Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (14 page)

Mmmm. Done right, flogging can be one of the most pleasurable forms of S & M, sadomasochism. I know it is for me. It is sensual and hardcore. And after a good flogging session, I haven’t met many who don’t fall in love with these tails.

I walk over to the table and reach for another flogger; one with
buttery soft, suede tassels that fall in a gentle sweep from the base to deliver the most intoxicating sexual experience. Lighter-weight floggers, like the one in my hand, are used for the tender parts of the body, such as the breasts, inner thighs, and genitalia. Sasha enjoys when I deliver light, wispy strokes, like that of slender fingers lightly caressing and arousing her sex. Its wide falls are almost impossible to inflict trauma, and leave little to no marks or bruising. And they are scrumptious warm-up whips for either a long session, or as a variation to foreplay.

Swoosh!

She lets out a low moan at the first stinging swat. A stinging kiss. It is a soft blow delivered to desensitize the skin, and to trigger her body’s endorphin response to the pain. Slowly, I increase the tempo of the swats causing her to cry out. She begs and pleads and screams. Her head snaps back.

Pain gives way to pleasure.

Swoosh!

The leather tongues slice into her clit, then gently over her breasts. “Oh, yesssss…uh…uh…uh…”

I can smell her, her thick lush scent clinging in the air.

Swoosh!

Before every smack of the flogger, her hips shift, then lift to meet the fall of the flogger’s suede tongues. She pants and tenses.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet, beautiful Sasha. Look how your clit flares. You like your pussy whipped?”

“Yes…oh, god, yes…I love it.”

Swoosh!

She yells out. Her juices splash out of her slit. Her body shakes. I can almost taste the tangy sauce that seeps out of her cunt.

“Mmm, look at that wet pussy,“ I say, gliding my tongue over my lips as I wield the flogger up and over.

Swoosh!

Skin crackles. Her pussy hisses. She groans.

Swoosh!

I pause in between sets—the number of seconds, minutes, between lashings. I tell her how beautiful she is. Let her know how much I adore her, how much I love seeing her splayed pussy open and wet, red and on fire. When I am done flogging her, I uncuff her. Her right hand slides between her legs. She starts to strum. I watch her. Then close my eyes. Breathe in the slick clickety-click sound her finger makes in her wet folds. I hear and smell her arousal.

She moans.

I open my eyes. My mouth waters at the sight before me. Her turgid sex—wet and swollen and welted, is a vision of ecstasy. It causes my own desires to lick her cunt to churn beneath my skin, hot.

My own pussy starts to drip.

She begs for it again—the dueling sensation of pain and pleasure lapping at her soaking wet sex. She shakes with need, tightly wrapping her hands around the chains, hanging overhead.

I give her what she wants.

Then, with her eyes glazed, I abruptly pull back the flogger, then stalk over to her and lean in between her legs. Her slick clit thickens against my tongue. I flick it. Flick it, again. Then capture it in my mouth, lightly between my teeth. The smell of her arousal fills my nose. I take my time. Tasting her. Tracing the tip of my tongue over her labia and clit in long, slow, swirls.

Who am I, you ask?

I am Laila Reynolds.

A lesbian.

A lover of pussy.

I am the Cum Master.

“My pussy aches for your touch,” the female voice on the other end of the phone says, breathing heavily. Her tone is lusty and thick with urgency. I’d know her warm, honey-coated voice anywhere. It’s Samantha Willis or, in this case, Invoice 21348 aka Miss Creamy. “Can I see you today?”

“And what would you like, my darling?” My tone is sultry and hot. The caller starts panting. She has called into the 800 number located on the
CONTACT
page of my website,
Cum Master
. A website I created over two years ago after sifting through hundreds of sex sites that catered to lesbian and bi-curious women and realizing that there were a countless number of strong, confident, beautiful women, like myself, who secretly craved surrendering control, who wickedly fantasized about being submissive and unyielding in their quests for unadulterated and blissful pain. The kind of pain that makes them scream out and flinch and thrash about, clutching sheets and gnashing teeth, begging and pleading as they orgasm.

And through my website,
Cum Master
, I cater to those same women who love the sweet sting of a whip licking their clits and slits, or the thud-thud of a paddle paddling their pussies, then having a warm tongue lapping up the sweet juices that have gathered around their swollen pussy lips.

