this woman, however, seem to go unnoticed by her.  She was talking to you of course and you were intently listening.  I feel like you told her to remove her skirt, a command with which she seemed to begrudgingly complied.  The sorority girl would never have taken such an attitude with you.  Though she did as you said, I wonder who this woman is…"

This woman was, of course, Lucilia.  Lucilia is, in fact, prematurely graying and has beautiful streaks of silver all through her hair.  A little more pepper than salt but only slightly.  She's actually slightly younger than I and is quite the brat when I ask her to do things.  On the day the letter referenced, she was making pasta sauce from scratch and I certainly was telling her to strip as she did it.  And Lucy's impertinent way, she always gave me some lip as she complied.

"I suppose you can learn a lot about a man by how he tells a woman to remove her clothing.  You first told her to take her skirt off.  Her legs and ass are so curvaceous and round.  So inviting.  Even her panty hose seemed like something from a bygone era when women dressed in sexy, functional layers.  After that, curiously, you told her to take off her bra but not her blouse, a mandate that netted you a raised brow and a scoff.  But I suppose your charm and your control can't be denied; she still took it off.

"Though I thought it was odd at first, I could see the appeal once she had it off.  The way her nipples shown through the blouse or the shape of her ass when she leaned into your cabinets.  Like you, I would not have been able to easily contain myself.  I could see you rubbing your cock (I'll admit that I was looking desperately to catch sight of at erection in your pants).  It must have been the very moment that she said the sauce was ready to simmer that you took her without warning.  You just pulled that shirt off, leaned her over that counter, pulled down her hose and began to fuck her.  One of her heels came off and merely ignored it.  I love the sight of that cock of yours in action.  You are wonderful.  I masturbated as you had your way with each other."

It was really fucking with me.  Really.  Who was this person?!  Can I at least get a "It made me wet." so I could have a little validation and verification?  SOMEthing?!

"I realize this is dangerous.  Well, MORE dangerous but I cannot help myself.  I have a camera and took some pictures with a self timer.  It was after you had finished fucking her that I decided to have a little fun.  I can't help myself, Mr. Blackwood.  I have a problem that I don't want to solve.  While I may never know if prompt you to please yourself, I will humor myself to think that you do.  Enclosed you'll find some pictures of me.  I hope you like them and that you get off to them."

There was a separate envelope in which I could feel some 4x6s.  What if she wasn't hot?  What if they were pictures of some cock?!  What if the cock was bigger than mine (talk about adding insult to injury)?!  I didn't want to look.  But I had to.  I mean, c'mon, not only would it clear up that little aspect but it might even allow me to figure out who it was.

Vindication.  Ladies and Gentlemen, Damas y Caballeros, the voyeur has a vagina!!  Not photographed in a way that was identifying but whatever.  I couldn't be bothered with that, though.  My cock was already out and I was stroking it wildly.  Right there in the kitchen in full view of whoever she was in the photos.  I closed my eyes, focused on those pictures and imagined that I was about to let go all over the ass in the photos.  With my jeans unzipped just enough to pull out my business I was on the verge climax in short order.

It felt great.  Take that, you fucking peeper…

Voyeur… vol.1, part III

Somewhere out there, someone was watching me.  They could see into my house.  My HOUSE.

MY house.

Arms folded with a hand pulling at my lip, I scanned the entire scene, the view of the outside world from my kitchen window.  Somewhere out in that scene was some sick fuck who'd been watching my intimate moments.  Someone who didn't have the common decency to watch quietly and let me live in ignorance.  No, this person had to taunt me that he or she (gotta be honest, I couldn't tell which) was actually seeing into my life.  That's just not fair; foul is what it is.  Way fucking foul.

But I'd find that fucker, I thought as I scanned the scene.  Combed over every detail, trying to figure where this violator was.  This shouldn't be possible.  The only residence with a clear view of my kitchen window was the second story of the condos to buildings north of me (the building in between was only one story) but I knew for fact that it was unoccupied.  It had been on the market for quite a while; the real estate agent who had her fingers into that property had been trying to get me to buy it.