Women who spend their days and nights daydreaming and
fantasizing, careening between salacious thoughts and forbidden desires, pleasure and pain, their trust, their orgasms, their throbbing bliss…all at the mercy of me.

And—with an assortment of floggers, paddles, leather belts, vibrators, dildos, and my long, warm tongue, I deliver—um, after I’ve collected their payment for my services—the best fucking orgasms these women will ever experience, one lick at a time.

I cross my legs. “Are your panties wet?”

“Yes. Soaked.”

I smile. I imagine her cum-stained panties sticking to her lust-drenched hole. The scent of her cunt, warm and wet, wafting through the air, slowly drifting through the vents at her office building where she is calling me from. “I want to stuff them in your mouth, then…” I pause, snatching back her moment of fantasy.

“Then what?”

“Tell me how you want me to touch your pussy?”

Her breath catches. “Surprise me.”

“Take ’em off. Your panties.”

“I can’t. Not right now.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m at…” Her voice trails off. “Hold on. Let me go into another room.”

I smile, envisioning as she struts off, her damp scent trailing behind her. I consider having her—with her porn-star body—beg me to give her the spanking she craves. Miss Creamy loves her lush pussy spanked. She loves punishment fantasies. Loves to let go of her real life lawyer self to indulge in her fetish. All of my clients are beautiful, well-educated, upper-six-figure-making women who use fake names, and have fetishes for pain. It allows, helps, them to detach their real worlds where they tend to be in power and yield control from their fantasy worlds. Allows them
to be carefree and uninhibited. It allows them to explore their submissive limits, to uncover that very thin line between pain and pleasure. Being handcuffed, and oftentimes blindfolded, allows them to give in to being powerless, yet liberated. Unshackled from fears, they become slaves to their secret desires. And I possess the key to unlock all of their secret thrills.

Yes, I give it to them good. Bewildered and painfully aroused, I help my clients explore their deepest, darkest sexual cravings. Then when it’s all said and done, when they’ve been pushed and manipulated sexually, and they’ve climaxed and their roaring cunts have finally quieted, they walk out feeling liberated as they go back to their happily-ever-after lives where much of who they are has become scripted and predictable.

“Okay, I’m back,” she says, breathing life back into the other end of the phone. “I’ve found someplace a little more…private.”

“Slap your pussy for me,” I tell her low into the phone, my voice barely above a whisper. “Heat your cunt up. Get it ready for me.” She lets out a soft moan. I hear the faint thud of a hand. “Harder. I want to hear it.”
Whap!
I close my eyes and envision her raising her hand high and bringing it down against her bald pussy. “Again.”
Whap!

“Uhhh…can you fit me in today?”

“Why should I? What dirty little things has that greedy little cunt of yours done?”

“She’s been begging for release.”

“Does that little pussy throb? Does it ache between your thighs?”

“Oh, yes. She’s been wet and horny for days, needing you. It’s been excruciating. She’s been a whiny, miserable, horny slut. She needs to be punished, real good.”

“Has she been fucked?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She wants to be spread open and spanked.”

My moist tongue glides over my lips in anticipation. She loves talking about her pussy as if it’s a human being. As if it has a mind of its own and freedom of free will. “Does that horny pussy hole want to be fucked after I’ve spanked it raw?”

She groans. “Oh, yes…”

“How many inches do you want me to fuck you with? Seven? Eight? Nine? Oh, no. I know what that filthy little whore of a cunt wants. She wants to be fucked deep, and stretched wide, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She wants to scream out as she’s being fucked, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, yes…oh, god, yes…”

I tell her how I’m going to paddle her pussy until it is saturated with her juices, then fuck her with an eleven-inch purple dildo.

My legs are spread. My fingers are playing with my clit. My own pussy throbbing as my fingers skim over my clit, then plunge into my wetness. I am surprised at how swollen my lips are. “Smack your pussy again.”