Whatever.  I just had to be patient and this voyeur would slip up.  Then I'd turn the tables on whoever it was.  Then I'd show them foul.  As they say: "Fair is foul and foul is fair"…


"Kade?!"


"HUH?!" I shouted suddenly snatched from my contemplations.  There was Miss Priss looking at me confused.


"Mygah'd I asked you what you're looking at because you've been staring out of this window for like for-EVer and you said 'Something wicked this way comes' and I asked you what that was supposed to mean so what does it mean?"

The way that all her thoughts just drained out of her unimpeded like a 4 year old's runny nose really baffled me.  I know what you're thinking and you're wrong:  it's not all about that.  She's intelligent and has an cool personality; it's not all about her looks.  But there are times when she is a stereotypical airhead.

"What why are you looking at me like that is something wrong?"

If only I could give her a tissue and it would fix this but it wasn't that simple.  I shut my eyes and physically shook my head to banish the thought.  "Did I say that?  Really?"  I narrowed my eyes and scanned the evening view outside of my kitchen window.  "Odd…"


"What the fuck is wrong with--?!"


"Are you ready to go" I asked.

"YES!  Let's go I'm STARving!  I'll drive."

I will admit to how easy it was to distract that woman.  I allowed Little Missy to pick the place; I couldn't think straight.  What was to stop this person from following me around?  They'd seen Hailey and Miss Priss.  How long had they been watching?  How many letters had I unwittingly thrown away in the past?  Had they seen other women who'd been in my house?  Certainly it wouldn't be difficult to figure out what they drive.  Hell, all the had to do was watch the street and see what car we got into and follow us.

Was the watcher in the restaurant watching us right now?!

Miss Priss seemed extra bubbly that evening which irked me to no end.  What the fuck was she so excited about?  And she couldn't keep her hands off me.  Were it not for the fact that I was so distracted the whole evening, we would have been that obnoxious couple who goes beyond too much PDA to borderline fucking in public…

…wait.

Well, I guess we do actually fuck in public but we do it away from watchful eyes.  FUCK!  "Watchful eyes."  Foul.  Really fucking foul.  Every now and then I'd catch someone's eye and wonder if that was the person.  Was it the guy with the Izod shirt on?  The woman in the sundress and shades?  How the fuck could I figure it out?!

I was pulled away from my plotting by the sensation of a foot rubbing the back of my calf.  Across the table from me Missy was giving me the dreamy "I'm-so-smitten-with-you" eyes.  What the fuck was her problem?!  Of all the days.  It was like she was getting off on my discom--

I narrowed my eyes at her.  She immediately stopped with the dreamy eyes and her foot stopped creeping up my pants leg.


"You have that look you gave me when you said something wicked was coming in your apartment.  You're like a million miles away what's wrong?"

Maybe it was her.  But how?  No, I couldn't assume that without any evidence to support it.  Might as well just assume that the watcher was in the room.  Assuming that, what could I do to bait him/her?  Go enough places, do enough things that only a voyeur intent on me would notice and I could just narrow it down to whoever I recognized from each place.  I just had to be patient.

But that meant I had to bait the voyeur with something juicy.  I reached under the table (which was so small our knees nearly bumped) and took the back of Missy's knee, lifting her foot to rest it at the edge of my seat in front of my crotch.  I then slipped off her shoe and guided her bare foot to my zipper.

Her eyes widened.  "Kaaaayy'd!" she scoffed in a whisper as her toes rubbed my stiffening cock.  The tablecloth hid pretty much everything but if there was a voyeur keeping an eye on me… well, it might have been subtly missed by everyone else but to my watcher it would be pretty overt.  I unzipped my jeans discreetly under the table and slipped my dick completely out.

Her eyes when huge the moment her toes felt the bare skin and her mouth made an "O."