She does, letting out a soft moan. The sound of her hand going down on her sex is like music to my ears. Instantly, it flames my own excitement, causing the swishing sounds my fingers are making to become louder than my own breathing. My hips pump onto my hand, two fingers lodged deep inside my cunt. I am so wet. Each time I push in or out of my juicy slit, it makes a slurping sound. My knuckles make a slapping noise against the wetness as I finger-fuck myself listening to Miss Creamy play in her own damp sex. Drops of nectar kiss their way down my smooth, toned thighs.

She takes a deep breath. “I need to see you. You have my pussy so wet. Don’t make me beg for it, please.”

I grin as salacious thoughts swirl through my head. There’s no other way for me to say this. Miss Creamy is a freak for the paddle. Her pussy, her ass, she loves it smacked and paddled until blood rushes to the surface of her skin and her flesh swells, until she is tender and sore as if she were being rammed mercilessly by a huge cock. That’s the kind of searing pain she enjoys. A few times she’s begged for bruises over her cunt, saying she wanted the sting to last well into the night, or through the week. She wanted to feel the burn as her panties brushed against her sex, a sweet reminder of what she’s endured, of what she’s surrendered to. And, today, at this very moment, there’s no telling how far she will want to go until she steps through these doors.

“What time can you get here?”

“I’ll be there in an hour.” She tells me that she needs to change first, then will head over. She disconnects. And then, suddenly, I am coming, loud and hard and strong, my cunt pulsating as I ride the tide, and hot, wet juices flow over my hand.

Beneath her long black coat, Miss Creamy is wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform. Her high, C-cup breasts spill out of her white, low-buttoned blouse. Cinched around her tiny waist is a wide, black belt. Her pleated, plaid skirt rides up over her round, voluptuous ass. Her ass cheeks peek from under the hem. She’s either wearing a thong, or nothing at all. Knowing her, it’s the latter.

I am donned in all black leather—corset, hip-hugging pants and seven-inch platform stilettos. My long ponytail is pulled up over my head, stuffed under a black leather cap. I am sitting in a red leather chair centered in the middle of my sparsely furnished loft with its vaulted-ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. In my hand is Miss Creamy’s coveted prize—the paddle. I have chosen a black leather paddle for the occasion. Leather paddles feel like a warm burn at contact and do not cause a lot of pain to the skin, in this case her hungry cunt.

Leather is sexy. The way it feels. The way it smells. The way it snaps into the skin, and kisses into the flesh. The way it streaks when wet. Oh, yes…there’s nothing more tantalizing than leather, especially when it’s wrapped around a paddle.

I eye Miss Creamy as she closes the distance between us, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor. In the far left corner of the massive space, there’s a portable leather sling with stirrups. On top of a glass table cart situated next to the sling are
wrist restraints, a suede flogger, a black leather strap with a walnut handle used to deliver punishment—or encouragement, depending on the situation, a three-inch and four-inch butt plug, a bottle of Elbow Grease Fusion Silicone Body Glide lube for ass play, and nipple clamps.

Depeche Mode’s “A Question of Time” plays low in the background.

“Stop right there,” I say, crossing and uncrossing my legs. A sly grin eases across my lips as the thought of her being completely helpless…and at my mercy comes to life in my mind. I can see it in her eyes, her own excitement at this knowing. I can almost smell the sticky wetness seeping out of her, sliding between her thighs. “Turn around and bend over.”

She turns around, slow and seductively, then bends over. Her plump ass cheeks peek out from under the hem of her skirt. She wiggles her ass, then makes it clap. I take in the view, licking my lips.

“Get over here.”

She turns back around. My clit pulses as she makes her way toward me.

“You naughty little slut. Is your pussy already creaming for it?”

She casts her mink-lashed eyes downward, then sheepishly looks up as she murmurs, “Yes.”

“I can smell you. Your cunt makes my mouth water.” Hands on hips, she stands a few feet away from me, her wet crotch wafting in the air, her pungent scent staining my senses. “You nasty little whore! I see you need a good spanking.”

I pat my legs.

Without a word, she knows. I grin to myself as she slowly walks toward me—one heeled foot in front of the other as if she’s walking a tightrope. When she reaches me, she bends over my lap. I
flip up her skirt, and catch another whiff of her clean, musky scent. I run my hand over her smooth, round caramel ass, caressing her skin. My mouth waters, staring at her mesmerizing ass. She grinds herself against me.