She looked around for anyone watching.  I didn't.  No reason to distract myself by trying to find my new prey.  The voyeur was targeting me and I was targeting the voyeur.  I'd let the watcher come to me.  I noticed Missy place her hand in her lap and turn a bright shade of pink.  She propped her chin on her hand, kind of covering her mouth and looked off sheepishly as if she was having nothing to do with the footjob under the table or the clit-teasing at the other end of that same leg.  I just stared straight ahead, my eyes fixed on the outline of her nipples through her shirt and came silently but determinedly into her toes and the cloth napkin that was in my lap.  If her labored breath was any indication, Miss Priss had a tiny orgasm shortly after.  I zipped my pants, trashed my napkin in the restroom, washed my hands and we eat in silence with smiles on our faces.

We went back to her place at my insistence and put on a movie during which we got naked and alternated between watching, laughing and screwing.  I went to bed satisfied.

A few days later, I received a letter without a return address.  I opened it and read it:

"Mr. Blackwood, since these letters are a form of confession in and of themselves I have to be honest: you've taken your naughty show on the road and I caught your performance at a pub recently.  As discreet as you may have been to most people, I know what was going on under that tab--"

I paused to smile.  Perfect.  Just perfect.  It was only a matter of time.

Voyeur… vol.1, part II

Three letters sat on my coffee table in front of me.  I sneered at them as if they were alive; as if they were some person.  The fuckers!  Bastids!  Who did they think they were?!  How dare they?!

So I opened one up and began:

Mr. Blackwood.  You just finished fucking a woman sensele--"

Aw SHIT, MAN!!  What the fucking fuck?!  I calmed myself, picked the letter back up and resumed.

"…senseless.  Thank you.  Thank you so much.  I know it may seem weird to express gratitude, perhaps even presumptuous, but I assure you that it is gratitude well-earned.  What you did to her body… what you must have been making her feel… it was beautiful to watch.

"Perhaps that doesn't make sense.  I don't know if I can properly put it into words to make you understand.  The way you grabbed her… there was such control.  Ownership.  You had your way with her -repeatedly, it seemed- as if she was just there for your pleasure.  I watched as you knocked everything off your dinner table -a place where you've quietly dined many times- put her on top of it face-down, yanked her pants down and shoved your cock into her.  

"It was so desperate, Mr. Blackwood.  The urgency of how you needed to be inside of her, to feel her… it was amazing.  I started to touch myself as you slid in and out of her.  I wonder which hole you were inside of.  Given the angle, I would assume you were inside of her pussy, feeling its warmth and wetness grip your cock.  The look on her face… she was out of her mind.  I think you were hurting her but she needed it just like you did.  She didn't want you to stop.  I could see her ass wiggle each time you angrily thrust into her.  I want to feel that right now.

"It was almost like you were punishing her although I don't know how such pleasure could really be a punishment at all.  But there was something punitive about it.  As if she was being taught a lesson.  You were making it hurt but she wanted to be hurt all the same.  I wonder if the two of you argued before.  Maybe she shoved you or slapped you and you grabbed her.  It was a shouting match and when you shook her you realized your cock was hard and she realized her pussy was wet.  I think that you two knew instantly how it would be settled.

"That's just my supposition; I only saw what happened in the kitchen.  You: fairly snatching her off her feet, pinning her to the table and having your way with her.  She must not have known what to do with herself to be taken in such a way.

"So, yes, please accept my thanks knowing that you have brought me to orgasm many times."

Alright, I'll admit it: for a second, she had me.  Really, she did.  But that was too descriptive, too accurate to what had occurred prior to Miss Priss and I making it into the kitchen.  I remember that day; I relive that day often.  She and I had been flirting and groping each other but because she can't leave well e-fucking-nuff alone, she started to ask me questions about who else I was seeing.  Getting in my face about it.  But not in the way that was really about a fight, she was pressing her body against me.  Rubbing almost.  Like, what woman who's really arguing with you and wants to hurt you leads with her nipples when she wants to body up to you?  Her contact was intent on gratification.  Before I knew it, she was on the table and I was inside her.  The things that woman said while we fucked… it would make a Marine blush.  For a prissy little high-maintenance thing she's got quite the whorish mouth.

But that's neither here nor there.  It was clear to me then that she authored the letters.  Had to be.  Look, I can admit when I've been had.  Score one for the Pretty Girl.  She really had me going.  Sexy thrill.  I don't know how she worked out the handwriting but I'd figure that out later.  The key was she'd outted herself.  There was no way she could so accurately describe that emotional detail without having been a part of it.

I opened up a second one.  It was short but satisfying in a way.

"Hello, Mr. Blackwood.  It occurs to me that I have no idea if you even read these letters.  I hope that you do.  I don't know what you think of what I say but I hope that you know that I wish you no harm.  I do not take photos and I do not make videos.  While I will freely admit that what I do is a complete disrespect of your privacy; I do have a conscience.  I have a problem: I am a voyeur.  I cannot help myself and I don't want to.  It's a compulsion but at the same time it's so gratifying that I have no desire to restrict it.  Letting you know is also a way that I get off.  You might not believe it, but as much as one in my position could reassure you that nothing you do is recorded… well, I have no malicious intent.  It's just one of the ways that I get my kicks.  

"I watched you masturbate toda--"

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-FUUUCK!!!  Seriously?!

I relaxed, reminded myself that this is exactly what Miss Priss would want: for me to get wrapped up in the words.  But that assumes that I don't know who the author is and I do.  I picked the letter up from where it had landed after I flung it -in a very dignified way- across the room and resumed.

"…today.  There's something incredibly sexy about the way a man treats his own cock during self-gratification.  You obviously know intuitively what to do because you are feeling the sensations.  You know how tightly to grip yourself.  You know how fast or slow to stroke it.  You know when you want to tease the head or to cup your balls.  You clearly enjoy a lot of tension.  It felt like you were doing it for me.  As if you were putting on a show.  The look on your face when you came… I loved it.  It was as if you were gloating that you did it.  It was magical.  I want you to know I masturbated right with you…"

Kaboom.  Busted.  Totally busted.  I was, in fact, masturbating in front of Miss Priss herself who was playing with pussy on the couch in the den as she watched me.  It was simultaneously us putting on a show for each other and us selfishly getting off to what we were watching.  "I want you to know I masturbated right with you…" indeed.  Caught you, bitch.  The next time I see that prissy little thing… I'd teach her to fuck with me like that.

I smugly open the next one.

"Mr. Blackwood… you are a dirty, dirty man.  You'll have to pardon my candor this time: I'm a little drunk as I write this.  I've been watching you fuck again.  As always, you and that cock of yours are amazing.  But who is this girl -truly a girl, in her sorority shirt, freckles and ponytail- with whom you had sex just now?  Is she even 20?  You fuck face to face and you kiss her passionately.  Are you scr--?"

Oh… snap. 

I couldn't read anymore.  She was referring to Hailey!  A couple of weeks prior we'd had sex against the wall and she was wearing a pony tail and her sorority shirt.  Holy shit.


HOLY SHIT!!

Someone really was watching.  Someone could see into my place, could see what I was doing and was getting off to it.  That person was a voyeur who couldn't help but sneak peeks etc.  I'd unwittingly been putting on a peep show.  Then something else hit me.  An odd thought that just kind of popped up out of left field:  I'd been trying to figure this out and pin it on Miss Priss but that had caused a mistake that Holmesian logic would frown upon.  Never create theories without evidence because you're interpret facts to suit theories instead of the other way around.

With that in mind, with the possibility that it was not Miss Priss who wrote the letters, I had to ask myself:  was there anything, anything at ALL to indicate that the writer was even a woman?

Oh, snap…